My giveaway is this: Three eBooks of my newly re-released romantic suspense series, The Choice. This is Book One of a three book series. The Choice, hit #45 on the kindle bestseller list for Occult in Germany.

THE CHOICE, (Walk the Right Road Series, Book One) is a full length romantic suspense novel with a supernatural slant set in the Pacific Northwest and New Orleans. A young woman gets a second chance to come out of the darkness she isn’t even aware she’s sunk into since her grandmother died and she met a man she thinks is her Mr. Right. Fate intervenes, literally knocking her out, forcing her to lose her memory in front of a DEA agent who’ll be instrumental in helping her get her life back.

With the help of her Wiccan teacher, a spirit guide connected with her new love interest, a blind woman who’s into “that voodoo stuff”, a ghost and her new friends, she struggles to rid herself of the generations-old evil, now incarnate, draining her of her light. At the same time she attempts to stop a major player in the marijuana drug trade and keep her new love interest from, once again, being set up to take the fall.

As part of this giveaway I’ve included a short story, Running Late.

For those of you who’ve read my new release The Choice. You’ll know this short story is about two characters from The Choice, Marcie Hollis and Dan McKenzie. Always wondered how they met?  Well here it is in my short story Running Late.

Running Late

Marcie frowned as she hurried to stuff the last of the rosemary in a small plastic bag. Scribbling a price on a white, sticky tag, pasting it to the bag, and arranging it with the other herbs displayed on the small rectangular table at this Saturday’s Farmers Market, this early spring morning. She brushed her fingers lightly over the three dozen small bags of herbs that only filled half the table. She was late, she’d forgotten the peppermint. The lemongrass her homemade soap; her biggest sellers. “Well crap.” She closed her eyes for a second picturing the full dark blue Tupperware container, sitting beside the door. She cursed under her breath and shuffled around the sparse table. Her Granny would’ve made sure she’d brought everything. She was an organized woman, who’d protected Marcie, loved her, and raised her. But it’d been a little over a month since she’d buried her Granny, which sucked Marcie into her head, to relive her agonizing loss over and over.

Shivering, she yanked on her Granny’s light brown sweater, over her green cotton dress just as her handwritten sign was picked up by a sudden breeze. Her wooden sign was at home, most likely beside the box of herbs, all forgotten, as she’d raced late to the morning ferry that shuttled her from her Island home, Las Seta, to the mainland.

“Oh no, what else could possibly go wrong?” She darted after the hand written sign as it fluttered across the dirt path over to the lettuce lady who decorated her table with a bright red and orange tablecloth. That was just one more thing forgotten, her blue checkered tablecloth. “Stop it.” She swept back her long wavy hair that blew in her face. Could today get any worse?

So focused on that sign and her self-consuming frustration Marcie didn’t see the long, lanky legs step in front of her just as she bumped into the solid thigh with the top of her head. She landed on her bum in the dirt, and for a minute, she’d swear she saw stars.

“Are you okay?” He was in her face. She blinked. And he had the most spectacular hazel eyes. She felt her face heat as his dimpled smile widened over his perfectly straight white teeth. He was a magnificent looking man, just as she’d remembered. Dan McKenzie ran his hands over her shoulder and grasped her elbow, as he pulled her up. Oh crap was he tall. And looking up at him, she was sucked in by this nice wave of comfort. There was something so surreal about him that sent all those butterflies pounding in her stomach. And man he smelled good.

She brushed her hand over her swirly green dress, and looked down at her bare toes that popped out of her red flip-flops. She wanted to hide her dingy feet, as she looked around at all the other gorgeous women, with their painted, pedicured and manicured fingernails and toes.

“I’m good. I’m so sorry; I can’t believe what a klutz I am. I didn’t see you. I was … oh my sign.” Her face was burning. She wanted to hide.

Dan looked behind him, and bent over so elegantly, picking up her paper sign stuck under the lettuce ladies table. He brushed the dirt smudged over the childlike handwriting. His fingers brushed her hand as he handed it back. And this time when he looked at her, she’d swear he could read her every thought. And for a second, it was almost a comfort not having to speak.

But then it happened again, her face heated, she knew damn well she was blushing. Everyday she prayed she’d be able to shed this awkward stage of blushing at the drop of a hat.

Dan chuckled and glanced away, before giving her his entire focus. He stepped closer and touched her arm in such a kind tender way. “Marcie right?” This time when his caring eyes washed over her, they were filled with such gentle support as if he was preparing to be her knight in shining armor.

He always was a charmer; so nice. She’d remembered him from High School. They never hung out, but he was always the King of his people, but that was ten years ago. All the kids flocked to him. But even then, he was the life of a party. Everyone wanted him around. So did Marcie. She’d always worshipped him from afar, never fitting in to his circle.

“Yah.” Marcie turned to walk away.

“So I didn’t know you had a table here? What do you sell?”

