Monthly Archives: April 2014
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Guest Post from Benjamin Dancer
Bringing Authors into the Classroom
I teach writing to high school students. But I don’t see myself as a high school teacher. My job, as I see it, is to mentor young people as they come of age.
I’m an Advisor at Jefferson County Open School in Lakewood, Colorado. I’m the English teacher. But the kids in my classroom are looking for more than English. They’re looking for meaning. They’re looking for something real.
Right now I’m teaching The Omnivores Dilemma by Michael Pollan. I use the text to teach the kids to read. I use the ideas in the book to teach them to think. And the story Pollan tells about food…I use that as a guide for our own educational adventures in the food chain. Like Pollan does in the book, we visit farms. Food markets. I bought the kids McDonalds then drove them to a feedlot with a 100,000 head of cattle that filled our nostrils with the stench of feces and urine. The poop was piled twenty feet high by tractors. The cows were covered in it up to their spines. Our lungs were singed from the ammonia.
I had the kids eat the burgers and take it all in.
Later in the semester I had the students interview their oldest living relatives. Out of that interview, the students brought traditional recipes to class, and we prepared meals together.
This week we’re discussing the ethics of eating. I have them justify it: their choice to eat, which is to say their choice to kill. I do this because I want them to be on solid moral ground. I do this because I want their bodies to be well.
Why? Because I’m their English teacher. It’s my job.
I also facilitate a writers’ group. Because I believe kids need mentors (more than just me), I partner with Lighthouse Writers Workshop, a Denver based community, to bring local authors into my classroom.
We meet at lunch every Wednesday, the writers’ group. This is a very committed group of writers (some students have graduated and still participate in the group via email from college). They take their writing seriously and provide one another with thoughtful, constructive feedback.
Once a month, we have a guest author. The guest author actually reads the week’s submission and critiques it, along with the rest of us. Imagine being seventeen years old and having your story critiqued by a published author.
After the critique session, we invite any interested student in the school to a craft talk with the author. After which, the kids get an opportunity to interact more openly. They get to ask questions about the writing process. About inspiration. About how to get published.
What’s really happening is that relationships are being developed. This is the secret to education. They can pass any law they want at the state or at the federal level. They can mandate testing. Or they can sell our schools to corporate enterprises. None of that will fix the problem we have with education in America.
Because the answer is this: teaching is about relationships. Kids need mentors. It’s that simple. They learn from the people they trust.
What happens in this guest author program is magical. Kids begin to see themselves as writers. They develop authentic relationships with authors in the community. They have consultants.
At my school, every student completes a Career Exploration Passage. It’s one of six rites of passages each student undertakes to graduate from high school. In the Career Exploration Passage, as the title indicates, students explore a career. The project involves an internship, research, consultants, a series of interviews, a resume. And eventually the student maps out a path to his or her chosen field.
The beauty of the curriculum at the Open School is that the students I work with get to consult with actual professionals. They get to interview our guest authors and develop relationships that will last long after high school is over.
To make all this work I went to our school’s Parent Teacher Student Organization (PTSO) and asked for $50 a month to bring local authors into the classroom. The parents on PTSO generously supported the program, and they also asked me to consider ways to raise money to pay for it.
It was a reasonable request on their part, responsible even, but I had to think about it. What could I do to help support my own program?
Meanwhile, I went to Lighthouse Writers Workshop and told them what our PTSO was willing to do. Lighthouse generously matched my school’s contribution.
So we had $100 a month to bring local authors into the school. Not much. But money communicates value. By paying authors what we can, we let them know that we value their profession. Their work. Moreover, writers are hungry, and, so far, the guest authors have been grateful for the gig.
This week we’re hosting Caleb Seeling, the publisher at Conundrum Press. Caleb also writes graphic novels.
Then it finally came to me a few weeks ago: how to raise money for the program. I had a book release pending for my literary thriller Patriarch Run. It occurred to me that I could donate the April proceeds to PTSO and, in that way, raise money to support the guest author program at the Open School.
Which is what we’re doing. It’s a good book. It’s a good cause. And we’d welcome your support.
