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First Chapter Reveal: The Birr Elixir by Jo Sparkes

Title: The Birr Elixir
Author: Jo Sparkes
Genre: Fantasy
Publisher: Sparkes Productions
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0985331836
ISBN-13: 978-0985331832

Purchase your copy at AMAZON.

Book Synopsis:

Marra had never heard of Birr Elixir.

But when Drail of the Hand of Victory saw the words in an old book, she found herself agreeing to make it. Even lacking the right ingredient.

And after drinking it, the Hand of Victory defeated a Skullan team, something no one had ever done before. Now Drail walked the path his grandsire had walked, and Marra was offered a place as Brista, his potions mistress. She doubted her ability, but took the chance to escape her slave-like existence.

When she found a way to wake the mysterious sleeper, Marra wondered if she deserved the title after all.

But with Tryst’s waking, ill luck and bad things suddenly dogged their tracks. Drail, being a man of action, saw only the good in people. Marra lacked his faith, but was frozen by her own timidity. When the time came to confront these enemies, would Tryst stand with them or against them?

Would it make any difference?

First Chapter:

IT WAS A VERY dirty shop.

Marra had long since given up trying to keep it clean. The dust of San Cris was the stuff of legend – and not in a good way. It had to be cleared out of your nostrils at the end of the day, or sleep was impossible. It clung to your hair, which was a reason so many women wore it short. Men wore their hair long, seemingly not to care that the sand actually lightened the shade. Most females preferred being clean.

Marra's dark red hair was long, and she spent a lot of time brushing the sand out. Some thought she was vain, and perhaps she was about the one thing that proclaimed she wasn't born in San Cris. But long hair was strength, the strength of warriors. And for Marra, it made her feel safer.

She wanted to feel safer.

At least it was a beautiful day, with that intense blue sky the desert had in the early morning, before the sun bleached the air white. And it was a Comet day. If she hadn't already known there was a Comet match this afternoon, the bustling street outside would have told her so.

She listened to the crowd noises now as she scraped the tiny leaves off the crys bark. And managed to scrape her thumb. Quickly she yanked away from the bowl, before the blood could ruin the herb.

And as she stood there sucking her thumb, in walked Drail, Leader of the 'Hand of Victory'. They must be playing today.

She snatched the injured finger from her mouth, covering it with her other hand.

Drail strode to the counter, getting bigger with each step. “Do you have an energy potion?” His eyes scanned the shelves behind her. And she blushed at the lack of wares.

There were herb jars, of course, but few mixtures. Marra was supposed to be an apprentice, learning the power of herbs, the alchemy of powders and potions to heal and enhance. But Mistress Britta had died five weeks ago – just a year into her studies. And Snark, the Mistress's brother, had proved ignorant in the art.

“I'm sorry. Only a health tonic – to strengthen the digestion.”

Drail's eyes roamed the shelves slowly, as if expecting to find some great elixir hidden amongst the cactus needles and crys bark. Marra wished there was something there to satisfy him, but she knew there was not.

“How long to make one?”

She stared back, unable to think of a reply.

“Please.” He clasped both her hands with one of his, and she stared at the sheer size of his fist. There were rumors that Drail wasn't Trumen at all, but Skullan. Few really believed that, of course, for no Skullan would pretend to be other than Skullan. Besides, Drail had hair. Thick, brown hair tied in a long tail down his muscled back. Skullan had hairless bodies, and were much bigger than Truman.

Drail was certainly big. And persuasive. “Please,” he said, smiling at her. He leaned close enough she saw the brown flecks in his gold eyes. “Do you know what today is?”

“All of San Cris knows, sir. Comet Day.”

He shook his head. “All the Comet Days together would not equal this day. A Skullan team has entered the Game.”

Marra stared. “No Skullan would play a Trumen.”

He shook his head. “Actually, there were at least six known games where Trumen faced Skullan. All six losses.”

Marra had never heard such a thing. But she realized if anyone would know, it would be Drail. His whole family was legendary gamesmen.

“What's your name?” His eyes were sparkling – with excitement, she realized. No fear at all.

“Marra.”

“Marra, seven is my lucky number.”