He was following her. He seemed interested. He was so close she could feel his warmth. But how could he be interested in someone as unsophisticated and boring as her? She was nothing like the gorgeous blondes she’d always seen draped around him.

She scurried behind her table. Safe at last, now she could focus on her herbs. “I sell herbs, rosemary, oregano, sage, lavender. I’ve even bottled some essential oils. I’m sorry it’s so sparse today. I just wasn’t organized this morning, and I almost missed the ferry. And I forgot the peppermint, lemongrass… and I’m rambling. I’m sorry.” She didn’t know where the giggle came from. She covered her mouth, as Dan crossed his solid arms over his broad chest. His short reddish hair seemed to glow under the glistening sun. And this time she saw humor shine down from his mesmerizing eyes, not in a ridiculing way, but in a supportive captivating loving way.

“Well Miss Marcie. It was good to see you. I’ll be seeing you around I think.”

“You too Dan. Thanks for your help.” He saluted her in a casual fun way, as he strode away. And Marcie couldn’t help admiring the fine package that he was, hoping he would truly stop by and see her again.

In order to enter this giveaway follow this blog and leave a comment with a way for me to get a hold of you. Thanks again for stopping by.

Winner’s Announced!

Ashley Long, Desiree, Ashley Chen, Krystal Larson, and Lioness. These are the five winners of an eBook copy of A Father’s Love. I need Ashley Chen and Desiree to contact me at Lorhainne@LorhainneEckhart.com and let me know your email address. If I don’t hear from you by February 10, two alternate winners will be selected.  Thank you to everyone who stopped by to leave a comment. A Father’s Love is now available in print for 3.99.

This Giveaway is International for Young Adult Books only and runs from January 27 – 31.  I’ll be giving away my new release, A Father’s Love, illustrated by Vancouver Island Artist Sherrill Welz. There will be five winners, and each will receive an eBook copy of this Young Adult Adventure, A Father’s Love, in your choice of eBook format.

As part of this Young Adult Giveaway Hop I’ve included the first few pages of A Father’s Love.

The Gift – December 24, 1926

“Make sure you and Rose are back before sundown.”

Fourteen-year-old David Lattimer couldn’t contain his excitement, no more than he could hold back a big toothy grin as he waved to his father outside their four-room log cabin. Smoke drifted neatly from the stovepipe into the chilly island air.

David trudged through the damp underbrush wearing three pairs of thick wool socks in his father’s old, loose leather boots. Rose, his ten-year-old sister, dogged his heals as she did every day. Her pigtails stuck out from under the ridiculous wool green hat he’d swear had been a cast off from the poor box. Rose was a tiny sprite of a girl, with freckles and brown eyes, wearing his old brown coat over his too small overalls. She had to roll up the pant legs and stuff the edges into her black boots, which did come from the poor box, to be able to wear them.

Rose skipped ahead of David, swinging her arms.

“Rose, stay behind me. The path’s too narrow up here, and you’re going to be soaked before I find the goose.” He expected her to whine, complain and to argue. However, she surprised the heck out of him when she obediently pulled in behind him on the narrow path in the thick forest, filled with old fir and cedar, on the forty acre parcel owned by his family near Cameron Lake, on Vancouver Island.

David’s longish hair drooped in front of his eyes. He yanked off one of his red wool mitten with his teeth and tucked his thick brown hair under his dark wool cap. He knew it was time for a haircut when his mother teased he was beginning to look like a girl.

Over his left shoulder, David cradled the Winchester ten-gauge single load shotgun. The one bequeathed from Grandfather George. He took his role as big brother seriously, making sure the gun wasn’t pointed at Rose.

David grinned; he still couldn’t believe his father’s surprise this morning. This year, David got to hunt the Christmas Goose. A tradition passed down by his grandfather to his father. He patted his right pocket, double checking the ten spare shell casings were still where he’d put them.

“How far do we have to walk? And where are we going to find the goose?” Rose had such a high-pitched voice, at times chattering non-stop, his poor ears ached from listening to her rattle on. If he didn’t answer her, she’d keep asking.

“We’ll head down towards Cameron Lake. That’s where Dad and I saw a flock of winter geese the other day.”

“But that’s an hour away.” Rose trailed behind, her voice squeaked like a wagon wheel that needed greasing. David was tempted to tell her to go home. But he wanted a goose and knew his father would be angry if Rose went home alone.

“Would you stop complaining? You didn’t have to come.” David walked faster because he knew that’d really piss her off.

A tightly packed snowball slammed into the back of his head, causing David to stumble. He spun around and glared at his stubborn little sister. What stung more, his head or pride, David wasn’t sure. Short, tough and determined, described Rose to a tee. Her lips scrunched up and she looked like a mad little bee. David knew, first hand, her fiery temper would lead her, head on, into a scrap. Why, just last week she sucker punched him with a solid jab to the bridge of his nose and he’d swear he’d bled like a stuck pig. But then, she’d caught him off guard, entirely by surprise, which was a low blow. Even his parents had been furious, but then they didn’t know he’d goaded her by laughing at the silly nickname. The boys at school had cat-called Rose “Sweepy” over and over. And that was all because Mama waved goodbye to Rose, calling her “Sweet Pea” in front of the town kids.