If you’d like to know more about our amazing school (there have been many books written about it), let me know. And if you’d like to learn more about me or my stories, you could drop me a line about that, too.
Thank you for finding me,
Benjamin Dancer
About:
Benjamin is an Advisor at Jefferson County Open School where he has made a career out of mentoring young people as they come of age. He wrote the novels PATRIARCH RUN, IN SIGHT OF THE SUN and FIDELITY. He also writes about parenting and education.
Patriarch Run s a thoughtful and character driven literary thriller.
Billy discovers that his father might be a traitor, that he was deployed to safeguard the United States from a cyberattack on its military networks. After that mission, his father disappeared along with the Chinese technology he was ordered to steal–a weapon powerful enough to sabotage the digital infrastructure of the modern age and force the human population into collapse.
Against a backdrop of suspense, the story explores the archetypal themes of fatherhood, coming of age and self-acceptance through a set of characters that will leave you changed.
Amazon Review:
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful
A masterful work both compelling and beautiful
By Emily Giles on March 20, 2014
Format: Kindle Edition Amazon Verified Purchase
Patriarch Run opens on the gruesome scene of a recent bombing, with a man who doesn’t know who he is. We learn his name, and the reader is swept along as Jack evades capture by a multitude of determined pursuers including American and Chinese agencies. What makes the situation even more tense is that Jack, because he remembers almost nothing of his past, does not know what he has done. Neither is he sure who–if anyone–is on his side. Because his instincts are those of a trained and hardened Special Forces operative, it becomes clear that his ability to remember his past actions is critical. We are as blind to his past as Jack himself is, and as we witness Jack’s actions–at turns ruthless and unexpectedly kind–we struggle to determine if Jack is a good guy or a bad guy. During his fast-paced run from would-be captors, his life becomes entangled with those of the wife and son he deserted years ago. What makes the plotline thrilling is the action that keeps us on the edge of our seat. What makes the title transcendent of the genre of thriller is the book’s wisdom, compassion and heart. Never have I read a book simultaneously as thrilling and as beautiful. The characters have complexity and guts. The storyline has depth, creativity, and social relevance. The prose is starkly beautiful. As I read the book, I found myself comparing Benjamin Dancer to writers of such popularity and stature as Tom Clancy, Cormac McCarthy and John Steinbeck.
Excerpt from Patriarch Run:
Rachel never rode over the summit of the mountain because of the treacherous nature of that trail. It was against all rational judgement that she found herself on it now. At tree line the horse climbed over the ridge, stepped out of the spruce forest and onto the packed scree that made up the trail from there to the tundra. The mountainside below them gave way completely to granite cliffs.
The trail snaked along the top.
At the highest point among the cliffs, with nearly a thousand feet of empty space beneath the hooves of Old Sam, Rachel spotted two figures several hundred yards in the distance. She talked to the horse. Said she couldn’t be sure, but it looked to be a man and a bristlecone pine.
The horse walked on.
“Watch your step, Old Sam.”
As they closed the distance, Rachel recognized him and saw that he was untying a rope from the gnarled tree.
“You couldn’t have picked a better view.”
Regan had looked at her once when he first heard the hooves on the scree, then he went back to his rope. Now he looked up at her face. Looked the horse over. Then he studied her eyes. She had divined his purpose.
He looked away. “Yeah, it’ll do.”
The two knew each other, but had rarely had cause to speak.
“I don’t mean to meddle, but it seems to me that the rope is ill conceived.”
Regan finished retying the rope to the tree, tested the knot and asked, “How so?”
“Too much length, and the wind, along with your own momentum, will lacerate your flesh against the rock.”
He looked over the edge. “That occurred to me as you were coming up. I shortened the rope.”
“Not enough length, and it’ll be slow and painful.”
He studied the coil of parachute cord on the ground and said with very little inflection. “It looks about right to me.” Then he walked over to a granite boulder.
“Seems you’ve thought it through.”
He sat down and pulled off his right boot. “We’ll see.”