Her own gaze dropped away from the sheer power of his. And alighted on the tome behind the counter.

It was Britta's Book, the mistress's handwritten collection of potions, balms, and notes. Snark had shoved it at Marra initially, but her reading skills were weak, and the old woman's handwriting poor. Marra now lifted the heavy book onto the counter.

The Book opened as it always did at Britta's leaf-mark. On the BIRR ELIXIR.

“Yes!” Drail said, pointing at it.

“Birr?”

“Exactly! With that we will win!”

Marra had always assumed Birr was some sort of herb. Drail must know otherwise. Scanning the recipe, she saw only herbs she had. Except for something called Myrrcleft.

“Thank you, little Marra.”

Her protest melted under his warm smile.

When she read it again, she realized that this Myrrcleft was probably the active ingredient. She could use basil. Basil had great mixing powers and could often be substituted, but if this was some sort of energy potion that may not be enough.

Then she remembered the Trevor seed. Mistress Britta had a two-fist sack filled with a tiny grain-like thing she called Trevor seed. Britta had said it 'boosted' things, made a potion more so of whatever it was to be.

Marra ran back to fetch one tiny seed. She crushed it with the mallet, releasing a sweet oily puff, and hastily dropped it into theelixir. Then she heated it as indicated, but not quite to boiling. Trevor seed lost potency in boiling, she remembered. 

She poured the steaming liquid into a glass flask. Glass was expensive, but Britta had marked it must be so.

Hands grabbed her shoulders – she whirled to see Snark behind her. Something in his eyes made her stomach plummet.

“Special order,” she nodded at the flask. “I have to take this to the field.”

“Later,” Snark stared at her blouse. He had been doing that lately, and it made her skin crawl.

“Drail said before the game – or no payment. It's for the Hand of Victory.”

Snark's fingers slid over her shoulders. “I'll take it. You wait here.”

“He said I must bring it myself.” That was her second lie, and she winced inwardly. She'd never lied in her life until Snark became her boss.

But the lie worked.

“I bet he did,” Snark grinned evilly. “Go, then. But don't be long. He's got game in an hour.”

Marra raced out into the sunshine.

Travelers often referred to San Cris as outlying, which to Marra's mind meant small. It was one of the Sandy towns, out on the Flats of Beard. San Cris's population was less than two hundred Trumen total. And today it seemed twice as many were crowding the street, laughing and eating baked cactus treats. It was a Comet day, and San Cris was the host.

For an instant Marra paused, weighing going back for her shoes against the possibility Snark would change his mind. To be barefoot marked one as poor indeed, but then that was pretty much what she was. So she defiantly tossed her long braid back over her shoulder, and hurried on.

She weaved her way through the crowd, then was suddenly snatched up off her feet as if she were a Comet ball herself.

“Cute little Truman,” a booming voice said. Marra found herself face to face with a giant of a man, his head bald and the hollows surrounding his eyes painted dark green. His skin was pale – with patches of burning pink sunburn on his nose. And he had a spider tattooed on his cheek.

He had to be Skullan.

She'd never been so close to one before. By the Desert Crane, she'd only seen three of them in her whole life. 

Skullan were said to despise the desert almost as much as they despised Trumen.

“What a nice little prize,” the Skullan leered. “You may warm my mouth now, and warm my lap later.”

He pulled her closer. Marra instinctively braced both her feet against his chest. “You defy me, girl?” he asked softly. And she saw Bender, the old shopkeeper from down the street, lower his head and scurry past.

No one, she realized, was going to do anything to help her against a Skullan.

Her feet thrust out again before her brain could stop them. One foot skidded down his massive chest, scraping his nether region. He doubled over; Marra dropped to the dust.

Startled at his reaction, she hesitated but a second before seizing her good fortune. She scrambled to her feet and took off as his companion laughed.

She didn't slow down until a rock in her heel demanded attention.

The Birr Elixir Tour Page:

http://www.pumpupyourbook.com/2013/04/27/pump-up-your-book-presents-the-birr-elixir-virtual-book-publicity-tour/

About the Author:

A well-known Century City Producer once said Jo Sparkes “writes some of the best dialogue I’ve read.”