Nevertheless, his daddy drilled into him some hard honourable lessons; no matter what, you don’t hit a girl, ever. Right now he wanted to shoot a goose, not scrap with Rose. So, David swallowed his pride and nearly choked on the hard lump burning his throat. What he did do, was walk faster still. Let her run.

“David, slow down, you’re going too fast. David, aren’t you going to answer me?”

David whipped around so fast Rose bumped into him. “No Rose! Stop it. I’m not going to fight with you. All I want is to find the geese, shoot one and go home. That’s it, and if you’re going to keep talking, you’re gonna scare them away, so be quiet.” He didn’t wait for a response. David hurried through the brush staying on the same familiar trail winding its way down to the lake. To Rose’s credit, she didn’t argue. She let out a huff, closed her mouth and dogged David’s heels again.

They strode lower into the valley. The air was damper, heavier with mist. He knew they were close to the lake. A thick mix of fir, cedar and alder trees surrounded them, forming an umbrella overhead. The overgrown path, which had most likely been created by antelope and deer, led down to their water source. David patted the twin fir. This was the lower part of the trail right before the open grove, not far from the lake.

A glimmer of black flashed from the corner of his eye. He sucked a breath, and then another, before it registered in his head what it was. But by then, his heart had already slammed his throat shut, choking off any reasonable sound while his back broke out in a cold prickly sweat. “Get up a tree!” David somehow managed to croak out the panicked words in a low scratchy voice, sounding nothing like his, even to his own ears.

David swiveled his head between a bundled up Rose, standing frozen as a mouse, and the curious bear cub. Her mouth gaped, her big eyes filling with fear, a poison which raised the hair on the back of David’s neck.

“Back away move slowly toward the tree, hurry, Rose.” She didn’t move. David backed away from the cub and stepped on Rose’s foot. Her breath wheezed, maybe that’s what knocked some sense into her. She grabbed his arm with a shaky hand and moved.

A second cub wandered from behind an old cedar. Rose stumbled. “Get up, Rose.” And she did, just as David somehow boosted her up, so she could grab the first branch. She’d just scampered onto the branch when a low growl split the icy air and crashed through the underbrush. David didn’t know how he did it, but somehow he leaped six feet up onto the first thick branch. Planting his hand on Rose’s butt, he shoved hard. “Faster, go, Rose go! She’s right behind us!”

Reach, pull, step. One foot after the other, he climbed each thick branch of this Douglas Fir. Rose was quick and appeared to fly up the tree as she grabbed a branch, pushed off, grabbed the next, higher and higher, until they climbed more than halfway up that old growth tree. And when David glanced down his blood turned to ice as he stared at the steel shotgun in the dirt, right where Mama Bear circled in fury. She growled and pawed at the base of the tree, while her cubs wandered behind her.

“David, is it a black bear?”

“Yes, dang it. And she’s not happy.”

Rose dangled on the branch above him. She was breathing heavily, like she’d raced up a mountain. David held onto the branch above him and glanced up. Her large, innocent eyes pleaded for him to do something. They had to be about a hundred feet up, high enough to be safe unless mama decided to come after them.

“What are a black bear and her cubs doing out this time of year? Aren’t they supposed to be hibernating?”

The bear continued to charge, crazed, her wispy snarl short and rough, as she dug and clawed at the ground, circling the tree.

“David, is she going to climb up here? What are we going to do?” Rose perched on the branch above him.

“I don’t know.” David was abrupt.

Rose began to whimper above him. David couldn’t console her; he had enough to do holding himself together. Tears burned his eyes, and his throat throbbed with something thick and gooey. How long would it be before their father would come looking for them? He hoped it’d be soon; except his stomach sank with the realization that Dad wouldn’t start looking until sundown. Then how far would he get in the dark? It was cold. Neither was prepared for this. How would they survive a night in this old fir tree?

The Child Trevor in my recent novel, The Forgotten Child, is an undiagnosed three-year old autistic boy. This story is filled with conflict, but is a novel of hope and trust, weaving in the budding romance with a man haunted by a terrible betrayal who must overcome his inability to trust, while unable to recognize, let alone accept,  there’s something wrong with his child—characters who are far from perfect.

Emily Perl Kingsley wrote an essay many years ago that depicts this emotion.  Welcome to Holland is about the experience of raising a child with a disability—one I believe every parent should read.

Welcome To Holland

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this…

When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags, and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”

“Holland?!” You say. “What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.”

But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It’s just a different place. It’s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while, and you catch your breath, you look around…. and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills….,and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy… and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away… because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But… if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things … about Holland.