Rachel reached behind her and took out a water bottle. Drank. She offered the bottle to Regan with a gesture.
He put out his lower lip and shook his head almost imperceptibly.
She capped it and put it back.
“Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.” He pulled off the other boot.
“Why the rope and the cliff?”
“Coyotes.”
“I don’t follow.”
“When I was a kid, coyotes killed my dog. I heard the fight, but by the time I found her in the dark, they were already feeding on her guts.” He took off both socks and stood up. “They pulled her insides out through her anus.” He stepped over to the precipice and surveyed the valley.
“How old were you?”
“Six.”
Rachel nodded her head, which he didn’t see.
“With only the rope or only the cliff, I’d be left for the coyotes.”
“But this way it’s only insects and birds.”
He spun to face her, his widened eyes betraying surprise–or maybe alarm.
“Birds always eat the eyeballs first,” she continued. “Must be a delicacy to them. The insects just want a womb for their maggots. A nutrient-rich source to give their young a good start.”
Regan fidgeted with the socks in his hands.
“You could’ve picked a high branch.”
He looked distracted, as if he was still digesting the other image. “I thought of that.” He walked over to his boots, unbuttoning his silk shirt.
“Yeah.”
“A bear could cut the rope.”
“It seems you’ve thought it through.”
He took off his shirt, folded it and set it on a rock. “We’ll see.”
Rachel looked back over the trail. “Well, I best be goin’.”
“OK.”
She turned the horse, “Those are some fancy clothes.”
“Yeah.” He took off his belt. “The boots alone cost me eleven hundred dollars, and that was before tax.”
“I suppose it’s fitting.”
“It seemed that way to me, too, down at the house. But after being up here, I don’t think so.”
“How so?”
He wasn’t looking at her anymore. “I think I’ll be more comfortable without them.”
“What are you going to do with those eleven hundred dollar boots?”
He carried the clothes over to the bristlecone tree, put the boots on top of the folded shirt, the socks inside the boots and the belt around the boots. “Come back and get ’em if you like.”
“Well, I best be gettin’ along.”
“Ok.”
“You know my place?”
“I know it.”
“We’ll be sittin’ down for supper around six. Sirloin and potatoes. If you have a mind to, you’re welcome to stop by.”
He picked up the loose end of the parachute cord and started tying a hangman’s noose. “I appreciate that.”
Convincing Constance (The Blow-Hole Boys) Release Day Blitz & Giveaway
Excerpt:
Turned out Gary Steele from Music Line did have a job for me. I almost lost my shit when he said Blow Hole was looking for a replacement guitarist to finish their tour with them. Fucking Blow Hole! As in some of my favorite music to play.
I knew the chords to their songs better than any other band. I liked their sound and I’d always been able to pick up their pace right away. I could hardly believe my luck. So when he told me they wanted me to come to their condo in Los Angeles to audition, I was all over that shit.
I called Shay to bring me some gas money, told her why I needed it, listened to her scream on the other line, and then I drove entirely too fast to the address Gary gave me. I pulled up around the corner and changed my clothes in the backseat of my car before going inside the massive building the boys lived in.
When I finally made it to the top floor, I stood in front of the door and convinced myself that ringing the doorbell was the best thing I could do no matter how badly my nerves were jumping around. I’d never auditioned before since I’d never played for any other reason than I loved it, and I couldn’t lie. I was scared.
When I finally worked up the nerve, I reached out and rang the doorbell. I stood there waiting for someone to answer the door, but no one came. I rang the bell once more, and the door opened quickly.
“Can I help you?” It was Finn, the lead singer.
Everyone who loved music knew who Finn was. His voice was soulful. When he sang, he put so much emotion behind it you could almost believe he was living his lyrics. He was raspy and deep, and I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive.
He was taller in person, and honestly, I expected more muscles, but that didn’t take away from his eyes or those lips that girls seemed to get wet over. He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. A black shirt with cut-off sleeves covered his chest yet revealed his tatted arms, and a pair of drawstring sweats hung from his hips with loose ties that brought my eyes to his crotch.
