Blog Tour Kick Off: Views From the Cockpit by Ross Victory

VIEWS FROM THE COCKPIT
Ross Victory
* Memoir *

Title: VIEWS FROM THE COCKPIT: THE JOURNEY OF A SON
Author: Ross Victory
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 268
Genre: Memoir

Views from the Cockpit: The Journey of a Son by Ross Victory is a memoir born from pain. Intimate journal entries morph into a phenomenal dialogue of tender father-son memories, loss, strength and turbulence in a young boy’s life on his journey into manhood. When the author discovers that his father is terminally ill and a victim of elder abuse, he embarks on a journey of reflection and discovery which soars and nosedives, chapter by chapter. Decorated in airplane analogies, with writing you can feel, Views from the Cockpit serves as a catalyst for readers to take perspective of their lives from the highest point. Views is a narrative that provides emotional assurance that readers’ unique experiences of pain, love and loss cannot be recreated or erased, but can be processed in order to not lose sight of their life journeys.

★★★★★ORDER YOUR COPY★★★★★

Amazon → https://tinyurl.com/yxoywnx9

 Barnes & Noble → https://tinyurl.com/y2ydegrg

 

______________________

Dried diarrhea and urine were splotched across the carpet of the bedroom floor. Sections of bed sheets were stained in indistinguishable yellow marks and unknown fluids. The final stages of his disease were in full bloom. Bowls of half-eaten split pea soup, days-old Cream of Wheat, and withered apple cores lay abandoned throughout the room. A crusty, half-full, portable urinal with traces of blood crowded his side table. The room was stale and reeked of body odors. This is how I found him—in a crime scene of filth and neglect.

He had been living for nearly six months in a home nestled in the hills of Northern California. He rented

two rooms in the home of an Iranian used-car salesman. Serene views of San Francisco Bay illuminated the backyard patio every night. The home was encircled in blooming shrub roses, in shades of yellows and ruby reds, with an overgrown tomato garden along the property border. A giant oak tree and three dusty used cars greeted visitors as they approached the large double doors. The double doors unveiled a living room with a cream-colored chaise lounge and matching love seat. Oversized Persian paintings leaned graciously against the white-washed walls. A tangerine sunset sparkled o the bay and beamed through the pane glass doors of the lavish, unused living room. The smell of Persian spices and beef kebab filled the home. Mysterious gray soup bubbled in the kitchen next to large bags of rice, plates of Chinese pan-fried pancakes, and frozen bags of what appeared to be thawing chunks of flesh-colored meat.

I walked down a narrow, dimly lit hallway that connected his room to the living room and bathroom. Shoes and blankets tumbled peacefully in the dryer. A ray of light flickered from underneath the bathroom door.

“Dad?”

      

Ross Victory is an American Marketing professional, travel enthusiast, and author of the new memoir, Views from the Cockpit: The Journey of a Son. He spent his early years collecting pens, notepads and interviewing himself in a tape recorder. With an acute awareness for his young age, he was eager to point out hypocrisies and character inconsistencies in children and adults through English assignments. He delighted in provoking a reaction from his English teachers with writing that seemed to wink and smile.
He enjoys writing non-fiction and fiction projects–stories of captivating, complex characters expressed in all their dimensions usually on a path to self-discovery through suffering. After the loss of his father, Ross has married his love for writing to create a compelling memoir to inspire the world. Ross received his B.S. in Business Administration & Marketing Management.

★WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS★

Website: http://www.rossvictory.com

Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/rossvictoryofficial

Facebook: www.facebook.com/rossvictoryofficial/

Blog Tour Kick Off: MALL by Pattie Palmer-Baker #dystopian

MALL
Pattie Palmer-Baker
* Dystopian *

Title: MALL
Author: Pattie Palmer-Baker
Publisher: Del Sol Press
Pages: 272
Genre: Dystopian

A Novel by Pattie Palmer-Baker Winner of the Del Sol Most Promising Novel, 2017
MALL is a sparkling alternate world where everyone is beautiful, employed with enough income to consume and to experience a myriad of pleasures including drugs, gambling, theater, holographic adventures. No poverty and little or no crime. A lot of sex.