1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved

It’s about discoverability. Getting your novel into the hands of your readers. And that’s exactly what’s happened after three days of being enrolled in Amazon’s KDP Select, If We Dare to Dream has an Amazon Bestseller Rank of #46 in the Kindle Store Romance Fiction. This morning Collette Scott has joined the ranks of Nora Roberts, Debbie Macomber, Christine Feehan in the top 100 Amazon Romance Bestsellers. And I for one hope she stays in the top 100.

I encourage everyone to pickup a copy of If We Dare to Dream, on sale through Amazon Kindle for .99 cents.

“If We Dare to Dream is captivating! Collette Scott delivers an emotional roller coaster ride of love, anger, guilt and suspense…. Addictive to the very end!”- KC Stone, author of Replaced by a Stranger.

“Wow! I have to say after reading Forever Sunshine I didn’t think I would read a book as well written as that again. Collette has done it again!… Collette writes so well that you can visualise what is happening in your head, as though seeing the action on TV or in a film, but better! I feel so privileged at being allowed to read this book before it has even officially been published.” – Jeanzbookreadnreview.blogspot.com

Dare he dream?

With Jamie and her family’s help, Andrew begins to pick up the pieces of his shattered life. Realizing that there is more to life than bitterness and resentment, he starts over again determined to make the best of his experiences. But the killer is still out there, and Andrew soon finds that he is haunting him still.

About the Author

 For more information visit: http://www.collettescott.com

Each participating blog is hosting their own giveaway and we’ve all linked up together so you can easily hop from one giveaway to the next.

My Giveaway  – A Four eBook Giftpack

Which includes, The Captain’s Lady, The Choice, The Forgotten Child and A Father’s Love. To Enter leave a comment following this blog, which is the excerpt from my new young adult holiday historical, A Father’s Love. And follow this blog.

Celebrating the release of a heartwarming Christmas Tale. A Father’s Love. This Young Adult Christmas Tale is packed full with Action. I teamed up with Vancouver Island Artist, Sherrill Welz. Sherrill created all the illustrations in this holiday tale of survival.

A Father’s Love

In 1926, and keeping with the Lattimer tradition, thirteen year old David is gifted to hunt the Christmas Goose. He sets off with his ten year old sister Rose, reminded by his Father–be back by sundown.

But when David and Rose stumble between a Mother Bear and her cubs, they escape her rage and climb high in a tree. Turning this historic day to one of terror as the sun sets, the temperature drops and snow arrives. David must protect his sister, and keep his wits about him when the angry Mother Bear refuses to leave, and David clings to what his Father taught him, worried if their Father will find them or they’ll spend a night freezing deep in the forest, trapped in a tree.

Check out all Lorhainne Eckhart’s Novels.

The Forgotten Child

He wasn’t looking to love again. But what he got was a woman who shook his lonely bitter world upside down, and touched him in a way no other woman could.

What reviewers are saying . . .“full of emotional intensity . . .  best yet!! . . .  a lot of heartache and trauma happen that force the reader to keep turning the pages.”

The Choice

From Lorhainne Eckhart, Author of The Captain’s Lady, comes a Romantic Mystical Suspense that sizzles with passion and unforgettable drama.  “A wonderful tale of courage, and real-life choices that’ll keep you riveted.” Mimi Barbour, Author of The Vicarage Bench Series
“What would you do for someone you Love.”

What reviewers are saying . . .
“I loved the story and you really got a feel for each character . . .  suspenseful and entertaining . . .has an interesting paranormal twist . . .  I loved the story and you really got a feel for each character . . .enjoyable read . . .  intriguing plot . . .  enjoyed the plot pacing and felt that the main characters were real.”

The Captain’s Lady

****RT Book Reviews – Eckhart hits one out of the ballpark with this great story.

A Passionate Tale of Love During the Iraq War

A Father’s Love

By

Lorhainne Eckhart

Illustrated by Sherrill Welz

The Gift – December 24, 1926

“Make sure you and Rose are back before sundown.”

Fourteen-year-old David Lattimer couldn’t contain his excitement, no more than he could hold back a big toothy grin as he waved to his father outside their four-room log cabin. Smoke drifted neatly from the stovepipe into the chilly island air.

David trudged through the damp underbrush wearing three pairs of thick wool socks in his father’s old, loose leather boots. Rose, his ten-year-old sister, dogged his heals as she did every day. Her pigtails stuck out from under the ridiculous wool green hat he’d swear had been a cast off from the poor box. Rose was a tiny sprite of a girl, with freckles and brown eyes, wearing his old brown coat over his too small overalls. She had to roll up the pant legs and stuff the edges into her black boots, which did come from the poor box, to be able to wear them.

Rose skipped ahead of David, swinging her arms.