Jo graduated from Washington College, a small liberal arts college famous for its creative writing program, forgot about writing totally, until she had a chance to study with Robert Powell, a student of renowned teachers Lew Hunter and Richard Walter, head of UCLA’s Screenwriting Program.

She has written feature film scripts, scripts for Children’s live-action and animated television programs, a direct to video Children’s DVD, and commercial work for corporate clients. A featured writer on several websites, she was a member of the Pro Football Writers Association and (very unofficially) the first to interview Emmitt Smith when he came to the Arizona Cardinals.

Jo served as an adjunct teacher at the Film School at Scottsdale Community College, and even made a video of her most beloved lecture.

Her book for writers and artists, “Feedback How to Give It How to Get It” has received glowing reviews.

When not diligently perfecting her craft, Jo can be found exploring her new home of Portland, Oregon, with her husband Ian, and their dog Oscar.

Her latest book is the fantasy, The Birr Elixir.

You can visit her website at www.josparkes.com or connect with her at twitter at www.twitter.com/sparkes777. 

About the Book:

Marra had never heard of Birr Elixir.

But when Drail of the Hand of Victory saw the words in an old book, she found herself agreeing to make it. Even lacking the right ingredient.

And after drinking it, the Hand of Victory defeated a Skullan team, something no one had ever done before. Now Drail walked the path his grandsire had walked, and Marra was offered a place as Brista, his potions mistress. She doubted her ability, but took the chance to escape her slave-like existence.

When she found a way to wake the mysterious sleeper, Marra wondered if she deserved the title after all.

But with Tryst's waking, ill luck and bad things suddenly dogged their tracks. Drail, being a man of action, saw only the good in people. Marra lacked his faith, but was frozen by her own timidity. When the time came to confront these enemies, would Tryst stand with them or against them?

Would it make any difference?

Purchase your copy at AMAZON.  

First Chapter and Book Trailer Reveal: The Fulton Incident by Jordan Ekeroth

Title of Book: THE FULTON INCIDENT
Genre: Suspense
Author: Jordan Ekeroth
Website: www.jordanekeroth.com
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services

PURCHASE THE FULTON INCIDENT HERE

SUMMARY:

International intrigue rooted in a secret history.

Mysterious and unlikely allies.

The memory of a lost love.

A race against time.

Josh Fulton is enjoying his 15 minutes of fame after catching a charismatic leader in an act of infidelity. But when he finds himself alone and hunted through the dark streets of a foreign city, he is forced to face the truth that he has found himself embroiled in a far deeper conspiracy than he’d ever imagined.

As his search for truth takes him across continents, he will be forced to confront inner demons that have been locked away for years.

FIRST CHAPTER:

Long Beach, California

1:27 PM, Friday

Instead of cutting across the asphalt parking lot, Josh Fulton took the long way back from lunch at the greasy beachfront taco joint. How could he have known that doing so would change his life? All he knew was that it was the cheapest food in a mile, and the salty ocean air and infinite horizon were free, even if he was paying through the nose to live and work so near to it.

Friday afternoons were slow at his small auto shop, and Josh was in no hurry to get back. He hesitated at the door of the office, taking one last moment to savor the baking California sun, when a glossy black limo pulled into view, rousing his curiosity. It pulled conspicuously up to the small hotel across the street.

The man who stepped out was almost unrecognizable; totally unaccompanied by security, wearing khakis, a plaid button-up, and sunglasses. But Josh never forgot a face. How could he forget one like George Mzwenga’s? It was more than the face of a man - it was the face of “Africa’s Hope” and it had been plastered all over every newspaper and magazine for weeks during Mzwenga’s incredibly rapid rise to prominence last December.

Josh didn’t recognize the curvy blonde figure that emerged after him. Whoever it was, it was certainly not Mrs. Mzwenga. This mysterious “she” hurried inside, clad in a deep purple track suit, all velvet and faux luxury.

Josh immediately thought of the camera that was gathering dust in his office. He wasn’t a paparazzo by trade, but he wasn’t about to lose the chance to make a quick buck. Whatever scandalous activity these two were about to engage in, he imagined that there would be someone willing to pay a good deal of money to have photographic proof of it, or perhaps to keep such proof in the dark.