But what about the Mall Code? And what happens when Sara, a 21st century woman, accidentally finds her way into this alien yet familiar world? Nona, a MALL mental health practitioner treats Sara upon her arrival and goes against the Code to help her acclimate. Sara seems to be just what she needs, an antidote to Nona’s secret and growing boredom.

At first Sara desperately wants to get home, and, as she seeks a way out as well as answers about her new reality, Nona begins to see MALL in a new light. Is abundant gratification enough?

Things aren’t all beauty and pleasure. Sara experiences dancing in a dangerous orgiastic dance club on a lower level. She attends a gambling session where people bet on living more years when their “number’s up” and a “passing ceremony,” where Mallites are supposedly resurrected into a new life.
Junkers, outsiders lurking on the fringes of MALL, have been fighting Mall Management’s control by creating increasingly dangerous disturbances. For years they have struggled to discover an exit, based on rumors of those who made it Outside and were never heard from again. Through them Sara and Nona meet someone who might help them escape. They both must make the choice that will change their lives forever.

Who will risk leaving and who will decide to stay?

MALL by Pattie Palmer-Baker was recently published by Del Sol Press and winner of the Del Sol Press Most Promising Book, 2017.
ISBN: 978-0-9998425-5-3.

PRAISE:

What a suspenseful journey Mall was—a real “page-turner”-  imaginative with firm command of psychological expression and dialogue! Pattie Palmer-Baker captures some of the sexual contradictions, insecurities, and darker motivations of her female characters, and the complex relationships between women. The “surface” allusions to sex and violence throughout the story line work well with the superficial world she describes. Sex all the time—and yet, really, not much explicit writing about actual sexual encounters—the same for violence. This tension of content and form works well for me. What gives pleasure? What gives pain? The many hallways and mirrored rooms give the setting a creepy fun-house effect and increase the sense of a closed world and claustrophobic doom. Her descriptions of the Mallites’ physical appearances and their individual choice of costume in this strange place is creative—a breath of lightness in this frank examination of our quandary about the meaning of freedom in an existential existence. What is real? I was “on the run” with Sara for the entire read! And what a turn at the end!
— Cathy Cain, Portland poet and artist

ORDER YOUR COPY AT AMAZON

 

______________________

“I want to be clear, Natalie: are you saying that you’re having sex with this man more often than the Code dictates unless pair-bonded?” Nona asked, fidgeting slightly.

Natalie nodded, red curls bobbing. “Sometimes. The sex is good, but that’s not why I seek out his company. I can’t find the words to ...”

Puzzled, Nona stopped listening. Was Natalie trying to say the sex was not good enough to pair-bond? If that were the case, any Mental Health Practitioner would know how to remedy it. If Natalie’s actions weren’t against Mall’s Code, Nona would interrupt and tell her. Surprisingly, this restriction pressed on her in an unfamiliar manner, a physical pressure in the area just above her stomach, like the sting she sometimes felt when she adminned a dart. But relief would have to wait.

Natalie’s voice dropped again to almost a whisper. “You won’t tell, will you? That we have sex secretly? Or that we meet to talk in one of our quarters?”

Nona’s interest quickened. “No, anything you say in here is protected by client/patient confidentiality. May I ask why you meet in your rooms when that also is expressly forbidden?”

“Are you sure you won’t reveal anything I say to you?”

“Yes. Please know, Natalie, that even if I wanted to, Mental Health Practitioners cannot.”

“We meet, well, to talk about what he believes is wrong with Mall.” She paused to search Nona’s face. “Okay, I’ll tell you the part that you can never tell: he’s a Junker.”

The confession stunned Nona into silence. Never before had any of her clients divulged such a shocking fact. Before she could speak, as suddenly as it had been happening so often in the last few weeks, the lights went out. “I do apologize. You probably have also experienced this annoying event too many times. Usually the lights go...” Light flooded the room at that moment. “See, no harm done, and I will add two extra minutes to your session.” Nona inched up in her chair to look more closely at Natalie. “I confess that I am taken aback by your admission that you’ve been meeting with a Junker. Of course, I will not reveal this, but I can’t understand why. We all know that Junkers are causing the disturbances occurring throughout Mall. How do you feel about pursuing this strange relationship with someone who belongs to this group?”