“Rose, stay behind me. The path’s too narrow up here, and you’re going to be soaked before I find the goose.” He expected her to whine, complain and to argue. However, she surprised the heck out of him when she obediently pulled in behind him on the narrow path in the thick forest, filled with old fir and cedar, on the forty acre parcel owned by his family near Cameron Lake, on Vancouver Island.

David’s longish hair drooped in front of his eyes. He yanked off one of his red wool mitten with his teeth and tucked his thick brown hair under his dark wool cap. He knew it was time for a haircut when his mother teased he was beginning to look like a girl.

Over his left shoulder, David cradled the Winchester ten-gauge single load shotgun. The one bequeathed from Grandfather George. He took his role as big brother seriously, making sure the gun wasn’t pointed at Rose.

David grinned; he still couldn’t believe his father’s surprise this morning. This year, David got to hunt the Christmas Goose. A tradition passed down by his grandfather to his father. He patted his right pocket, double checking the ten spare shell casings were still where he’d put them.

“How far do we have to walk? And where are we going to find the goose?” Rose had such a high-pitched voice, at times chattering non-stop, his poor ears ached from listening to her rattle on. If he didn’t answer her, she’d keep asking.

“We’ll head down towards Cameron Lake. That’s where Dad and I saw a flock of winter geese the other day.”

“But that’s an hour away.” Rose trailed behind, her voice squeaked like a wagon wheel that needed greasing. David was tempted to tell her to go home. But he wanted a goose and knew his father would be angry if Rose went home alone.

“Would you stop complaining? You didn’t have to come.” David walked faster because he knew that’d really piss her off.

A tightly packed snowball slammed into the back of his head, causing David to stumble. He spun around and glared at his stubborn little sister. What stung more, his head or pride, David wasn’t sure. Short, tough and determined, described Rose to a tee. Her lips scrunched up and she looked like a mad little bee. David knew, first hand, her fiery temper would lead her, head on, into a scrap. Why, just last week she sucker punched him with a solid jab to the bridge of his nose and he’d swear he’d bled like a stuck pig. But then, she’d caught him off guard, entirely by surprise, which was a low blow. Even his parents had been furious, but then they didn’t know he’d goaded her by laughing at the silly nickname. The boys at school had cat-called Rose “Sweepy” over and over. And that was all because Mama waved goodbye to Rose, calling her “Sweet Pea” in front of the town kids.

Nevertheless, his daddy drilled into him some hard honourable lessons; no matter what, you don’t hit a girl, ever. Right now he wanted to shoot a goose, not scrap with Rose. So, David swallowed his pride and nearly choked on the hard lump burning his throat. What he did do, was walk faster still. Let her run.

“David, slow down, you’re going too fast. David, aren’t you going to answer me?”

David whipped around so fast Rose bumped into him. “No Rose! Stop it. I’m not going to fight with you. All I want is to find the geese, shoot one and go home. That’s it, and if you’re going to keep talking, you’re gonna scare them away, so be quiet.” He didn’t wait for a response. David hurried through the brush staying on the same familiar trail winding its way down to the lake. To Rose’s credit, she didn’t argue. She let out a huff, closed her mouth and dogged David’s heels again.

They strode lower into the valley. The air was damper, heavier with mist. He knew they were close to the lake. A thick mix of fir, cedar and alder trees surrounded them, forming an umbrella overhead. The overgrown path, which had most likely been created by antelope and deer, led down to their water source. David patted the twin fir. This was the lower part of the trail right before the open grove, not far from the lake.

A glimmer of black flashed from the corner of his eye. He sucked a breath, and then another, before it registered in his head what it was. But by then, his heart had already slammed his throat shut, choking off any reasonable sound while his back broke out in a cold prickly sweat. “Get up a tree!” David somehow managed to croak out the panicked words in a low scratchy voice, sounding nothing like his, even to his own ears.

David swiveled his head between a bundled up Rose, standing frozen as a mouse, and the curious bear cub. Her mouth gaped, her big eyes filling with fear, a poison which raised the hair on the back of David’s neck.

“Back away move slowly toward the tree, hurry, Rose.” She didn’t move. David backed away from the cub and stepped on Rose’s foot. Her breath wheezed, maybe that’s what knocked some sense into her. She grabbed his arm with a shaky hand and moved.

A second cub wandered from behind an old cedar. Rose stumbled. “Get up, Rose.” And she did, just as David somehow boosted her up, so she could grab the first branch. She’d just scampered onto the branch when a low growl split the icy air and crashed through the underbrush. David didn’t know how he did it, but somehow he leaped six feet up onto the first thick branch. Planting his hand on Rose’s butt, he shoved hard. “Faster, go, Rose go! She’s right behind us!”

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Remember to leave a comment and follow this blog to be entered in this giveaway. And have a great time visiting all the other participating blogs. Cheers! Lorhainne Eckhart.