 “Yo Dennis,” Josh hollered, walking into the shop. “What do you say we finish up? I’m about ready to call it a day.”

“Already?” came the stout reply.

“Yeah go for it. It’s damn hot out, and we’re not doing anything that can’t wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Josh popped open the door to the garage and walked in just as Dennis hauled himself out from beneath a pick-up he’d been working on. The two men regarded each other in silence for a moment.

Dennis was a tree-trunk of a man, with tattoos on his forearms and grease on his hands. He wiped most of the grease onto his black t-shirt, a memento of some recent metal concert, before wiping the rest through his short, brown, recently buzzed hair. He liked the feel of the stubble.

If they hadn’t been friends for so many years, Josh would have felt intimidated, cutting a much less impressive figure. He was average height, with the sort of face that was easily lost in a crowd. His sagging brown hair hung ragged, covering straight eyebrows that always hovered high above his cloudy blue eyes in an expression of bewilderment. His strong, mechanic’s forearms gave him an initial impression of physicality, but his pencil legs and growing love handles quickly belied the fact that he had really begun to let himself go.

There were plenty of excuses all right; plenty of reasons not to work out. There was the stress of running a failing business, the stress of paying off student loans for a useless degree in political science; and the stress of bearing all this weight with no one to talk to - especially not Dennis - because Josh was supposed to be the one holding it all together. His guilt was punctuated by an anxious interjection from Dennis.

“Lissen man, I know things have been slow lately, but I just wanted to say, you’re doing a’right by me.”

Josh stood nodding in silence, forcing himself to smile and look Dennis in the eye. He felt like a fraud, standing there acting like everything was alright. But he reminded himself that there was just a chance that if this bizarre opportunity paid off, then for once, things might actually work out.

Leaving Dennis to clean up and clear out, Josh walked into his office to make sure he had his facts straight. Mzwenga was a hero on global scale, the President of the East African nation of Tawezi, and the type of man who gets nominated for Nobel Peace Prizes. Josh needed to be absolutely sure that something scandalous was really going on before trying to blow the whistle. The office was a mess, littered with paperwork, magazines, old newspapers, and far too many overdue bills. He hesitated for a moment as he uncovered and gently cradled that old Polaroid of Angelica. It was the only picture he had left of her. He forced himself to tuck it away.

The sight was accompanied by the sound of two small televisions - both tuned to international news stations - that blared away in the corner. Giving them his attention for a moment, Josh checked to be sure he hadn’t missed any major developments. The US dollar was still strong against the British pound, an unusually short rainy season in Central America would be negatively impacting that region’s economy, and oh, Japan’s Prime Minister seemed to be recovering well from his recent stroke. None of this was news to Josh. He was always in the know.

Josh quickly dug through the mess of papers on his desk until he found it- the glossy old issue of Time which featured Mzwenga on the cover alongside a headline “Africa’s Hope.”

There was no mistaking it, it was him. There was the smooth, bald ebony head, the strong jaw, and that taut mouth, which always seemed to hint that Mzwenga had more to say, and the wisdom not to say it. Josh could only assume that behind the sunglasses that he saw lay those same brown eyes, dark and strong; always so hopeful, always so honest.

Josh paused to wonder if Mzwenga’s wife, Evelyn, knew. Because if she didn’t already, she would soon.

Certain that it was Mzwenga he’d seen, Josh went into full stakeout mode. Opening a dusty locker and looking over his collection of lenses, filters, and other photography paraphernalia, he was struck with a wave of nostalgia for those old high-school photojournalism days. He’d ditched it eventually; no money in that racket. Maybe there would be some in it now.

To this day, Josh loved his gadgets; though he kept reminding himself to unsubscribe from that stupid Skymall catalog that he’d signed up for on a whim. Just hadn’t quite gotten around to it yet. He loved figuring out how things worked, but his administrative abilities were severely lacking. And that’s why this shop isn’t going to last much longer, he reminded himself.