Quickly, I looked back up at him and my cheeks turned red when his expression told me he’d caught me looking. Turning away, I adjusted my guitar case and shook the thoughts from my head. I wasn’t one to get star struck… ever, but Finn was the real deal.
Looking back up at him, the question in his eyes told me I needed to speak or he was going to close the door in my face.
“I’m here for the audition.” My voice cracked and I wanted to slap myself.
I needed to snap out of it.
I adjusted the guitar strap on my shoulder to show him I wasn’t messing around.
“You’re kidding, right?” His right brow popped up in challenge.
I didn’t have time for the whole females can’t play bullshit I knew was coming. So I went in for the kill.
“Do I look like I’m kidding? Is the word jokester tattooed across my forehead? Yes, I’m a chick. I have tits and a clit, but I have bigger balls than any man you know, and I can play the fuck out of a guitar. Now are you going to keep wasting my time, or are you going to invite me in to play?”
His mouth popped open in a wide, shocked smile. Then he chuckled to himself and stepped aside.
“Then by all means, come in.”
The space was sleek and clean considering it was the home of a bunch of rockers. Abstract red-and-black paintings of different instruments covered white walls, and the place smelled like pot and beer.
The place was huge. I followed behind Finn through three sets of doors until we were in a sitting room, and then I set my guitar case on the counter that split the living room from the kitchen.
A white, leather sectional filled the room. Eyes stared back at me as I entered behind Finn and instantly I recognized the drummer, Chet, and the bass player, Tiny. Finn left the room, leaving me in a silent uncomfortable moment.
Taking a seat on the edge of the couch, I kept my bitch face on. Chet grinned at me from across the room and nodded at me as he licked his lips. His tongue piercing clicked against his teeth. He was the colorful one of the group. Tattoos and piercings everywhere. I did, however, seriously dig his fauxhawk.
I’d been looking at him too long, and he was enjoying the attention. He was definitely the playboy of the group. I’d heard the rumors about him and how he stuck his cock in anything wet. I rolled my eyes and turned my head, and then my eyes connected with the bass player’s.
Tiny’s name was a joke considering there was nothing small about the man. He was huge. His thick tattooed arms were crossed. A look of absolutely no tolerance was plastered on his face. Quiet and mysterious was his game. Every band had one, and I usually dealt best with them, but something about the way he looked at me made me feel nervous.
His dark-brown hair was buzzed short and faded into a set a sideburns that melted into his light mustache and goatee. My eyes shifted to his lips and again, I wanted to slap myself. It was unlike me to even notice the things I’d noticed since I stepped into the den of sin, also known as the home of Blow Hole, and I wasn’t about to let the disgusting pheromones that lingered in the air get to me.
Tiny’s dark, angry eyes dug into mine and I suddenly felt exposed. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair to make sure I had no strays poking out, and then I turned away from him. Even without looking at him, I could feel his gaze in the side of my face. I didn’t like it.
Just when I was close to telling him off, Finn came back into the room and crashed onto the couch. Behind him, Zeke, the lead guitarist, came limping in. A cast covered his picking hand and instantly I felt for him. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not be able to play. He looked at me in confusion as he sat down.
As far as I was concerned, Zeke was one of the best guitarists I’d ever heard. His technique was unusual, but the sounds that came from his strings were amazing. I’d practiced his sound since the first time I’d heard them play on the radio. I’d once see them from afar in concert at a bar in Los Angeles, but the boys were playing bigger venues these days.
“So where’s the replacement guitarist? Zeke asked in aggravation.
The room filled with laughter like I was a joke, and it pissed me off. I stood and crossed my arms to show them I wasn’t dicking around.
“That would be me,” I said sternly.
Zeke looked me up and down without a drop of sexual awareness in his gaze, and I appreciated the fact that he was simply sizing me up, not checking me out. It probably had something to do with the petite blond that had followed him into the room.
“Is that so?” he asked.
He was acting cocky, and honestly, he had every right to be.
“Yep. Want me to play or what?” I asked.
