Sunday, February 17, 2019

"The Cherish Story" Series by Cheryl T. Long

The Cherish Story Series
by Cheryl T. Long

As the Flowers Bloom: A Floweret (The Cherish Story Book 1) by Cheryl T. LongBursting of the Flower: Springing of the Bud (The Cherish Story Book 2) by Cheryl T. LongFull Blossom: From Decay to Rebirth (The Cherish Story Book 3) by Cheryl T. Long

Author Cheryl T. Long stops by today to share excerpts from all three books in The Cherish Story series: As the Flowers Bloom, Bursting of the Flower, and Full Blossom. Cheryl says: “This book series is for every person with a dream who needs their hope reaffirmed; it shows that against overwhelming odds humans are capable of blossoming. It is also a memorable and inspiring read for all persons that have had to ensure any form of sexual abuse; it teaches that you're more valuable than you may think and that your dreams are valid!”
Make sure you enter our exclusive giveaway for a chance to win a copy of each book.

As the Flowers Bloom:
A Floweret
(The Cherish Story Book 1)

Living in a two-parent home would seem ideal, but for this little girl.
Cherish Flowers is a six-year-old child prostitute trafficked by her father, and her mother knew about it. Although severely sexually and mentally abused, she finds a way to deal with her life as it is. She takes solace in her ability to dance.
Cherish is in love with the dancing, but can she survive the daily travails of her life?
With no formal training other than her passion for dancing, Cherish has finally gotten her big break, but it might cost her everything. Unable, to put the nightmares of her past and the man that abused her out of her mind, she soon finds herself spiraling under those bright lights.
Will this flower bloom? Or will she wilt?

"Cherish!" Father grunted barging into my room. I was lay on my bed pretending to be asleep.
"Get your butt up this minute! I told you last night that we were going to the cafΓ©’ today to meet a client.
“And don't make me come over there and smack you!"
I stood up slowly and trudged towards him. “Hurray up and get dressed!” he yelled.
"Bernard, there's no need to involve her in all of this, she's just a kid" Mother pleaded but Father was not going to have any of that, his mind was made up as he put his hands firmly on me and led me out of the house. Outside waiting as usual was my mother’s sister Aunt Sherlyn.
“STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR FOOD, Cherish! That soup isn’t free. Behave yourself for once. You’ve got better things to do with those hands of yours.”
Even at eight, I have experienced enough to understand what that last statement meant. At times, defiant furies stir in the pit of my gut forcing me not to behave.
I plunged my fingers into the bowl of soup again, twirling them as I hummed. It was almost impossible not to imagine I was actually dancing on stage, with millions of fans screaming my name. I’ve always loved dancing. I’m not really sure why but it came naturally to me. My fingers moved with the elegance of a swan, twirling, and breathtakingly beautiful. My pinkie did a spectacular twirl and splattered chicken noodle soup in my father’s face.
“I said stop that!” Faster than I could blink, his hand whipped up and struck me across the face. The sound reverberated through the cafe. In my periphery, I could see heads swivel in my direction, but none lingering for too long. My cheek stung.

Praise for the Book
“The writer’s expertise is shown in the way she carves out different details and scenarios as relating to human experiences with style, engulfing the reader in a world of raw truths and situations. From the first page to the last, her writing style and story continuity is sure to keep you glued till you get to the end.” ~ Delaware News Reporter
“Amazing book.must read!” ~ Bryan johnson
“This book is a true page turner. Keeps you reading to the end. It is hard to put down!!!” ~ Jacquie reading
“This was a very interesting story – ‘the triad’ and dynamics of the characters were very believable. Cheryl kept my attention throughout the story - the flow was flawless- Great job of capturing the spirit of the ladies in this novel. Awaiting your next novel - consider it Sold!! Congratulations!!! ~ Rae
“Wow! What an Awesome book!!! This book had me the edge of my couch! So many mixed emotions I felt Cherish's hurt and pain. At one point it was so deep I had to put the book down to wipe my tears😒. Get the book you won't be disappointed. I'm looking forward to part 2!!!” ~ Shida
“This book is really an eye opener, a reality of what's happening all around. It's a must read for our young and old.” ~ Amazon Customer