“I admit I find it troubling. But not so much that ... Oh I don’t know what to do!” She wrung her hands and lowered her head.

Nona was at a loss. Most of her clients wanted to revitalize all kinds of things, from virtual reality rock climbing to interactive story creation and, most often, sexual experiences. Except for Natalie, the complaint was the same for everyone: the experience lacked novelty, and the client wanted to rekindle the thrill. And strange, wasn’t it, that the boredom Nona felt when she listened to the repetitive and stale grievances was for her a symptom of the same problem? The only subject she did find interesting was clients’ fear of death, but most refused to discuss it in much detail. All she had to go on was body language—those subtle, involuntary physiological effects revealing intense discomfort. If only she could persuade them to go into detail, but that, too, would be against the Code. Never insist that someone talk about a subject that would make the speaker uncomfortable, and that even included Mental Health Practitioners. She certainly did not feel bored with Natalie. Excited and, yes, a little scared. Not only did Natalie know a Junker, she had a relationship with him. What should she do? She wished she could discuss with her colleague and former pair-bond, Royce.

!2

Suddenly, the entry gong sounded, startling her out of her train of thoughts. Natalie gasped, rising from her chair. “God of Reincarnation, am I in trouble?” She fell back into her chair when the door slid open and a black-and-silver uniformed man strode in.

“Pardon me, may I ask why you are here?” Nona asked, stepping back. She seldom encountered a Finance Policeman.

“Your presence is required soon at a Mall Management meeting,” he announced in a deep, authoritarian voice.

“Please excuse me. I am confused—why me? Mental Health Practitioners never attend those meetings.”

“They do not inform me about the subject of their meetings. Even if I did know, I would not divulge it.”

“Yes, of course,” she hastened to reassure him. “I have never been to Level 100, so please, can you tell me when and where to go?”

“Not necessary. I will return and accompany you at the appointed time.” He spun around and out the door.

Natalie sighed audibly. “Oh, God of Reincarnation, I thought somehow you had alerted the Finance Police about my code violation.”

“No, as I said, I would not and cannot. Please continue.”

“I wonder what the meeting will be about.” Natalie looked over at the door. “I’m afraid for my friend ...”

Nona interrupted. “Please excuse me for cutting in. You said friend. Do you have a heart- friend contract with him?”

“No—I would, but he refuses because…I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore.”

Nona quashed the desire to try to persuade her. “Do you have anything else to discuss? Our meeting is drawing to a close.”

“Sort of. At work, Delta stole one of my ideas. I planned on letting Stan know because I earned the extra credit …”

Again Nona’s attention veered away. What was this meeting she was summoned to? Was it about the disturbances? Just the other day her office went dark twice, both times during sessions, and one of the blackouts lasted a half hour. The next words out of Natalie’s mouth snagged her attention.

“Delta must have heard or seen him enter my quarters. She red-mailed me into keeping silent about her creative theft in trade for her not revealing that Code violation. To make it worse, she overheard him tell me before entering my room the date for the Junker’s next meeting. He wanted me to attend.”

Nona shifted in her seat. What should she do? How could she help her? “I, as your Mental Health Practitioner, would not want you to take such a risk. If you are experiencing curiosity, I can prescribe something that will eliminate that undesirable feeling—have you heard of the new pharm, Freedomfrum?” Before she could stop herself, Nona asked, “Did your friend tell you where the meeting would be?”

“Thank you for the offer of the pharm prescription. I really don’t need it. It’s not exactly curiosity. I just can’t explain it. I do have an idea where they’ll meet: somewhere on one of the lower Levels.” She raised her head abruptly. “Why do you want to know?”

Why was a good question. Was it because she wanted to be a proper Mallite and report this meeting? No, that wasn’t it. She couldn’t, anyway. Did she want to meet a Junker? Was that what she really wanted? No one knew who they were or where they met. What was this unusual tenseness she was feeling? Strangely, it was not unpleasant. The chance to talk with a Junker excited her—that was it—a feeling she had not experienced for a very long time.       