Everything depended on this job and while I knew some would call me stupid for being such a bitch, I knew the boys would appreciate it. I’d been a part of their world before. I knew all about the girls that chased rockers around with their legs open. I was sure it was refreshing to have a woman in their presence who didn’t drool all over them. I’d definitely checked them out, but I wasn’t the drooling type. Not to mention, I knew band boys weren’t for me—at all.
Zeke looked around the room at the rest of the guys. “Is this some kind of joke?” he asked.
Again, the boys burst out in laughter, which did nothing but make me madder.
“It’s not a fucking joke. Quit being a chauvinistic asshole. Either you want me to fucking play or not. Say something and quit wasting my goddamn time,” I snapped.
His stern expression cracked into an appreciative smile. “Then play,” he said with a careless shrug.
Stepping over to my guitar case, I flipped it open and pulled out my baby. It was a candy apple-red Les Paul from my dad. I barely played it, but I thought of this audition as a special occasion. The boys of Blow Hole didn’t need to see my normal guitar.
I strapped it on, took a deep breath, and began to play. My fingers dug into the strings and I closed my eyes and let go of everything. Rips and grinds filled the condo, bouncing off the walls and shaking the windows. I mimicked Zeke’s playing perfectly. I even ripped through his unique chords that other guitarist seemed to have a hard time with.
I played an entire song and no one stopped me. When I was done, I unhooked my strap and set my guitar back in its case. The room around me was silent, and when I looked up, looks of shock stared back at me.
The only girl in the room, the tiny blonde with ice-blue eyes, began to clap.
“That was amazing!” she said with a smile.
I nodded at her compliment and turned my attention back to Zeke. He stared at me with angry eyes. That was his thing. I don’t think I’d ever seen a real smile from him ever.
“What did you say your name was again?” he asked.
“I didn’t. No one bothered to ask. My name’s Constance,” I responded.
He looked around the room and then back at me. The side of his mouth lifted in an almost grin. “Well, Constance, welcome to Blow Hole.”
BUY LINKS:
AMAZON US: Convincing Constance (The Blow -Hole Boys)
AMAZON UK: Convincing Constance (The Blow-Hole Boys)
Blow Hole Lyrics:
“The Addict”
The addiction you bring
It’s more than I can stand
Feeling your soulful depth
Why can’t you understand?
Bound by sick desires
Reaching for your sin
Body breathing fire
And I can’t let you in
Chorus:
Drugs don’t fail me now
For she’s forever gone
Despising all her strength
Against all that I’ve done wrong
Numb my aching heart
I’ll never be brand new
Finding who I am
In the high that comes from you
I’m addicted to your smile
Withdrawals and frowns are me
Knocked down and I am vile
While you’re forever free
Needing you right here
Jonesing for a dose
Panic turns to fear
Longing for your ghost
Chorus:
Drugs don’t fail me now
For she’s forever gone
Despising her strength
Against all that I’ve done wrong
Numb my aching heart
I’ll never be brand new
Finding who I am
In the high that comes from you
Links:
Twitter – @tabathavargo
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AMAZON FREEBIES
(MAKE SURE TO CHECK THAT BOOKS ARE STILL FREE BEFORE YOU ONE CLICK)
Shattered Promises (Shattered Promises, #1)
Brightest Kind of Darkness: Book 1
Forbidden Forest (The Legends of Regia)
The Girl in the Box Series, Books 1-3: Alone, Untouched and Soulless
Three of a Kind: Tales of Luck, Chance & Misfortune
Deep Into the Game (Book 1) (S. W. Tanpepper’s GAMELAND)
The Dead Road: Vol. 1 – Isolation
Project ELE (ELE Series #1) (The ELE Series)
The Woodlands (The Woodlands Series)
Heartkeeper (Heartkeeper Saga)
The Key (The True Reign Series)
Wicked Hunger (Someone Wicked This Way Comes)
Rumors (A Lingering Echoes Novella)
Burden of Sisyphus (Brink of Distinction)
After: First Light (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 0)
A Wild Night’s Encounter : Friend Zone 1
Surrender (Surrender – Book 1)
Chase (#1) Erotic Romance (Power Players Series)
Voices of the Soul (Soul Seers #1)
Heart You (Roommate Romance #1)
S.E. MEYER PROMOTION & RAFFLECOPTER GIVEAWAY
Book One: Origins
John Mitchell’s life in the small Midwestern town of Mill City Wisconsin is about to change forever. The animals in his lab at the Neuro Science Research center suddenly die, he learns gut wrenching news about his wife of ten years and the most important meeting of his career gets canceled when his boss mysteriously disappears.