Book Links
Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)

Bursting of the Flower:
Springing of the Bud
(The Cherish Story Book 2)

Forced out on the cold streets of Philly, Cherish has finally hit rock bottom. Her life as she knows it is circling the drain. After years of doing anything it takes to survive she meets a woman named Dorothy who offers to help her change her life for the better.
Given a safe place to live by a woman who helps wayward girls in, Cherish finally has a place she can call home. However, the past is never far behind for Cherish, will she be able to accept the help offered to her? Or. will she wind up back out on the streets?
Even though her life is on track Cherish can’t stop thinking about her dreams of dance. And her dreams of true love. But, the only place she can find work as a dancer is at a gentle mans club.
Which is where she meets the man of her dreams.
An older gentleman who works as a musician and knows everyone in the business. With connections, money, and power he offers Cherish the life she always wanted.
But, the more she gets to know him the more she comes to find that her new life has hefty price. Dragged back down into a life she tried to leave behind, it will take everything Cherish has to get away.

I woke up to the acrid smell of weed wafting into my nostrils; this was the norm at Frank’s. I was a bit startled to find Frank on the floor injecting his self with what seemed to be a syringe.
It had to be the famous Crystal Meth because he threw his head back on the couch which graced the one-room apartment and screamed in sheer excitement.
I drew the sheets closer to myself still looking at him in that mortified manner. I knew the moment he knew that I was awake he would question me regarding the last client.
It had been three years since I had run away from home into the big vast emptiness of the world, into the waiting arms of Frank. Away from the cruelty of my father and all the years of countless abuses, this was supposed to be my refuge.
Instead life has piled up like sharpened knives ever ready to impale and destroy my sanity. But I was entirely wrong, the streets of Philadelphia were no different, it is full of every kind of darkness imaginable; the high of drugs, the pimping of innocent girls as potential whores and the desperate want for money.
Mother, she had never ceased to be in my thoughts, I could still see her lying on that floor in my mind’s eye, with that gold knife impaled into her, the ground soaking up with the growing puddle of blood.
Frank still hadn’t noticed that I was awake yet, he was busy giving himself another shot of meth. It was all he used the money I made sleeping and sucking off different men for. After I escaped that night from father and the gory spectacle of mother’s body lying on the floor, I had taken to roaming the streets and exploring the deeper parts of the city.

Book Links
Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)

Full Blossom:
From Decay to Rebirth
(The Cherish Story Book 3)

A compelling tale about perseverance, grit, friendship, love, passion, and resilience. This book captures the very essence of being human and the challenges we are all too familiar with in the pursuit of our dreams. When Cherish Flowers flees from her home after the murder of her mother at the hands of her father, she was certain that her troubles would finally come to an end; and she would be free to dance as she pleases.
But in the new world, this twelve-year-old runaway soon discovers that her struggles are far from over as she encounters new obstacles in her strive to put the pieces of her life together. As the misfortunes kept trying to outshine her efforts, she is forced to confront the most daring of situations to reclaim control over her life.
Is Cherish going to achieve her dream; is she going to get back the reins of her life or has she been dealt too many blows than she can recover from?

All I could feel was the encroaching darkness, enveloping me and shattering my consciousness. Voices drowned out by sirens neither farther nor near, I could hardly feel my body; it didn’t seem to be there, all that remained constant was the pervading gloom.
Sometimes I could hear Charlie’s voice faintly flitting down towards me, and my blurred-up vision could make out several people crowded around me; most probably EMTs that had been dispatched after Charlie’s 911 call.
“Cherish… can you hear me? Stay with me!” Charlie’s voice which seemed quite disembodied and vague, but I wasn’t really listening; the searing pain had somehow subsided, but it was still very much there like a thorn stabbed in scrawny flesh, then the darkness came again leaving me senseless.
“Ma’am we’ll have to take it from here, just meet us a North-western Memorial” one of the EMTs named Franklin, in attendance, said to Charlie.
“But she’s my friend I’ve got to be with her” Charlie protested.
“Yeah, we know; but we want her comfortable in the ambulance, you can follow us as soon as you can” another EMT; Josh Brandon added, checking Cherish’s pulse.
“Alright, I’ll be right behind you” Charlie asserted racing and flagging down a cab, the ambulance was soon on the move.
“Stabilized her yet?” Franklin asked wiping sweat from his brow, “She sure doesn’t look like she’ll survive the night” he muttered looking at Cherish who had an oxygen mask affixed to her nose and several intravenous infusions attached to her body.