Before Nona could answer, an alert gong sounded, followed by a loud voice announcing, “Mall Emergency! You are the MHP on call. Guards will contact you in thirty seconds.” Nona stood abruptly and said, “Please excuse me, Natalie; it would be best if you left at once. We can schedule another appointment later.”

“Oh, God of Reincarnation, a Mall Emergency! I’ll leave immediately,” Natalie said, voice shaking. She scurried to the opening door and hurried out.

 

Pattie Palmer-Baker is a recognized award-winning artist and poet. Her artwork has been exhibited in galleries throughout the Pacific Northwest. Locally and nationally she has won numerous awards for her art and poetry.

An accomplished poet, Pattie had been nominated for the Pushcart Poetry Prize. Her work has appeared in many journals including Calyx, Voicecatcher, Military Experience the Arts, Minerva Rising and Phantom Drift. In 2017 she earned first prize in the Write to Publish contest, and in 2019 she won first, second, and the Bivona prize in the Ageless Poetry contest.  She has served as the poetry co-editor for VoiceCatcher: a journal of women’s voices and visions.

Del Sol Press awarded MALL first prize for the most promising first novel in 2017.

Pattie lives in Portland, Oregon with her beloved husband and rescued dachshund.

Her website is www.pattiepalmerbaker.com/.

You can follow her at Facebook at https://tinyurl.com/yykrz36e.

 

Blog Tour Kick Off: The Witch Port Video Game by Leonard Bassed @leobassed #YA

THE WITCH PORT VIDEO GAME
Leonard Bassed
* YA *

Title: THE WITCH PORT VIDEO GAME
Author: Leonard Bassed
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 108
Genre: YA

Leonard Bassed had no plan to write a novel titled THE WITCH PORT VIDEO GAME when he set out to create a movie script with a similar name.  “I had written the pilot script first and I kept the same ending for the novel…everything from the script I wrote found its way into the finished book version of ‘The Witch Port Video Game,’ said writer-singer-actor Leonard Bassed.  “I was able to spend more time developing the characters and their world…the whole thing was just such an organic experience and extremely enjoyable, creative for me.”

THE WITCH PORT VIDEO GAME tells the story through the lives of three ordinary teens who live in the fictional town of Cradle Creek, USA – a small town they hope to one day escape, attracted by the bright lights and promise of the Big City.  All three are students at a prestigious performing art school with hopes of one day making names for themselves in the entertainment world.

Mr. Bassed continued about his story, “A chance encounter the three have with a girl named Bianca Morris threatens to derail their plans. Bianca introduces them to an enticing video game, ‘The Witch Port Video Game’.  This encounter, coupled with the arrival of the MacQuoid brothers sets in motion a series of bizarre events that spins their lives into chaos and disarray as the three head into a world of sorcery with an ultimate fight for survival.”

As a young boy growing up in South Africa, Leonard dreamed one day of working in the arts.  He wanted to write, to act, to sing.  While drawn to acting and song writing, he was also a good story teller.  “The auditions I would go out for as an actor were never reflective of the kinds of roles I was after to play. It was this realization that led me to writing the pilot script which I planned to pitch to TV and movie producers.  But, once I finished the script I’d grown too attached to the characters and the wonders of their world that ultimately led the script into the shape of a full novel,” he went on to say.

PRAISE

“While the book’s final moments leave us with a rather sudden, enigmatic ending, an end note does indicate a sequel Witch Port Igniting the Coven on the horizon. For those who enjoy the entertaining literary chemistry that results from inquisitive teens and their foray into the mysterious world of sorcery, Bassed’s venture should prove an intriguing reveal.”
–Pacific Book Review

“Filled with cheeky references to famous pop-culture stories of sorcery and mixed with some classic teenage angst, this book is a fast-paced, suspenseful story. The novel’s premise that some teenagers gain special powers through a video game is an updated, modern take on magic and suits the story quite well for a 21st-century setting. The author sets up the story mechanisms so that everything that happens through the students’ video game play also happens in real life. The author states that this novel was originally a screenplay, and those elements shine through, from the descriptive settings to the fast pace in which the action occurs on the page. It will be interesting to see how the protagonists grow with their powers in the sequel.”
–The U.S. Review of Books