After accidentally injecting himself with a serum made from the instructions scribed on a seven-thousand-year-old artifact John discovers he has new abilities and new blood-chilling enemies. He and his wife Jenny are soon running for their lives from the terrifying figures that will stop at nothing to protect the serum’s seven-thousand-year-old secret and retrieve the artifact needed to finish their plans.
On the run and searching for answers they are thrown into a world of ancient secrets, esoteric mysteries and a clandestine underground race when they become trapped in a cavern deep under the ruins of ancient Babylon. As millions of people around the world suddenly begin disappearing they learn the horrific news of the inevitable extinction of the Human Race.
Origins
*
BOOK TWO: THE CROSSING
Under the shadow of an ominous, double solar eclipse, Earth as we know it is changing forever…
In a horrific world, where natural disasters are commonplace and food is as scarce as the hopes and dreams of the few who have survived, John Mitchell must find the courage, and the strength, to overcome his personal demons, and possibly the Devil himself.
Circumventing radical religious extremists who believe it to be Armageddon while battling Braedon, the clock, and his own broken heart, John must find a way to complete the seemingly impossible task of saving the woman he loves, Earth, and the billions of tortured souls locked deep within it.
From the Amazon best-selling author of ORIGINS.
The Crossing, Part II of the new thought provoking series, takes us on a journey even deeper into the controversial, yet compelling, world of what we think we know to be true.
The Crossing: Part II Of The ORIGINS Series
S.E. Meyer’s was kind enough to give away three ebook bundles of both books 1 and 2! This giveaway is open to USA and international. It will run through 4/5/2014. Please click the link to get to the rafflecopter. Thank you!
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New Release from Clean Teen Publishing
EXCERPT FROM MOONFLOWER:
Seattle, Washingtonmy sleep, evoking demons as they crept over me, pressing down, tangling around
my arms, my legs, my neck. I struggled to open my eyes. To move. To breathe.
Panic swelled. Twisting and thrashing, I battled to break free. The shadows
turned to vapor, and it was my mother who held me now, clutching me to her bloody
body as we huddled together. Her ragged, uneven breath feathered across the
back of my neck.
lullaby.
his heavy boots dripping snow on the oak floor. His eyes were cold, vacant, a
rifle tight in his hands. He advanced, yelling Siberian curses that fell from
his lips like hissing snakes. He snarled and aimed the weapon at my mother’s
chest. Her eyes stretched wide in horror, her lips twisted in a final scream as
she pushed me to safety.
shattering my existence in a mixture of steel, blood and bone, colliding at the
speed of light. My father lowered the gun, grabbed my mother’s wrist and
checked for a pulse. A satisfied smile crept across his lips as he dropped her
lifeless arm.
spotted me cowering in the corner, his eyes blazing with scalding fury. He
raised the weapon, aimed it at my forehead, and the shadows came for me again….
MORE BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR (Available Now):
ABOUT ANGELA J. TOWNSEND:
Angela Townsend was born in the beautiful Rocky Mountains of Missoula, Montana. As a child, Angela grew up listening to stories told by her grandparents, ancient tales and legends of faraway places. Influenced by her Irish and Scottish heritage, Angela became an avid research historian, specializing in Celtic mythology. Her gift for storytelling finally led her to a full time career in historical research and writing. A writer in local community circulations, Angela is also a published genealogical and historical resource writer who has taught numerous research seminars. Currently, Angela divides her time between writing, playing Celtic music on her fiddle, and Irish dancing. 
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