Book Links
Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)

About the Author
Cheryl T. Long
Cheryl T. Long was born and raised in Philadelphia and has always loved writing stories. While in the fifth grade, Cheryl had a teacher who really sparked her interest in writing. He always told her that her story telling was quite unique for her age. From that moment on, Cheryl had one vision in her mind - give the people around her an imaginative outlet. She is a mother of four beautiful children and enjoys cooking, fishing, and talking.
Cheryl is the author of The Cherish Story series, the self-help books Love Yourself and Facing the Fear of Being Alone, and the upcoming mystery Sleepless Nights.

Author Links

Enter our exclusive giveaway for a chance to win one of three ebook bundles of the books in The Cherish Story series by Cheryl T. Long (US only).

Books featured in this post:

Friday, February 15, 2019

"Anywhere" by Riley Lory

(The Red Oak Bay Book 1)
by Riley Lory

Anywhere (The Red Oak Bay Book 1) by Riley Lory

This book blitz and giveaway for Anywhere by Riley Lory is hosted by Xpresso Book Tours. Get your copy ON SALE for only $0.99 for a limited time.

My life is a mess.
I’m only twenty-two years old, and it’s been a mess for four years already. Every plan I had made for my future fell apart the day tragedy hit. Every dream I had found a new place in the smallest, most hidden corner of my mind. Responsibilities replaced them, and now it seems like that’s all my life is made of. And I’ve come to accept that reality. I don’t like it, but I accept it.
Until Noah drops anchor in the small town I never left and gives me a taste of what my life could be.
His smile and his intensity have my heart begging me to get closer, even though I know that I have no business wanting him. He makes me feel alive again, but I can’t let my heart lead the way if I don’t want to experience any more heartbreak. The problem is, I’m not sure that just one taste of this man will be enough.
I swore off relationships a long time ago.
The painful heartbreak brought on by the betrayal of the person you worship isn’t worth years of love, if you ask me. Especially when it turns out that that love was nothing but a lie all along. Now, I live on my boat, travel around and write my songs, and that’s all I need.
Until one of my stopovers. When I cross paths with her.
I look into Alyx’s beautiful, sapphire eyes and see the tinge of sadness despite the smiles easily brightening her face. She’s gorgeous. She’s also so sweet that I could let myself get attached without a second thought, if I didn’t know better. It’s always been easy for me to leave any town I’ve dropped anchor in, and I keep reminding myself how easy it will be to leave at the end of the summer. But it doesn’t matter how many times I repeat that thought to myself, I already know it won’t be. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting her.

While he busies himself adjusting the strap around his neck and tuning the guitar, I kick off my shoes and settle cross-legged on the bed, propping a pillow against the headboard and leaning my back on it. Noah sits down in front of me, only smiling a cute, almost shy smile before the first note rises.
It doesn’t take long until I can make out the melody Kellan and I played with for a few hours. It’s clearly there. I focus on the slow, quiet pace of the music. It’s a ballad, much more flowing and emotional than its first draft was. And Noah’s intense edge isn’t missed in it. The melody is beautiful up until the last note gradually fades inside the tiny room.
Noah’s soft, unsure gaze finds me, and I swallow thickly. “It’s beautiful. Really beautiful,” I add even though it doesn’t seem like the word is nearly powerful enough to describe how beautiful this music is, and how much it shook me to hear it. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Noah releases a barely noticeable breath, and a grin takes shape on his lips, so I must have made my point just fine. “My pleasure.”
“Would you teach me to play it sometime?” I ask him.
A ray of sadness crosses his eyes. He knows that my thoughts inescapably went to Kellan while he was playing. “Of course.”
“Have you written anything to go with it yet?” I ask him to shift the subject to a less doleful one.
He stretches his arms to set the guitar against the wall behind him. “I’m writing down words, ideas… But I’ll put them together once our time is up.”
When he turns back to me and our eyes lock again, I’ve plastered a bright smile on my face. It’s a pretense at its finest, because my gut feels like it took a mean punch that smashed into it hard and fast. Stealing the intake of air that I should have taken and skipping to the next one.
Once our time is up.
I already knew he doesn’t live here. I knew he’d leave town in six weeks. There was no secret. And it sounds ridiculous even to my own ears, but I’m suddenly wondering what I’m going to do once he’s gone. It’s not like I didn’t have busy days before he bounced into my life, but will I just go back to them like Noah didn’t share weeks with me? Those days were mine only two weeks ago, so it’s not like I don’t remember them well. The problem is, I’m not sure I want to go back to them.
“Good thing I introduced myself to new technology, huh?” he adds, breaking through the unease that this sudden understanding brought on me.
I force a snicker. “Good thing you introduced yourself to technology is more appropriate. New isn’t exactly accurate in your case. But yeah,” I retort with a wink. His phone really is a museum piece.
The atmosphere shifts right there as something flickers in Noah’s eyes. A primal sheen that has my belly fluttering in a crazy dance.
“I like it when you wink.” His voice is croakier than usual, enwrapped in a desire that has a mirroring one building right between my legs. The same desire that overwhelmed every part of me last night. “A lot,” he adds.
“And I like it when you look at me like that,” I admit as I stare straight back at the feral spark in his eyes, my low tone giving my own aroused state away. “A lot.”
I could swear a growl rumbles somewhere in his chest, but I can’t be sure because his hands running up my calves distract me. I look down at his sauntering fingers grazing my skin, then back up at his face, which is dark with the same need growing in me. My tongue darts out to lick my lips on pure instinct, but it triggers Noah’s next move, and suddenly, the tongue wetting my lips is his. There’s no thinking when I open my mouth to let him in either. A moan instantly tickles the back of my throat, and all thoughts of tomorrow evaporate. Only today exists. I dive in his kiss. Gentleness and animality both lead it, each one continually trying to surpass the other without ever succeeding. One of his hands twists in my hair, gripping it just firmly enough to feed my own wantonness. Yielding to the urge to feel him, I move to sit between his legs. My legs twine around his waist, my ankles locking behind him to bring me even closer.
[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

About the Author
Riley Lory
Riley Lory is the author of Anywhere, a small-town romance and the first installment in The Red Oak Bay series. She loves writing protective, sexy men, and the women they fall in love with.

Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)

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Thursday, February 14, 2019

"The Unlounging" by Selraybob

The Unlounging
by Selraybob

The Unlounging by Selraybob

The Unlounging by Selraybob is currently on tour with Reading Addiction Book Tours. The tour stops here today for my review, an excerpt, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

Mid-twenties, beaten down and out of shape, Selraybob spends his days on his worn out lounger, drinking quarts of Busch and talking to his buddy Herm on the phone. Productivity is a forgotten dream. Until, right in the middle of his wife’s long-overdue kiss-off speech, Selraybob has an epiphany. It’s about Time. Time, he determines, is a count. It’s only a count. Einstein was wrong. And life on the lounger will never be the same.
With warm wit and a complete lack of pretense, Selraybob shares his journey from a man stuck in his lounger to a verified, and often vilified, time-theory iconoclast.