The auto shop was already set up with a CCTV security system that normally just recorded to a hard-drive, but could be plugged in directly to his small televisions. One of these cameras was on the roof. Normally it was directed at the small parking lot, but it was a simple matter of repositioning the camera to face the hotel entrance, in case Mzwenga decided to take his fancy lady love out on the town. Next, digging out his old telescope, Josh equipped it with a motion detector which would in turn trigger a notification on his smartphone whenever it detected movement. This was his surveillance piece de resistance - it would be ideal as a sort of long-distance alarm – perfect to alert him whenever Mzwenga slipped up and did something dumb, like open his blinds. Finally, Josh owned a good old-fashioned film camera. He had purchased it before the days of digital, but it was reliable, and the massive zoom lens that Josh picked up during his days of shooting high school football games would guarantee some great “action shots.”

Putting on a fresh pot of coffee, Josh settled in for the long haul. His mini-fridge held enough hot pockets and energy drinks to last several days. He was prepared for anything. Except one thing.

He realized his mistake and simultaneously burned his mouth on the first bite of scalding ham and cheese. The problem was that he would only be able to monitor a single room at a time. And he had no way of knowing which room he needed to watch. A cursory scan didn’t reveal George in any of them.

Josh cursed himself up and down for this oversight. Left with no other choice, he prepared to go behind enemy lines.

Popping a handful of Tic Tacs in his mouth and checking himself out in the mirror, Josh pushed his swoop of boring brown hair over to its proper place. He needed to look presentable for this next part.

The hotel lay directly across the street from Josh’s shop. The place was old. A long, flat white building with faded brown trim, it had once been considered luxurious. Apparently some movie stars had stayed there back in the Golden Age of Hollywood. Whatever it once was, it now had a quaint bed and breakfast feel to it. It had two stories and every room had a window facing the ocean.

Josh casually sauntered across the street to the hotel. Stepping into the comfortable, cool lobby, he was greeted by the scent of coconut air freshener and the muted rhythms of a vaguely tropical soundtrack, full of steel drums and ukuleles. An aging receptionist sat at the desk. She hadn’t greeted him, obviously distracted by the latest celebrity gossip jumping out of the cheap magazine she clutched in her leathery hands. And those hands. They had clearly spent far too many hours over the years applying suntan oil to her unnaturally darkened skin. She finally glanced up as Josh neared the desk and coughed politely, shooting him an exasperated look with her glazed blue eyes. Josh thought that each one looked like a Fruit Loop, floating in a bowl of milk. Not wanting to come across as too eager, Josh contented himself with silently thumbing through a series of brochures, grimacing at the sound of the receptionist absently clacking her teeth together.

Finally, she grated out two words.

“Whaddaya want?”  

Casually glancing at her nametag (it read “Shirley”), Josh asked absentmindedly if he could find out which room his “large dark friend was in.”

“Does ya friend have a name?” came the expected reply in an unidentifiable drawl. Half Brooklyn, half southern; Josh wondered if she was faking the accent.

“Well, Shirley, I’m willing to bet you know who I’m talking about.” Josh replied with a wink. “And anyway, I want to surprise him, take him out to dinner. He’s only in town for the weekend isn’t he?” Change the question, catch her off-guard.

“Ya know what hun, let me check on that.” She started pounding on the keyboard, which was far louder than a keyboard should be.

“You said it hun,” she droned. “He paid fer his room ‘til Sunday.”

She lowered her voice conspiratorially and gave Josh a knowing nod. “He paid in cash. Hundred dollar bills.”

Josh had to keep her talking, had to keep her distracted from the fact that she wasn’t supposed to be telling him any of this information.

“Say, do you know if he’s in right now? Maybe I’ll just run up and say hi.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him leave this way, though I suppose he could have gone out the back. But listen here hun. Do you know that lady that was with him? I think she mighta been a real movie star, but I mean it’s always real tough to tell behind those big ol’ glasses.” She was a chatty one - wrinkly old Shirley.

“Well I’ll just run up and check right now. And I’ll tell you what -“ Josh was ready to seal the deal. “If he’s with some real-life movie star, I will come right back and let you know who it is.”

The lady let out a ghastly, gasping squeal of delight. Josh turned and strode purposefully around the corner towards the rooms before poking his head back out sheepishly a moment later.