Book can be purchased at the author’s web site at www.leonardbassed.com 

______________________

“I begin to hear an eerie chant being recited in unison as the first three naked women make it to the dark summit. Holding long, makeshift brooms, in their right hands, they chant: “Drink the flight broth, wood in hand. Burn the root ...” An elderly woman with lanky hair picks up the goblet, takes a sip of its contents, and inhales the smoke of an already burning smudge stick. The chanting continues: “Then dive from the cliff...” This is perhaps the most startling scene I’ve ever witnessed. The woman runs off the edge of the cliff, seemingly to plummet to her death, but I hear “Not by wind nor by wings, airborne sisters thou shall soar.” Suddenly, the woman who vanished off the cliff reappears, hovering in mid-air on a broom. She begins cackling, and the louder her cackles, the higher she floats. Soon a host of other women mimic her actions, cackling into the night air.” – By Leonard Bassed

·        This is one of my favorite excerpts from my novel, ‘The Witch Port Video Game’ because of the imagery it conjures.

·        My novel begins with Martin’s recollection of a vision he once had. In the vision women are seen diving of a cliff and flying on their brooms, true to the stereotypical portrayal of witches in the media and western folklore.

·        The women are depicted inhaling something resembling a smudge stick this leaves the reader unsure whether they’re indeed flying or having some sort of hallucinogenic experience brought on by the smoke.

 

Writer-actor-singer Leonard Bassed was born in the town of Middleburg, Mpumalanga and raised in Johannesburg.  He started taking vocal lessons at age eight and studied drama throughout his high school years.  A mentor encouraged him to pursue an acting career.  Leonard went on to complete acting classes in both South Africa and later Los Angeles.  Currently, when not writing or singing, Leonard continues to study acting techniques with the renowned Margie Haber Studio in Hollywood. In his free time, he enjoys travel, reading and movie going.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: https://leonardbassed.com/
Facebook page for author: https://www.facebook.com/leobassed/
Twitter page for author: https://twitter.com/LeonardBassed

 

Blog Tour Kick Off: A Twist of Oleander by Raven McKray #cozymystery #romsupsense

A TWIST OF OLEANDER
Raven McKray
* Cozy Mystery/Romantic Suspense/Detective Fiction *

Title: A TWIST OF OLEANDER
Author: Raven McKray
Publisher: Keystone, Imprint of Brownridge Publishing
Pages: 204
Genre: Cozy Mystery / Romantic Suspense / Detective Fiction

An escape from madness leads to murder …

After suffering a manic episode, twenty-six-year old Maddie Malone retreats to small-town Kenowa and her aunt and uncle’s cattle ranch for peace and restoration. But things are never quiet for long in Maddie’s world: She finds her heart torn between her childhood sweetheart and a suave older man. Then tragedy strikes: Maddie’s uncle is found dead; poisoned by a cup of oleander tea. The police think its suicide. Maddie knows its murder. Now it’s up to her to prove it.

PRAISE:
“This is a well-plotted cozy mystery, and you do a great job casting plausible suspicion on all of the main characters so that the big reveal during the climax is satisfyingly unexpected and exciting.”–Kindle Scout Editorial Review 2018

ORDER YOUR COPY AT —> AMAZON

 

______________________

Chapter One
Enter: Death

The buzzing had stopped, but my thoughts were thick like oil, and my legs and arms had turned to lead. I opened my eyes to the too-bright world and took a breath.

            “Do you know who you are?” asked a female voice next to me. It took all my energy to turn my head to look at her. In the chair beside the bed sat an Asian woman with kind eyes and shoulder-length black hair. Her voice soothed and strengthened me. She had a clipboard and was writing things on it.

            I nodded. “I’m Maddie Malone.”

            “That’s right. I’m Dr. Ng. Do you know where you are now, Ms. Malone?” She stopped writing, her pen poised in the air.

           I cringed. “Yes, Carville General Hospital. I… I work here. I’m a nurse.”

            Dr. Ng nodded. “Great. Can you tell me what happened back in Emergency? You had to triage the patients, is that correct?”

           “Yes. I had a lot of things to do, so many people needing help… I snapped. I couldn’t think anymore. Nothing made sense.”

            My mind went back to that terrible moment, back in triage, when I had drifted down the hallway like a sleepwalker, shrouded in dreams. Around me, other people yelled and made gestures. They moved back and forth, carrying trays full of instruments and bits of paper. I walked past them, keeping my head down. The buzzing inside my brain began: izz-izz-izzz.  Fear bit at me like an animal; moving under my skin and burrowing into my stomach.

I remembered all the people in the bright, white room staring at me; their eyes like coals. I was trembling inside. A woman, holding a clipboard, approached me. She spoke, and this time I heard a word I knew—Maddie.  I breathed in relief: I had a name. Then the woman thrust a paper into my face. I could read words like, “clopidogrel bisulfate” and “thrombolytic.” I knew the shape of the words, their sound, but not their meaning. I tried to eat the words, to make them talk, but the bees in my brain were becoming louder than my thoughts: izz-izz-izzz.

            Dr. Ng’s soft voice pulled me back to the present: “That's good, Maddie. Go on.” I knew what type of doctor she was, even though I had never set foot in this part of the hospital. Dr. Ng. was a psychiatrist. We were in the psych ward.

             “I thought I would lose consciousness,” I said, my voice a bare whisper. “I was sure I was dying… I was dying inside.” I remembered how the fear-animal thrust its quills into me. The lights above me were too bright; they were daggers to my eyes. I covered my face with my shaking hands. What did these people want from me?

Then, I knew. I was the only one who could help. I had to save these people from Death. I had seen Death that morning. Its claws had been around the face of an old woman; her skin lined and thin as paper. I had tried to help her, but Death was too strong. I had heard Death, too, creeping around the children with bald heads. I had tried to help them, but Death had taken them away.

“IZZ-IZZ-IZZZ-ZIT?” the bees asked me. I shook my head, but it was pointless. The bees wouldn’t leave my ears.

Death was coming for me. My breath came harder, faster. My hands and feet tingled. My body vibrated in time with my frenetic heartbeat. I could see Death now, his enormous body draped in shadows. His eyes glowed red from too many tears and from the hell-fires of the damned. He smelled of antiseptic and rotting wounds. His claws were already closing around my heart. I would lose consciousness, and then he would kill me...

“What happened after that?” Dr. Ng prodded.

            “I thought I was dying...” I whispered again, trembling, trying in vain to shut out the memory, the moment before the world went black. I remembered how men with white robes came to hold me down, how they stole a quill from Fear and stuck it in my arm.

“They stuck me with needles...” I said in a bare whisper. “Then I woke up here.”

Dr. Ng regarded me thoughtfully, then wrote something in her notes. She asked me a few more questions, and I answered them the best I could. Then she gave me medication and left me to sleep.

I drifted in and out of sleep over the next few days. During times of wakefulness, there were no flowers, no cheerful faces saying, “Get well soon.” For a while I hoped, and feared, that a few of my coworkers might come to visit: Maybe Rita or Susan, who had commiserated with me about management and day-to-day stresses.

I needn’t have worried. No one came. No one wanted to see the woman who had gone crazy. I was alone, and I was in pain. I didn’t quite want to die, but I wanted the pain to stop. It was like someone had implanted magnets in my body, and the magnets were pulling me down, down, down to the core of the earth.

Only my mother stood by me. When I was lucid, she was there, sitting beside me. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she still looked beautiful. She even managed a smile.

            “It’ll be okay, Maddie,” she said, patting my hand. I nodded, biting my lower lip. I turned my head away, into the pillow, so she wouldn’t have to see me cry.

 

Raven McKray lives in Ontario, Canada. She received her master’s degree in English Literature from Carleton University and has a degree in Education from the University of Ottawa. Her first novel, “Under A Fairy Moon,” written under the pseudonym “T. M. Wallace” won the Gelett Burgess Children’s Book Award (Fantasy) and the Canadian Christian Writer’s Award (Young Adult Fiction) in 2012. “A Twist of Oleander” is her first mystery novel for adults, and the first book in the Maddie Malone Mystery series.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website —->www.ravenmckray.com
Twitter —-> https://twitter.com/RavenMckray
Facebook —-> https://www.facebook.com/raven.mckray.9

 

Blog Tour Kick Off: There's Something Your Son Needs To Tell You by Vernon Ennels Jr. @vernonnennels #memoir

THERE'S SOMETHING YOUR SON NEEDS TO TELL YOU 
Vernon Ennels Jr.
* Memoir *

Title: THERE’S SOMETHING YOUR SON NEEDS TO TELL YOU
Author: Vernon Ennels Jr.
Publisher: Xulon Press
Pages: 140
Genre: Memoir

Page six of Vernon Ennels, Jr. book, THERE’S SOMETHING YOUR SON NEEDS TO TELL YOU, reads, “I still remember his face, his breath, and hear his voice demand me to lie on my stomach. He would down my pants my mother so proudly dressed me in. And then my Superman underwear…When he was done, he walked me to school and warned me, ‘If you tell anyone, I’ll kill your mother.’”

Author Vernon Ennels, Jr. lived with the horrible secret of being sexually abused and ashamed for some 40 years before he was able to recently summon the courage to tell his own family. “Studies show that one in six men have been sexually abused,” said Mr. Ennels. “Most are afraid to talk about it.”

This book reflects the experiences of males, specifically black males, but encourages both men and women and those from various racial backgrounds to recognize the signs of sexual and mental abuse and to combat the epidemic. “My book,” emphasized Mr. Ennels, “is a mirror of my abuse to shed light on an on-going issue to inspire others to take immediate action when they suspect child sexual abuse. #Saveoursons is my mission to help spread awareness and spark change to save current and future victims of sexual child abuse.”

Forty-something Vernon Ennels, Jr. says his new book THERE’S SOMETHING YOUR SON NEEDS TO TELL YOU  is an “open letter” that prompts other men to step forward and share their very own experiences of child sexual abuse in order to save other young boys from the hands of an abuser.
“My moniker ‘Save Our Sons’ encourages discourse and social activism to help boys and men who have been sexually abused,” said Mr. Ennels. “Many, many people believed these victims were lying, making up a story for attention. Since I am a certified ‘non-celebrity’ I wrote my book for every child abuse victim out there who is terrified of stepping forward.”

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2ROniJL
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/30fPMzh
Xulon Press: https://bit.ly/2Ns26L6

 
 

______________________

I went on living what probably appeared to be a typical childhood. I had friends, I played, and became a student known for his perfect attendance. Now, I know why. It was at school that I felt safe. If I was there, he could not hurt me.  

Although I found security at school, it was only five days a week for a couple of hours a day. The other times, my mind was tormented. I needed an additional safe-haven, and that’s when I found church. 

I was obsessed with being loved by my congregation and by age sixteen, I was ordained deacon.  But soon, I discovered a new form of abuse. I was taken advantage of and manipulated. And when I found the courage to share that I was sexually abused, I was told to “give it to God.” Sweeping it under the rug became my norm. I feared being labeled gay by my friends who grew up in a homophobic environment in the early 80s and grew resentful towards my father who abandoned me as a young child. 

I struggled with romantic relationships, calling off two engagements and filing for divorce. But it was when my son turned six, the same age that my childhood trauma began, that I knew it was time for me to release my pain. 

On my healing journey, I’ve developed an intimate relationship with God, sought out counseling, and found my voice. I am on a mission to expose sexual abuse, especially in the black male community where racism has led to toxic masculinity and silence around sexual abuse.  

This is my open letter and I want others to find their voices to heal too as we end this epidemic.

 

Vernon Ennels grew up in Baltimore, Maryland and now makes Arizona home for he and his family. After a long day at work in the business world…he found that writing his book was most productive in the evening hours sitting by his swimming pool. Vernon holds a BS and an MBA in Business Management.  “I was inspired to write my book thinking of my own six-year-old son,” he asserted.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Author website: www.vernonennels.com
FaceBook: https://www.facebook.com/vernon.ennels
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Vernonennels
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/vernonennels/