Chapter 1: No Good Time to Lose a Wife.
I was sitting by the window, quart of Busch on my belly, when my wife Joalene walked in and commenced to tell me that I’m a witless, no-good, washed-up nothing and how I’m never going to amount to even a worm on a pile of mole scat if I spend all my time sitting on the lounger and drinking beer—which, just to be clear, I was not drinking, since it was on my belly. But while Joalene was talking, just as she said the word time, instead of looking out the window at the leafless oak like normal, I looked at the clock. And I started thinking about the black marks on the white face and the hands and how they go round and round and round and round and what that means now that we have digital clocks, one of which was on the top of the movie recorder. So I looked over there. The red numbers were 9:45, and the circular clock, as close as I could tell, was pointing at 9:38. So while Joalene was breathing in, which she almost never seemed to do, I asked her if she had seven minutes I could have. “Because I’m thinking,” I said, “that if you would just move over a bit, so as I can’t see the clock there that says 9:45, then it will only be 9:38, and I’ll have seven more minutes to sit here with my beer, and maybe drink some, and then, if you don’t mind so much, sweetheart, you can get me some lasagna from out of the fridge.”
She scowled and spun around. Her hair went swooshing past her neck, and she went swinging those delicious heart-shaped hips of hers into the bedroom and then back out a couple minutes later with her hair curled, eyes done up all blue and hot, and her lips puffed out showing teeth smudged red with lipstick in the way that used to make me want to jump up and start mashing my tongue into her mouth to clean them off. But it didn’t work that way anymore. She’d become the errand woman and me the pizza eater.
Now that’s no way to think about your high school cherry turned wife. I knew it, too. It’s crap. But when I looked at her parading herself back and forth for me, trying to get me going in that malicious way of hers, I didn’t think about us driving up to St. Louis to get her now dearly-departed toy poodle Lexie, or barbecuin’ quail by the river and sitting naked later and giggling.
No. I thought that she was wasting my time, and where was she going, and why wasn’t she getting me that lasagna? And if she was just going to flaunt herself at me and not come over close so as I could smell her, then she may as well call the pizza man and order us a large pepperoni.
I didn’t say anything, though. She may have been parading, but she was scowling while she was doing it. And even with this acorn I got in my head, after eight years you learn when to shut up. And sometimes you actually do.
So I looked at the clock again, at the circular one with a second hand that goes round and round, tick by tick, then back to the skirt hugging Joalene’s curves and back to the red numbers and back to Joalene as she walked back into the bedroom and slammed the door. I caught myself sitting up and listening and wondering whether she was packing or undressing or adding another coat of gloss to her lips. But I sure wasn’t going to have her burst out and catch me gawking at the light under the door. So I went back to staring at the clock. I almost got myself hypnotized watching the second hand go round and round, which would’ve been good, I tell you, to keep my thoughts from turning on. Because unfortunately, they did. I caught the red number clock flip four to five, and it got me to wondering why one time is right and another is wrong and why one is fast and another slow. Why do we even watch the clocks, and who decided what a minute is anyway?
Of course, then Joalene came out with her yellow suitcase, hand-painted with red flowers—by her, with the paints I’d bought—and planted her heels in the vinyl brick of the entranceway and glared down at me and said, “I’ve waited long enough for you to make something of yourself. I have. A long time, Selraybob.”
After she said that, I said, “Eight years.”
EIGHT YEARS!” she yelled. “And you’ve become fatter and fatter and less and less.” And I had, I admit. I’d tried plumbing school a few years back, thinking all that bending over and getting up would slim me down, but two weeks in, I flooded a funeral home with a backed-up toilet. After that came furniture moving with my friend Herm. But not three days after the fatal encounter between little Lexie and the blind man with the spiked cane, Herm and I dropped a dresser on a two-pound Chihuahua. Two dead dogs in three days. It was rough. Tearful even. I took it as a sign to ease back on the physical strain. So Joalene was right. “It’s a long time to wait, Sel. It really is.”
I hate to say it, because she sounded a little sad, but instead of looking at her while she was talking at me, I was checking the clock and counting. And the next thing I did was ask her, “Joalene,” I said. “What is this thing ‘time’ you keep talking about, and does it really make sense to wait, or have you just been working a whole lot on improving me while I’ve been doing a good deal of sitting on the lounger and enjoying my quarts of Busch?”
She called me an asshole and told me to get my own self to the unemployment office from now on. Which scared me a little. Joalene had done the financial statements for us. And it’d been three years since I’d been downtown. I didn’t even go the river anymore, and the Mississippi’s king. So I sure didn’t want to go searching Waketon, on a bus, for some office of biggeties telling me all the things I should’ve done. It was a traumatic moment.
What I should’ve done is gotten up and said something, like told her, Baby, all these years I know I’ve been bad, been a selfish swine, but in the future I’ll be different. Promise. Soon as you can blink an eye, I’ll be a new man.
Didn’t though. I couldn’t. Because I tell you, I sure as hell didn’t see any new man popping out of my gut. I did say, “Baby…” but then nothing. I clammed right up.
So she opened the door and let the frigid in, stepped out, turned around and told me, “I’m done caring for you, Sel. I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t.” I didn’t answer, and she waited a few seconds and then said, “Nothing? That’s it?”
My head was still empty and my body cold from the winter coming in, so I just looked at her and shook my head. She spun away disgusted and slammed the door, and I leaned over the arm of the lounger, picked the old corded phone off the floor and set it on my belly and then called the grocery mart to have them deliver a few more quarts of Busch. But I heard Joalene’s fan belts squealing in her old Malibu and then her tires screeching out of the driveway, and I got myself a hankering real strong for some chicken, which, because she’d grown up downwind of a chicken farm and couldn’t stand the sight of it or the smell, even on my breath, I hadn’t eaten since our first date in high school, three years before she’d moved in. So I ordered a roasted one, as large as they had, and mashed potatoes, and some slaw too, since I needed vegetables, and also a piece of chocolate cake. While the mart people were doing their calculating with the register, I looked out the window. The moon was gigantic and low. If I’d still been a farmhand, I’d’ve been out there harvesting into the night. But I wasn’t. Just a guy staring at the moon that pretty much took the whole window. It was a beautiful thing, dammit, and it got me to thinking of Joalene when she wears her gray pants. Not that she’s got an ass as big as a moon, but the pants are spotted, and she only wears them when she’s digging in the garden, which is how we spent our first anniversary together—seeding watermelon and cucumbers and getting ourselves all dirty before we went to the fancy hotel, sudsed each other up in the whirlpool tub and then did what married people do on their first anniversary.
My eyes got foggy. And I don’t mind admitting now that it was probably because of Joalene. No sense sitting and sulking all night though, so I said, “Dammit, Sel!” and punched my thigh—hard too, bruised myself—then I heaved myself out of the chair and put on my jacket, walked outside and stood and watched the moon. I stood so long I saw it move, which got me thinking about sunset and moonset and where Joalene was heading and if she saw the same moon I was seeing and at the same time? What would her watch say and what would mine if I had one, and would we be looking at the moon at two different times if there are two different watches?
The mart guy drove up and I paid and walked inside to the fridge and put the beer in. I found the forks and knives and napkins, got myself a plate and went to the lounger to eat. As I squatted to sit, I passed a little backside wind. And as I settled down I heard the chair squeak and smelled the thick cloud of gas from my insides—the putrid gas since Joalene had been forcing broccoli down my gullet. It was mixing with the spices from the steaming chicken, which should have watered my mouth, but nearly gagged me instead. Luckily, I only passed once, and since the chicken was still hot and steaming and still putting off its smell, I just had to sit quiet, breathe into my hand, and relax and let my bones settle and blood go while the nastiness squeezed its way out beneath the doors.
Once it had, I settled back and watched the clock circle and started calculating the minutes she’d been gone, and then the hours and the number of quarts I’d drunk that day, which wasn’t many really—three, in fact, like every day. Then I took a bite of chicken and tasted that long-lost succulent flavor. I closed my eyes it was so good. Moist and falling off the bone but not overcooked, and with still-crispy skin that I tore off and let sit on my tongue while I looked out the window at the moon and wiped chicken juice from my chin. I took another bite and chewed slowly, trying to make it last. And I found myself doing what they call ruminating. I took another bite and chewed and ruminated some more, then another, and I kept on ruminating.
What happened, the thing that pretty much changed my world—not to say watching Joalene step out didn’t—I’m not making light of that in any way; it’s just not the same—but the thing that screwed with me bad was that two-thirds through the roaster, right after sucking the meat off a wing, I had something foreign and strange—an epiphany, a new thought. A decision.
What I decided was this: all we’ve been doing when we tell time, since we started telling time, is counting things. That’s it. We’ve been counting. I wasn’t sure what things the cavemen counted, but I’d seen on the old westerns some Indians talk about many moons ago, so I figured they counted moons. What other folks counted, though, I didn’t know. I did know that I counted the number of times the clock went around and around and that every time the hours went around twice, I was supposed to put an X on the calendar and add one to the days. Simple. And I caught myself yelling towards the kitchen. “It’s a count, baby. Time is a count.” So I looked over and saw the counter clean and Joalene’s apron hanging on the oven handle. The dish towels were all folded and her spices organized. I glanced to the bedroom. A lamp was still on. I mumbled, “Baby?” And then, “Joalene?” And I heard the sink drip, and the neighborhood cur bark, and the round clock tick and the water drip and the clock again tick, and tick, and tick, and tick.
[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book
“This humorous novel is one I had one of my eyes on (the curious fun-loving eye) for a few months. It’s an indie book that received starred reviews from both BlueInk Review and Kirkus Reviews, even landing on the Kirkus ‘Best Books of 2018’ indie list. Color me impressed. Although, my other more cynical eye was skeptical, and here’s why. Usually for me, if someone says a novel is very funny or laugh out loud, then it isn’t. For me. I know that humor and what is considered funny is subjective and very different for everyone. But I rarely find books declared hysterical to actually be hysterical - until now. The Unlounging is funny - really funny. I burst out laughing often while reading it and - let me tell you, folks - that means something to me. It really does.” ~ Scott Semegran
“Selraybob grows on you: from a loser, that appears as a quitter and a cartoonish version of a redneck, comes a brilliant interpretation of time and deepfelt, meaningful and sarcastic opinions about daily life. This is a read that will give you a really good time.” ~ Marcia
“The writing is really great, it is funny, skillful, surprising and I really enjoyed every page. The character of Selraybob is also very entertaining and likeable, he grew on me more and more throughout the story. I can really recommend this book to everyone, and that is not something that happens often. I think that anyone can enjoy a well-written, interesting, funny and enjoyable story, regardless of age or literary genre preferences. If you have the chance, try it, it will grab you in the first five pages.” ~ Sanjin
“Funny, smart, and stimulating, the Unlounging of Selraybob will have you questioning your own preconceived notions of how we measure our days, and maybe even unlounge you out of your own rut of an existence. That is, if you can stop laughing long enough to consider getting up. Truly the most interesting book i've read in a long time. Read it now!” ~ Bob Dzik
“This book was a great read. Loved Sel, and Susy Liu Anne even more... the author captured their personalities perfectly. Laughed throughout and learned some interesting facts along the way. Pure entertainment!” ~ C Holmes