“Sorry, can you remind me of his room number?” he said, nonchalantly.

She had bought the whole con: hook, line and sinker. “Didn’t I tell ya already? He’s up there in 217.”

Josh walked down the hallway feeling like an international man of mystery; fantasizing about robbing banks and toppling government agencies. He was whistling to himself as he reached the back exit of the hotel and swaggered out into the baking heat and the coastal breeze. He took a deep breath of that salt-sprayed air, then strode confidently back to the shop.

--

He lasted a few hours before the stakeout excitement faded and the second guessing began.

Have I even got the right room? Curtains are shut, lights are off. This is a waste of time. No one’s in there. The doubts came one at a time, each more convincing than the last.

But Josh waited, and waited, and waited.

The sun started setting in a particularly dramatic fashion and as it did someone flung open the drapery and stood prominently in the window, absorbing the colors of the sky. Josh knew immediately, before even looking through the camera viewfinder, that it was him, George Mzwenga. Who else could it have been?

But he was alone. A single light was turned on next to the bed and all it revealed was that the room behind him seemed to be empty. Not that Josh could see it all from the angle of his current hideout, but no one else appeared to be in sight. Josh lowered his camera. This wouldn’t do. Mzwenga by himself meant nothing.

Then a sliver of light shone quickly through the room, seeping from the slightly-opened bathroom door where a woman’s silhouette stood, not wearing much of anything. Josh dragged the camera up in a heartbeat, twisting the room into focus and simultaneously snapping a series of photos.

As the figurative dust settled and Josh calmed his rapid breathing, he found himself gripping the body of his camera and staring at a wall of curtains, still swishing from the force with which Mzwenga had whipped them shut.

Had Josh gotten anything? He couldn’t be sure. He would have to develop the photos first. But he didn’t have any equipment here in his shop and he couldn’t afford to take any chances. Josh decided to stay and wait for another opportunity.

The sky darkened, no longer illuminated by the sun, but by the bright lights and sounds of the nearby city center. Josh waited.

The midnight hours dragged into a grey dawn. The rising sun was a silver dollar and the early morning fog was a magician’s handkerchief; covering it, hiding, preparing for the grand reveal. Josh waited.

The sun’s grand reveal came mid-morning when it finally burned through the clouds and cast dangerous shadows from everything it touched. Josh waited.

Saturday passed, minute by aching minute, and still Josh waited. Sometimes he felt delirious; other times he caught himself just waking up. It was torture, but it would be worth it. These photos could be worth a small fortune, meaning he would finally be able to pay off those old debts. He would finally be able to make it through an entire day without having a panic attack about the future of the shop. This was his chance to make it; to maybe be normal again. He might even become rich.

Then what?

It was the million-dollar question. If he became rich overnight, what would change in his life? Would he travel? Would he move? Would he just start buying nicer things? Would he become a more interesting person? It always frustrated him that he couldn’t think of a good answer.

“Snap out of it,” he said to himself. “You spend too much time daydreaming, not enough time doing things. That’s why you’ll never be rich.”

Saturday passed uneventfully.

He hadn’t noticed that he was falling asleep in his shop chair, but he did notice the rays of sunlight glaring in at him as his beeping phone woke him with a start on Sunday morning.

A glance at the security feed on his TV showed two cars pulling up to the hotel and a glance out the window showed two people walking to meet them. Josh clumsily grabbed at his camera, which was lying on a nearby counter, nearly knocking it to the floor in the process.

It was George Mzwenga and his mysterious lover, and Josh snapped an entire roll of them walking to the car with interlaced fingers, embracing and kissing passionately. Mzwenga and his companion each entered a vehicle and each vehicle drove its separate way. Josh couldn’t believe his luck.

He smiled as he lowered the camera. He had photographic evidence that one of the most famous men in the world was having an affair. He knew someone who would pay a pretty penny for these.

Josh Fulton’s life had just taken a turn for the better.

About the Author:

Jordan Ekeroth is a young man with a clear voice, wisdom beyond his years, and always a story to tell. From a young age, you could find him either buried in books or bearing the adventure of his imagination into the great outdoors. He’s met some people and seen some things that have given him a radical desire to impact the world in a positive way. A person of deep faith, his dream in writing is to take people along on the adventure of a lifetime, while simultaneously creating a space for them to learn about themselves and the world around them.