Autism is not a Social Problem

Although times have changed they still have not. Autism has reached epidemic proportions. Advocacy by a few parents, grandparents have ensured some funding and programs for our children. But it’s still not enough.

Families with children with autism are going broke, bankrupt while they struggle to provide medically necessary treatment for their children. While they wade through the frauds, and charlatans who steal their money and dangle hope of miraculous cures.

Lobbying to your local government and state officials. Advocating for your child within your schools and community programs has been started and done by a few courageous parents, grandparents, and this benefits all. But we still have a long way to go. This fight has not come without cost financially, emotionally and physically to those who have stood before the system, the governments, the medical community, to ensure medically necessary treatment is available for all those with Autism Spectrum Disorder. It still by far is not.

I encourage everyone, whether or not you have a child or loved one with autism to stand up and question the services, the funding in your area for those with Autism. To hold your local officials, your government, school accountable for the services provided. To be that voice for the exhausted parent who has nothing left in them to fight for their child. Autism is not a social problem. And it took one parent, many years ago to help the medical community understand that autism is not caused by cold parents but rather a biological disorder, it is an epidemic and the numbers are still skyrocketing. Autism is a range of complex neurodevelopment disorders. Males are four times more likely to have Autism Spectrum Disorder than females.

The child Trevor, who I describe in my novel, The Forgotten Child, suffers from Autism. His symptoms and behavior, communication and social impairment are unique to Trevor. No two children under the Autism Spectrum Disorder are the same, their symptoms, behavior are all different. Credible treatment can never be one size fits all motto. Treatment and programming must be individually tailored for each child, because of how different they are. Success stories from early intervention are all around us, and very real. And credible programming and therapy has a proven track record of success.

Rest assured without a united front, proactive measures to ensure authentic treatment, social programs, funding and services that some communities now have available will disappear, quietly. Its imperative that everyone continue to hold governments, schools, communities accountable so all the hard work that was begun by those few brave parents, grandparents in first, the Anderson case, then the Auton Case, and the other court cases that have followed will not be lost.

The Forgotten Child

He wasn’t looking to love again. But what he got was a woman who shook his lonely bitter world upside down, and touched him in a way no other woman could.

Emily Nelson, a courageous young mother, ends a loveless bitter marriage and strikes out on her own. She answers an ad as a cook and live in caregiver to a three-year-old boy on a local ranch. Ranch owner Brad Friessen hires and moves  in Emily and her daughter. But Emily soon discovers something’s seriously wrong with his boy. And the reclusive difficult man who hired her, can’t see the behavior and how delayed his son is. So Emily researches, until she stumbles across what she suspects is the soft signs of autism. Now she must tell him. Give him hope, and help him come to terms with this neurological disorder—to take the necessary steps to get his child the help he needs.

As their lives become intertwined, it’s unavoidable the attraction—the connection that sparks between them. And just as they’re getting close, Brad’s estranged wife Crystal returns after abandoning them two years earlier. In amongst the shock and confusion there’s one disturbing fact Brad can’t shake. How does she know so much of his personal business, the inner working of the ranch and Emily’s relationship with his son?

Crystal must’ve had a plan as she somehow gains the upper hand, driving a wedge in the emotional bond forged between Brad, Emily and the children. The primary focus for care and therapy of three-year-old Trevor is diverted. The lengths Crystal will go—the lies—the greed, just to keep what’s hers are nothing short of cold and calculating. Emily’s forced out of the house. Brad fights to save  his boy—to protect what’s his. And struggles over his greatest sacrifice—Emily, and the haunting question—has he ultimately lost her forever.

For a list of where this book is being sold please stop by Authors Website

November 13 — Winner of my new release,The Forgotten Child- Sarah. Congratulations!

When Lorhainne Eckhart asked me to write for her blog about what I do for other authors, I was resistant, as I feel uncomfortable talking about myself. Rather than negate something just because it feels uncomfortable, I decided to embrace the opportunity and be grateful that someone should show interest. So, thank You, Lorhainne.

The idea of giving the best you have to others, being all that you can be is the spiritual thread I have followed throughout my life. It has been my guide from earliest years up until the present day. Perhaps it comes from being a member of a large, Irish catholic family where children didn’t tend to receive much personal attention. I was never much good at demanding it in the chaotic, market-place atmosphere of childhood where everyone clamoured for a few scraps. Often, only the loudest voices were heard, the most bullying or demanding, threatening, violent or hysterical. My quiet, reasonable voice was lost amidst the general noise, fighting, and cries of “Look at me, look at me.”

I realised early on that I was in danger of becoming demanding or disappearing completely, as the deep-down sense of, I have no right to exist, became apparent. If a child does not receive what it needs, he or she remains unsatisfied, yearning, always in need of something out of reach.

My childhood was difficult to say the least. I witnessed, and was victim of extreme domestic violence. As a child of two, I was aware of a choice. As I grew, the determination never to degenerate in nature as my father had done filled with me a fervency of belief and spiritual quest. Nor would I lose my soul to the bottle, killing myself slowly as my mother had done – my wits a mental blur, alienated from those who loved me. I watched the madness of childhood, filled with sadness yet holding on to a vision of beauty. I decided to give to others what I could not have myself, whether it was a kind word or piece of recognition. I watched how others responded when I gave from my heart.

I always try to see a thing for what it really is – the truth of it, the beauty behind the clamour, the thing that unites us – whether passion, love, sadness or pain; it is the thing that speaks most deeply to our collective Humanity. Those earliest experiences and on-going learning process shaped me into the person I am now.

The spirit of service is my only religion. I believe in striving to participate in the beauty of the day, even if we only manage to do this for a split second. In those moments, we re-connect to all that is good in us, to the beauty within that raises us above the general clamour, the noise, and the personal, sometimes egomaniacal sense of self-importance.

This spirit made me a healer, a Doctor of Psychotherapy, a social entrepreneur, an environmental campaigner. It took me to Africa during the nineties where I was fortunate enough to work for Oxfam, UNICEF, and World Food Programme. I lived among those who gave their all, in true modesty. The spirit of service was the mucilage that held teams together and enabled us to open our hearts to the suffering of those much less fortunate than ourselves. We were fully alive with the fervent passion of it. I was happy then.

This spirit now makes me a writer. Unfortunately, a bout of malaria triggered Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Some days, I can hardly think or move. The pain in my joints renders me unable to walk. A deep sadness suffocates me and tries to steal my wits. It is a physical depression not generated by any thought I have, or by a denied unconscious. It is, quite simply, an autogenic body response over which, I have little control. Before I suffered it, I never realised how terrible is the illness of depression. Writing saves me. Through it, I find healing. During a particularly bad time, I wrote my current Skyla McFee series. I found Orange Petals in a Storm by escaping into the world of a little girl – pure in heart – who learns to overcome the harshness and cruelty that surrounds her through the miracle that is her creative imagination.

The imagination is a wonderful thing. Through it, I can still participate in the beauty of the world. I can still write my books without fetters or limitations. I can imagine all manner of beauteous things, dance with my soul, and feel the strength of my spirit.

Publishing personal work is not easy, but necessary, as I cannot trundle through lists of literary agents in search of a ‘YES!’ I would find this exercise disempowering. I must keep my sense of volition embodied in the thought that I have some power to move in my world, to express my soul. It is the best I can offer. I cannot wait for permission to do this from an agent and yearn for recognition. This means that publishing my work has its downside. Again, I find myself plunged into a market place where everyone clamours for the same attention. All are writers; few are readers. It is difficult to find my own little corner. Clamouring is not my style. So I do what I have always done: promote other writers by seeing the beauty that unites us – the love of writing, getting the passion onto a page, the unique story, the triumph of the human spirit against all the odds. Obviously, I hope others will read my stories. I hope they realise and recognise my quality as a writer and as a soul trying to express beauty in a world-gone-mad. I hope it is of some value.

Interested readers can find my series of blogs where I feature other authors. On: http://niamhclunewrites.blogspot.com/ I write about unsung, inspirational women. Currently, I am featuring the wonderful best-selling author Pandora Pokilois who knows all about suffering and how writing is such a healing journey.

On the Orangeberry Book Blog, I feature Orangeberry writers. I am the editor and interviewer and I try to capture a writer’s passion and personality that goes into their creations http://theobblog.com

I am an editor and featured author on loveahappyending.com where I also try to bring a bit more of my DR. speak into play by using visualised colour as a metaphor to lead the reader into the writer’s psyche.

And I started the AmritA Publishing Page, where I do author promotions in various ways from short story snippets to helping them build their social network platforms through mutual support. It is an idea based on Paying it Forward! This can be found on Amrita Publishing. Unusually, I am there at the moment on the landing page to publicise my own book launch.

My own books can be viewed on Amazon and Amazon UK 

My web-site is: www.facebook.com/niamhclunesbooks

I can be found on twitter and my Facebook fan page

My video trailer can be viewed on You Tube

Please checkout Niamh Clune’s newest release Orange Petals in a Storm

I encourage everyone to download a copy of this amazing book, on sale for only .99 cents.

Orange Petals in a Storm: A spiritual, inspirational story to feed the soul. In Skyla’s world, we find shelter from every hazard and outlive the longest night.

A bedraggled and bruised eleven-year-old child races through the rain-drenched streets of East London as though the hounds of hell were after her. She tries to reach the home of her childhood, a home that was hers until her mother’s recent death. What becomes of Skyla McFee once she arrives there? From whom does she run?

This is a story about a wonderful child who endures great suffering at the hands of her stepfather. Though she lives in a harsh reality, she evolves spiritually despite, or perhaps because of the hurt she suffers. The magical way she transcends her unbearable life through her inner world transports us into the hauntingly beautiful world of the imagination. Telling you that Skyla triumphs over her situation is not a spoiler – because as you get to know her, you realise there is no other way. She must triumph because of who she is.