My Review
I received this book in return for an honest review.

By Lynda Dickson
When his wife Joalene walks out on him, Selraybob spends his time reclining in his lounger, drinking beer, and ruminating on random thoughts such as, “What is Time?” This leads to him starting to Think, which can never be a good thing. One epiphany leads to the next and, before you know it, to the unlounging of Selraybob. A road trip with his quirky friends in search of the meaning of Time might just result in Selraybob finding himself.
This book is written in the form of a memoir, with the main character being the author of the book. It is full of astute observations, humor, romance, mystery, and pathos. In the humorous glossary at the end, Selraybob explains difficult concepts in his own unique way. This is truly philosophy for the common man.
I love the reference to The Princess Bride being “the most romantic movie ever.” I totally agree!
Funny, touching, genius.

About the Author
Selraybob is a philosopher, writer, and, given his modest Missouri background, one of the least expected deep thinkers on the planet. His theory of time - that Einstein and Hawking and the rest of the spacetime preachers are misguided to the point of lunacy - has invited ridicule and hatred and threats of violence. He has become, arguably, an iconoclast. Selraybob continues to pursue Time, related physics theories, and, with the help of his buddy Herm, Herm’s wife Susy Liu Anne, and a small but growing band of supporters battle the narrow minds of the Time Fixers.

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