You can visit Jordan Ekeroth’s website at www.jordanekeroth.com.

Connect & Socialize with Jordan!

TWITTER | FACEBOOK | YOUTUBE

About the Book:

International intrigue rooted in a secret history.

Mysterious and unlikely allies.

The memory of a lost love.

A race against time.

Josh Fulton is enjoying his 15 minutes of fame after catching a charismatic leader in an act of infidelity. But when he finds himself alone and hunted through the dark streets of a foreign city, he is forced to face the truth that he has found himself embroiled in a far deeper conspiracy than he'd ever imagined.

As his search for truth takes him across continents, he will be forced to confront inner demons that have been locked away for years.

The Fulton Incident Tour Page:

http://www.pumpupyourbook.com/2013/04/27/pump-up-your-book-presents-the-fulton-incident-virtual-book-publicity-tour/

Revived by Grace by Emma Clay: Book Trailer and Chapter Reveal

Revived by Grace Emma Clay Metokos Press Christian Memoir

 

Emma Clay lived a life of rebellion, led astray by her own desires and her attraction to an indulgent life and a difficult man. This book is her memoir, telling the powerful story of her downward decline and the way God brought her back to himself through his love. Moving between personal storytelling, Biblical reflection, and political application, Revived by Grace is a book that speaks to the wounded place in all of us that can be healed only by the grace of God.

ABOUT EMMA CLAY

Emma Clay is a writer who shares her own experiences about her encounters with self and her bad decisions. She shares how she transformed a life that seemed hopeless and seeks to give answers to your own questions. She is dedicated to sharing her true stories with others, in the hopes they will avoid the same pot holes, pitfalls, and detours in their own lives. She loves people, and her need to share this love will hopefully encourage others to find their own way. Her latest book is the Christian inspirational memoir, Revived by Grace. Visit her website at www.EmmaClay.com.

Connect with Emma:

GOODREADS | FACEBOOK

Title of Book: REVIVED BY GRACE Genre: Christian Memoir Author: Emma Clay Website: www.EmmaClay.com Publisher: Metokos Press PURCHASE REVIVED BY GRACE HERE SUMMARY: Emma Clay lived a life of rebellion, led astray by her own desires and her attraction to an indulgent life and a difficult man. This book is her memoir, telling the powerful story of her downward decline and the way God brought her back to himself through his love. Moving between personal storytelling, Biblical reflection, and political application, Revived by Grace is a book that speaks to the wounded place in all of us that can be healed only by the grace of God. 

  FIRST CHAPTER:

THE SMORGASEBOARD OF DESIRES

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, especially to Emma’s family, that she joined the Army when she was seventeen, in order to travel and get away from the farm. As a child, they said she would crawl into the backseat of every stranger’s car that came to the orchard to buy apples. It was like she was always wanting to leave, thinking there was more than just the farm out there. 

  You shall not covet… (Exodus 20:17).¹ This is one of the Ten Commandments given by God to Moses for his children’s wellbeing. God knew we needed these instructions to live life to its fullest. He wanted the best for us, and he knew this was the way to have that. This concept is best described in Merrill C. Tenney’s Zondervan Pictorial Encyclopedia of the Bible. He defines the word “covet” as a “selfish longing” and “greed for material gain.”² This means setting your heart on something someone else has instead of being content with the gifts the Lord has given you. That is why the Bible says Thou Shalt Not! But as disobedient children, we sometimes go against the grain and do what we want instead of what’s best. And Emma was not listening to the Lord, but was instead listening to the hounding of her own desires.