About Joseph Rinaldo

Joseph Rinaldo by day works as Credit and Financial Manager for a heating, ventilating, and air conditioning distributor. At night or whenever he can find the time, he writes. When he first started writing, he thought being a numbers guy would make him an oddity as an author. That’s proved to be wrong. The more people he meets in this industry, the more he runs across accountants and CFOs. Apparently, creativity infects a variety of people. Of course, he has the same dream as other writers. He hopes his book sells a million copies and becomes a smash hit movie. A Quote from Joseph: “Selling ebooks isn’t the get-rich-quick scheme I thought it was before being published. It’s been a lot of work.”

Down Syndrome and Public Perception

So many times in my journey as the parent of a child with Down syndrome (now 38 years old), l I have heard people say, “Oh, kids with Down syndrome are so affectionate and loving and want to hug people all the time…..” etc. I am here to tell you that classifying all people with Down as “affectionate and loving” is the same thing as saying all African-Americans love fried chicken and watermelon. It’s preposterous.

People with Down syndrome have one thing in common – an extra chromosome on their 21st pair. That’s pretty much it. Oh, they have similar features, but as to their personalities and behavior, they are as different as people without special needs are.

My daughter is a wonderful, intelligent, funny, confident adult. She is NOT publicly affectionate, and she really considers her personal space her own. If you met her, she would certainly NOT come up and hug you. As a matter of fact, she has a great deal of respect for other people’s personal space as well. I’m not saying she doesn’t love some people – she certainly does love her family and friends. But don’t expect her to love you automatically just because she has an extra chromosome. It ain’t gonna happen. You have to earn her love and respect, just as you would if she didn’t have Down. If would not be any more appropriate for you to hug her than it would be for you to hug any stranger upon meeting them, and you certainly shouldn’t expect a hug from her any more than you would from any other stranger. After I married her mother in 1999, it took nearly a year for her to feel comfortable enough with me to hug me goodnight!

And so, a word to the wise, as I’m sure any other parent of a child or adult with Down would tell you – they are so much more like “us” than like each other. Don’t assume anything about people with Down that you wouldn’t assume with “us”.

Because of my relationship with my daughter and her mother, I have become deeply involved in the community that serves the needs of those with intellectual disabilities. This has made a deep emotional impact on me, and I am inspired to educate others about this population and the gifts they bring to all of us. Several of the books I’ve written (including the two that are currently available on Amazon, A SPY AT HOME and HAZARDOUS CHOICES) have characters with Down syndrome. These characters are far from the stereotype many people have of these folks. They are just people, doing the things people do, feeling the things people feel, and yearning for the things people desire. Living with and writing about a character with Down has given me a much deeper understanding for what these individuals are capable of. It has been a rich experience.

*Joseph Rinaldo

Joseph has two novels available Hazardous Choices and A Spy at Home.

After surviving life in a violent Chicago street gang through his high school years, Darnell Jackson’s future appears promising. A football scholarship gives him the chance to escape the thug lifestyle.

During his first year in college, Darnell safely resides in a small Kentucky town, playing Division Two college football and trying to make something of himself. Adjusting to the new surroundings proves tough, but a teammate and a girl give him hope that his future will be better than his past.

In the summer after his freshman year, he returns to the old neighborhood to be with his mother. The gang reasserts its hold on him, and the leader orders Darnell to kill a member of a rival gang.

Nearly dying in a gang fight, Darnell shoots an enemy gangbanger. This forces Darnell to re-evaluate his future. As a result, he lies to the mercurial leader of his gang, claiming he completed his assignment.

After “doing work” for his gang, Darnell receives permission to head back to school and the security of small-town life.

When the head gangbanger learns of Darnell’s lie, the small Kentucky town isn’t so safe anymore. Available from Amazon

A retired CIA operative comes to believe he wasted his professional life not only promoting questionable American policies, but missing life with his family. To ease the pain he diverts millions that the CIA expected him to use funding a coup attempt that would establish a pro-American government in an African country. Seeing the coup would fail, Garrison decides to save the money for himself. You, the reader, can decide if he’s a villain with evil intent, a hero with altruistic motives, or a regular guy sick of working for peanuts in a dangerous environment.

Back at home he and his wife look forward to their golden years being luxuriously comfortable and opulently relaxed. Unfortunately, after his wife dies in a tragic accident, he must learn all that she knew about caring for Noah, their mentally retarded son. After a life of planning for contingencies, the former spy must deal with the possibility that he may die before his son. Who will care for the son when the dad spent a life out of the country and now has no one to lean on? Available from Amazon.

Joseph can be found on Goodreads, Facebook, Twitter and his Author Website. You’ll also find his books on Orangeberry Book Collective.