Yorker Keith lives in Manhattan, New York City. He holds an MFA in creative writing from The New School. His literary works have been recognized four times in the William Faulkner–William Wisdom Creative Writing Competition as a finalist or a semifinalist.
Posts Tagged ‘writer’
Book Blitz! The Other La Boheme by multi-published author, Yorker Keith
Posted: May 8, 2017 in Blog Tour HostingTags: adult fiction, Amazon, author, BLOG TOUR, book blast, Bookbaby, Dolci Quattro, fiction, fiction novels, Goodreads, literary fiction, novels, The Other La Boheme, writer, writing, Yorker Keith
New Children’s Book Release: Sweet Tales: The Adventures of Brittany and Lace (Giveaway Included!!)
Posted: May 3, 2017 in Blog Tour Hosting, rafflecopterTags: BLOG TOUR, book blast, children's advocate, children's book, children's series, children's stories, fiction, Laurie Hyman, rafflecopter, Sweet Tales, writer

About the Book
Title: Sweet Tales
Author: Laurie Hyman
Genre: Children’s Books
The Adventures of Brittany and Lace, the second book in the Sweet Tales series, is the perfect chapter book or read-out-loud book for animal lovers of all ages! Told from the animals’ point of view, these three charming stories center around Britt the Kit, now a grown-up tabby cat, and a special litter of rescued kittens—Lace, our new co-star destined to be Brittany’s new sister, Coco, who needs a home, Scamp and Willa. Exploring universal themes, with lots of trouble and adventure in between, each story is resolved with determination, love, and understanding. When needed, humans help, along with a colorful group of animal friends. An enjoyable book for the entire family – or anyone who enjoys a good tale!
“An educational adventure story for young animal lovers that delivers justice where it’s deserved.” -Kirkus Reviews
”The overall sense of caring, community, and responsibility for others is palpable throughout.”
–Kirkus Reviews
Cover Credits
Original Art: Belinda DelPesco
Cover Design: Heather Wood
Author Bio
“Writing is my creative outlet,” says Laurie Hyman, author of Sweet Tales: The Adventures of Brittany and Lace. The children’s series is written from the perspectives of cats, dogs, horses, woodchucks, coyotes, squirrels, crows and various other animals. The stories explore universal themes such as family, friends, bullying, animal cruelty, abandonment and rescue, and the environment. These books will appeal to readers of all ages, says Laurie, who comes from a creative family. Her father was a writer and her brother, David Saperstein, wrote the novel on which the hit movie, Cocoon was based.
But her creativity doesn’t begin and end with books. Laurie has extensive experience representing recording artists such as Barry Manilow and working as a producer and program coordinator for film, television, music and video companies. She was assistant producer on Nurse, the acclaimed 1981 CBS network drama starring Michael Learned and Robert Reed. Laurie also associate produced Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles—Coming Out of Their Shells, a documentary about the making of the live musical tour based on the hit movies and TV series.
Laurie Hyman is passionate about the creative process, which she finds fascinating and fulfilling. She has also worked extensively as a senior health care advocate and she developed the Health Navigator Program for ReServe Inc. where she supervised several volunteers for NYC hospitals. She also volunteered as an advocate for the American Red Cross, March of Dimes, and MRC (Medicare Rights Center) in health care and senior care advocacy. She currently lives in New York State with her husband Micky and their two cats Maggie and Lily.
Connect with Laurie: www.redskypresents.com
Enter the giveaway at rafflecopter:
CLICK HERE
Book Excerpts
Excerpt: Pet Rescue
The kitten, now fully awake and alert, tilted her head, questioning where the woman was going. As they studied one another, the young cat’s eyes turned a deeper shade of green.
Love knew at that moment that this was her ‘Lace’. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back for you.”
Now Love was angry. “This is criminal!” she hissed to her husband, “I thought they were so cute, lying in a pile like that, but now I know it’s not cute at all! They’re huddled that way to try and stay warm! It’s cruel. They’re obviously sick and miserable!”
“I think you’re right, Love. Let’s get out of here.”
When the couple left, the kittens quickly huddled together in a tight circle.
“Do you think they’ll come back?” asked the white one.
“I think so,” said the tiger tomcat. “And I bet they take you out of here. As for the rest of us, who knows?”
“You’ll all be fine,” barked the yellow Lab pup from his cage on the shelf across from the kittens’ case. “I’m Bert. I’m from the same farm as you. We were all supposed to go to the animal hospital last week when we left the farm, but then the truck stopped for some reason. A bunch of us pups and your litter were taken off and we got moved to another truck and brought here. This place is diseased and filthy. That’s why we’re all getting sick.”
“What does sick mean?” asked the grey kitten. The poor little thing sneezed and fell over.
“It means we need to get rescued quickly or no one will want to give us a proper home. But, I believe those people are going to save us,” said the pup with certainty.
Excerpt – Discovering Snow
Brittany was very special to Lace. She had graciously accepted Lace into her home with Love and Man. Lace had since learned that Britt the Kit had also saved her father Sky when he was just a kitten.
An evergreen tree branch hit the kitchen bay window. The kitten jumped on to the ledge and looked outside.
“Wow, everything is so white! Just like me! It must be? Yesss! It’s SNOW. Now I understand why Papa called me Snow.” The white kitten got chills all over her body. “Snow is all white and pretty like me! I want to touch and feel it,” Lace whispered.
The kitten ran over to the cat door which was part of the kitchen door of their house. She placed her paw on the clear plastic door and pushed. “Ah, it’s open.” Her folks had forgotten to lock it before they went to sleep. “Should I?” Lace knew it was the wrong thing to do, but she was so curious about the snow falling just a short distance away in their backyard. “Yes, I’ll chance it. Just, for a few minutes.” She took a deep breath and slipped through the flapping door.
Once outside, Lace ran to the snow and placed her paw on the sparkling white powder. “Oooo, it’s cold, like Mama said. Ah, it melts, too.” Cautiously she moved out from under the covered porch and jumped up onto the stone wall that ran the length of their home.
As the snow gently fell on the kitten, she began to purr. It was cold, but pleasant. It landed on the top of her head and body. “So this is snow. I like it.”
Excerpt – The Mission
As the cats waited patiently for their treats, Brittany leaned over to her sister and whispered, “Lace, I have to go out to the woodshed later and meet Nathanial, Henry, and a coyote named Eva.
“It turns out the wild pack of dogs Henry let out of the abandoned house are still roaming the area. We now know they are controlled by the ‘pet store guy’. He feeds and houses them so they do his bidding.”
“What’s bidding, Britt?” asked the pretty white kitten.”
“It means the dogs do whatever he asks. The man feeds and houses the dogs, and in return they kidnap innocent animals for him to sell.”
“Can I go with you?” asked Lace, already knowing what the answer would be.
“Not this time. The weather may be bad. It’s just supposed to be a quick meeting. A plan is being put into place to deal with the ‘pet store guy’ and the pack of dogs. I haven’t been told any details. All I know is they want me to be part of it. That’s what I’m going to find out tonight.
“Wow, isn’t that dangerous? I’m scared for you, Brittany.”
“I am too, kiddo. I’ve never done anything this serious before,” Britt answered and let out a deep sigh, wondering what she was going to be asked to do.
Lace instinctively hissed and puffed out. Her tail bushed and swished back and forth. “No, don’t do it. I have a bad feeling. Stay out of this pleeease, Britt. Let someone else do it. Let Henry do it! He caused this when he let the dogs out. I want you safe!” The kitten hissed. Lace had once again doubled in size and now weighed close to four pounds. She was still sweet, but was also turning into a strong, fierce, young cat.
Spoonful Chronicles Launch: Excerpts Included
Posted: April 27, 2017 in Blog Tour Hosting, excerptTags: adult fiction, Amazon, author, BLOG TOUR, book blast, Elen Ghulam, fiction, fiction novels, new release, novels, Spoonful Chronicles, women's fiction, writer

About the Book
Title: Spoonful Chronicles
Author: Elen Ghulam
Genre: Women’s Fiction
Thaniya Rasid grew up in the Middle East dreaming of becoming a surgeon. Now living an ordinary life as a mother, wife and a hospital lab tech in Vancouver, Canada, she garners unexpected fame as youTube’s Queen of Hummus when her video demonstrating the recipe goes viral. How could blending chickpeas in a food processor generate so much excitement? And how could her life have ended up so far away from all her expectations?
To make sense of the unlikely events that have brought her to this place, Thaniya turns to food, curating memorable eating experiences of her life, searching for clues. Between her childhood aversion to cucumbers, her search for an authentic Iraqi kubeh in the city of Jerusalem, her 10-year tomato wars with her husband Samih, a mood altering encounter with a blood pudding in Edinburgh, and a Kafkaesque nightmare involving a cauliflower, Thaniya unravels repeated patterns occurring in her life. The secrets of love, friendship and destiny hidden in her cauldron of mishmashed cultures begin to reveal themselves.
Between lust and disgust there is a thin line. Spoonful Chronicles is the beguiling story of one woman taking hold of her fate by uncovering the clandestine geography of this divide in her heart.
Author Bio
My name is Elen. I am an Iraqi-Canadian. Please allow me to tell you a story of a curious event that happened to me. I was a perfectly happy computer programmer doing the nerdy stuff that computer programmers do. You know! Geeky stuff. Like the normal stuff that an Iraqi-Canadian would do if they worked as a computer programmer. When one day, out of nowhere, the inspiration to write hit me over the head. It came at me fast and furious and turned my life topsy turvy. I was always an avid reader. Ok I was a bookish geek. But the idea that I would try to write never even occurred to me, until the violent incident with the muse. Since then I have published a memoir called “Don’t Shoot! … I Have Another Story to Tell You“. Which Was followed by a novel called Graffiti Hack. That one tells the story of a hacker who installs lavish graphical designs on commercial websites. Imagine the trouble she gets in? Well I had to. I was writing the story, so I had to imagine every last bit. A third novel is on it way. I don’t know where all these ideas come from, they just pop in my head and I write them down. In addition to writing, I am a flamenco dancer, I enjoy painting and I love to cook. Somehow all these activities inspire each other.
I am a married mother of three, living in a pink house in Vancouver BC
Really I just love telling stories and I love listening to stories.
Links
www.ihath.com
https://twitter.com/ElenGhulam
https://www.facebook.com/ElenGhulamAuthor
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCOKZboCaeSr9tSzXXZm-Ugg
Book Excerpts
Excerpt 1:
It came to me gradually. In spatters and smudges. Like a Jackson Pollock painting. Splash here. Drip there. Seems accidental. You stand back and look. The horror of the furtive activity attacks you. My name should be Sabbah. Nobody ever said this within my earshot. It was a little niggling suspicion. A faint whisper in my head. It grew and multiplied. Now it is a scream. I know it in my toes. I feel it in the frazzled ends of my hair. I never dared ask directly. It is as obvious as the sun in the sky. I should be sitting here, declaring to you proudly that my name means morning in Arabic. A name that implies light, brightness, the first call to prayer of the day and the cock-a-doodle-doo of a proud rooster breaking dawn. Since my sister’s name means night in our language, I have surmised my parents worried about the negative connotation that would be assigned to her in relation to me. Imagine my parents introducing us to their friends:
And here are our daughters: Night and Day.
They are as different as light and darkness.
People might have sniggered at the too matchy matchy extremes.
“Oh you called your daughters Night and Morning,” those with comedic aspirations would have continued. “If you have a third daughter you should call her Noon.”
Instead I have this nothing name. It reeks relativity without embodying substance. My name is Thaniya.
Excerpt 2:
“Hello, pleasure to meet you.” I was disappointed to hear him speak in English. I replied in Arabic: “It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”
Rafid paused and then switched to Arabic. “Affirmative. It has been my forefather, who has furnished me with voluminous tales about her, which is your forefather. It is now that I see, I feel knowledge for her family even though your face I only see now.” His Arabic was a code red disaster zone. He had inverted the feminine with masculine pronoun, his accent was terrible, his diction most ridiculous. In that first ten seconds of meeting him I realized that I could never share a life with somebody who spoke so poorly. If this had been a comedy show, a fifth grader would be peeing himself laughing right now. I had given him a test and he had failed in the most spectacular manner possible.
Rafid was slim, tall, clean-shaven, dark and handsome, stylishly dressed in a sky-blue cotton shirt and black slacks. Everybody in the room was clamoring to grab his attention. He sat confidently on a chair in the middle of the living room, gesturing elegantly with his index finger when he spoke. He listened attentively when spoken to, placing the fingers of his hand gently against his cheek. He was altogether the prince of any young woman’s dream. Except when he addressed me; then his atrocious Arabic had turned him into a Shrek-like green ogre.
Excerpt 3:
Every morning, no matter how hectic my schedule, I wake up early to prepare a pot of coffee. I pour the black liquid into a see-through glass cup. Then I add milk one drop at a time. I watch milk drops lazily swirl around in my cup. I never mix my coffee with a spoon. I just sit there and watch two extremes doing a gentle dance together. A blob of white rises to the top, then it is elegantly pushed into halves. The blackness of the coffee caresses and sways. Whiteness pushes blackness away and then takes hold of it wanting to conquer it. “You are mine,” whispers whiteness. “You can never conquer the idea of me,” responds blackness.
Slow.
Playful.
Passionate.
I finally take a sip. My coffee is smooth. It flows over my tongue like honey. It gives me hope. Opposites don’t have to come with jagged edges and sharp sudden starts. One day, I will learn to dance like milk in a cup of coffee. Without a stir. No violent mixing shall occur. Flavours mixing at will, giving of their sweetness gently.
Milk unmixed in coffee is at least a possibility.
Excerpt 4:
Just yesterday a patient shrieked with delight when I entered her room: “Oh My God! I can’t believe it. Hummus lady!”
I was taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“You are hummus lady, in the video. You saved my marriage.” The skinny young woman looked at me with awe as if I was a deity of some sort. This understuffed scarecrow told me that she had married an Egyptian. They had been fighting for months. Finally, he told her it was over and walked away. She accidentally found my video on YouTube and decided that instead of eating a tub of ice-cream, she would make a tub of hummus. When her husband came home to pick up his things, he encountered the plate of hummus. One taste led to another. His wife found him licking the plate clean. She sat down at the table without a word. Her husband began to cry. “This tastes exactly like the hummus I used get in the public market of Alexandria,” he told her. They talked things over. Cried together. And decided to fight to stay together. Experts might tell you that a marriage should be based on respect and shared values. But if you listen to Thaniya Rasid, you would forgo all that and entrust your life partnership to a flatulence-inducing legume. I suppose marriages have been based on shakier ground. This must be the mushiest. “Why don’t you make more videos?” asked the woman.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure cooking is my forte.”
“Oh it is, it is, there is magic in these hands!” She grabbed both my hands as if rubbing invisible lotion into her own hands.
I wanted to tell her: “Leave your husband, he’s an asshole.” But instead, I grabbed her chart and focused on the medical task at hand.
Excerpt 5:
You know what shakshuka is, right?
It’s a favorite among students, bachelors and those that don’t know how to cook and those who can’t be bothered to cook. In short, shakshuka is the Middle East’s version of Kraft Dinner. Unlike mac and cheese out of a box, it is a dish you will continue to crave years past your student days and many clicks after the honeymoon of your marriage turns into mustard-sun.
The shakshuka wars started in my household on the fifth week of my marriage and have spanned ten years, traveled to two continents and have yet to reach a peaceful resolution.
It all started when, after returning from our honeymoon, Samih decided to make shakshuka for dinner one night.
I took one bite and screwed up my face. “This shakshuka is all wrong!” A rather arrogant proclamation from somebody who didn’t know how to boil an egg.
“Wrong how?” Samih smiled, bemused, the way you would be entertained with a cute three year old saying a four-letter word that they didn’t understand. I hate it when Samih treats me in a patronizing way.
“It’s too oniony,” I said in the same tone I might have used to say “Smoking causes cancer.”
“You just don’t know what shakshuka is supposed to taste like, that’s all.” Samih tore a piece of pita bread. Folded it to create a scoop. Drenched the bread in the tomato massacre on his plate. Placed the dripping bundle into his mouth. “I bet the taste of tomato with the eggs seems unfamiliar, you’re probably used to scrambled eggs instead,” Samih said with a full mouth. Bits of masticated poached egg stained red flashed behind his teeth with each chew.
“I know the difference between shakshuka and scrambled eggs. I know how it’s supposed to taste and this tastes wrong!” I placed my fork down and pushed my plate away.
“I am certain your mother never made shakshuka.” You know an argument is going sideways when your mother gets mentioned.