  Let no one say when he is tempted, “I am tempted by God”; for God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does He Himself tempt anyone (James 1:13). The Army was the way Emma thought she could escape from the farm and from something else that she was hiding from—something deep inside that had recently happened. Her parents didn’t have the money to spend on college, and she didn’t want to go anyway. Since she would need no money to join the Army, it seemed like the only option. She talked a friend into going with her on what they called the “buddy system.” This meant she could go with someone she knew and not be all alone on the adventure. Emma figured she could travel all over the world, and they would even pay her to do so. The idea was quite inviting. She was promised a career, and they would train her and teach her in any area of work she would like to choose. She chose the medical field. The Army would even pay her room and board and give her a salary while she was trained, which would allow Emma to save the money she earned. What a great option for those who cannot afford college. It seemed like a good deal to Emma, so she joined at age seventeen. Her parents had to co-sign, which just about killed her mother. The week they were supposed to leave, her friend backed out on her. But Emma had made a commitment, and she couldn’t back out. Everybody knew she had joined, and they even threw her a going-away party. The Army turned out not to be the travel adventure she’d hoped for. It was regimented and disciplined and exactly what she needed—but not quite what she expected. This life is depicted well in the movie Private Benjamin, which was released in theaters just two weeks after Emma graduated from boot camp. Emma actually did well in the Army at Ft Jackson, South Carolina. She had been appointed squad leader, and she was great with her M-16 rifle. She also made a great friend in her squad, and together they would pray in the barracks at night to overcome their homesickness. She recited the 23^rd Psalm every day, even in the chow line with her hands behind her back. She prayed for the Lord to be with her and help her get through her uncertainty. She was afraid. She was in an environment that was very different from the way she had grown up. Her parents seemed to be saints compared to the people around her, and she wanted to go home. She realized what she had at home had been wonderful, and she had taken it for granted. 

  The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters(Psalm 23:1-2). Emma imagined running through meadows of green grass, swaying in the summer wind. She envisioned herself back home again, running over to the creek that flowed through the valley. She would lay down by the stream and listen to the water flow down the brook and stare up to the blue sky as the clouds floated by. ”Attention!” she heard a voice say, and then her drill sergeant told her to drop down and give him twenty. “You weren’t listening to a word I said,” he yelled. Emma was shaken back to reality, and the heat from her fatigues and her boots made her sweat terribly. You see, they were not allowed to leave their shirts out. Their shirts had to be tucked into their pants and their pant legs tucked into their boots. This left no room for the air to circulate, and it was a hundred degrees outside. She knew this was so they would learn to handle the heat better. Emma was living with people who didn’t look like her. Many were black, and she was white. Even her two drill sergeants were black. You have to remember, she had been sheltered most of her life from anywhere except the farm, with only an occasional trip to the beach with her parents. The color didn’t matter to Emma; she looked inside people for love and kindness. She knew God made us all. She would hum to herself a children’s song: Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world, red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world. Basic training was coming to an end, and just like in the movie, her life seemed to run parallel to Private Benjamin. She realized she had used travel as an excuse to not to deal with the true, underlying reason she joined. Just like Private Benjamin had joined the Army out of sorrow for her husband dying, Emma joined to escape the guilt she felt over an inconvenient truth—also involving death. Homesickness set in even more after her graduation ceremony and the reunion with her mom and dad. She got her assignment to Ft. Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas. It was there, with all the newfound freedom it offered, that loneliness truly set in. Unlike in boot camp, where she was housed in the barracks with forty other soldiers, there she was alone. 

 Revived by Grace Tour Page: http://www.pumpupyourbook.com/2013/04/16/pump-up-your-book-presents-revived-by-grace-virtual-book-publicity-tour/

About the Author:

Emma Clay is a writer who shares her own experiences about her encounters with self and her bad decisions. She shares how she transformed a life that seemed hopeless and seeks to give answers to your own questions.  She is dedicated to sharing her true stories with others, in the hopes they will avoid the same pot holes, pitfalls, and detours in their own lives.

She loves people, and her need to share this love will hopefully encourage others to find their own way.

Her latest book is the Christian inspirational memoir, Revived by Grace.

Visit her website at www.EmmaClay.com.

Connect with Emma:

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About the Book:

Emma Clay lived a life of rebellion, led astray by her own desires and her attraction to an indulgent life and a difficult man. This book is her memoir, telling the powerful story of her downward decline and the way God brought her back to himself through his love.

Moving between personal storytelling, Biblical reflection, and political application, Revived by Grace is a book that speaks to the wounded place in all of us that can be healed only by the grace of God.

AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE