Here’s the Amazon link:http://www.amazon.com/The-Possibilities-of-Amy-ebook/dp/B007LPVXIA/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1332085581&sr=8-1-fkmr0

Don’t have a kindle? No problem! To download “Amy” to your cloud reader, computer, Smartphone, or tablet, use one of Amazon’s FREE reading apps. Here’s the link:

 http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html/ref=sa_menu_karl3?ie=UTF8&docId=1000493771

If this is your first time on the blog and you have no idea what "Amy's" about, here's a brief synopsis:

Amy is the ultimate trophy girl—gorgeous face, killer body, and a vivacious personality. But there’s something else about her, something that makes her even more special. Amy is new. A transfer student from out of state, she’s starting her senior year without knowing a soul. And that means she’s up for grabs, available.

Thank you for taking a look. I hope you enjoy the read, and if so, I'd love it if you posted a review on Amazon.

Until next time,

Jaye

http://www.facebook.com/jayefrancesauthor

I was in Ft. Lauderdale this past weekend, enjoying the beach and playing the part of a wide-eyed tourist on vacation. I drive down about four times a year and stay for as long as it takes to recharge and give my brain an opportunity to develop a new story idea.

I was having lunch at one of the sidewalk cafés on A1A.  Commonly referred to as “the strip,” it’s a great place for people watching, listening to live music, and buying overpriced drinks.  When the server—young, hot, probably of Cuban descent and definitely distracting—brought my order, she was smiling and shaking her head.

Naturally, I had to ask.

She told me there was a new sign in the men’s room. It had been posted over the urinals and several of the guys were asking if she’d seen it.

“What would I be doing in the men’s room?” she asked.  “I don’t know if they were asking because the sign is actually interesting or just to see my reaction.”

As I ate my fajitas and sipped on a margarita served in a glass large enough to use as a hot-tub for four, I also began to wonder about the men's intentions. When she came back to check on me, I asked her: “Have any idea what was on the sign that would make it a topic of conversation?”

“It’s supposed to be a list of little known facts, but they could also be lies.”

Now I was curious. “Want to come with me, to take a look?”

She stared at me as if I had asked her to accompany me on a train bound for the pit of hell. “I can’t. I mean, I’d like to, but if someone complained, I could lose my job.”

“I suppose after closing, you can take a peek.”

She shook her head. “Servers aren’t allowed in the customer’s restrooms. There was an “incident” a few months ago, so since then, we have to use the staff bathroom.”

An incident. No doubt involving a smoking hot babe from Cuba. God, I love this place.

“Leave my drink on the table. I’ll be right back.”

The walk down the hallway was a piece of cake. Then I got to the door. No way could I plead confusion. It was clearly marked—MENS—and underneath, the international symbol for penis envy, a pair of legs wearing pants. I waited a few seconds, checked behind me to make sure no one was watching, then opened the door and walked in. I decided if someone was inside, I would announce, “inspection.”  I wasn’t sure what they might think I was going to inspect, but at least my presence would have a sense of official, and hopefully excusable, intrusion—sort of like being felt up by a TSA officer under the guise of national security.

My first glimpse inside the door was a mirror shot—a guy at the sink, washing his hands.

I forgot my original ploy of eliciting respectability via feigned authority. I tried to smile and almost back-peddled into the hall. I stopped when I saw the man grin. I managed to mumble something about the ladies room being out of order, and made a bee-line for one of the stalls.

Oh, and by the way, before I forget—you guys are pigs. No wonder the few attempts at unisex restrooms have been disasters. Pick up the damn paper towels from the floor, and for God’s sake, flush.

Hearing the door compression closer pop and hiss told me there was a good chance I was alone. I looked out from the safety of my stall and, not seeing a male fixture of any kind, walked directly to the line-up of urinals.

Remembering my new-found friend who was hopefully still guarding the remaining half of my 64 ounce Margarita, I pulled out my cell phone and took a several shots.  Here’s what was on the sign:

No piece of square, dry paper can be folded more than 7 times in half

Clinophobia is the fear of beds

A jiffy is an actual unit of time for 1/100^th of a second

The average life span of a major league baseball is 7 pitches

It takes 25 muscles to swallow

The thumbnail grows the slowest, the middle finger the fastest

The 57 on the Heinz ketchup label refers to the varieties of pickles the company once offered

Porcupines float in water

Over 2500 left-handed people are killed each year by using products made for right-handed people

You forget 80% of what you learn each day

OR NOT!

Get it? We’re conditioned to believe—without question—the unusual, the strange, the uncommon, especially when it’s presented as fact, and done so in a manner that appears to be non-threatening and suitable for framing.

It’s the basis for half-truths, white lies and sleight-of-mouth. Politicians are expert at it. So are media news producers, advertising executives, corporate moguls, lawyers, bankers, students who don’t do their homework, men who cheat on their wives, women who invite the reggae-singing milkman in for a cup of tea with cookies, and  . . . writers.

Writers know how to sling the bull better than most, because we do it for a living. Our income is dependent upon how well we construct the facts, engage the imagination, and convince our readers of an invented reality. Someone, circa Mark Twain’s era, and for the life of me, I can’t remember his name, said: “Writers are just a bunch of professional liars.”

Can’t argue that.

I’ll leave you with this: If the popularity and success of a writer is a reflection of their ability to make the nonsensical a possibility, let’s make sure they never consider the gullibility of their audience as a pre-established assumption. At a minimum, let’s give them a moving target.

Until next time,

Jaye

The title of the book was originally “All That Glitters.”  But I kept being hounded by an old adage: “All that glitters isn’t gold.” And with a bit of research, I found a number of books already published with the same title—the makings of a perfect storm for confusing new and potential readers who don’t know me from the bald guy who wrote about the temptations of money and the love of it being the root of all evil. (I can’t blame them just because I put an “e” on the end of my first name.)  So, to make a long story short, I added “The Cruise” to the title, and thankfully, have received a lot of positive feedback. (“I had no idea the story took place on a cruise ship – the new title is much more interesting.”)

I am anticipating some really “stimulating” guest posts and interview questions from this book.  It’s a bit (okay, more than a bit) cheeky, taking liberty with those politically incorrect and personally sensitive issues that are so glaringly obvious—the ones we’re constantly thinking about and are dying to mention—but decorum, etiquette, and Emily Post have all warned us to give them a wide berth.

Finally, I really appreciate your Amazon reviews - they overwhelmingly tell me that you're a thoughtful, intelligent bunch, and it makes the days and nights I spend hammering away at my keyboard so much more rewarding. And yes, I love it when I hear someone is reading one of my books based on a recommendation. It's really the biggest favor you can do for me - if you really like what you read, recommend the book to your friends.

Until next time,

Jaye  

There have been lots of questions from readers concerning the status of my collection of short stories, Journeys From Above and Below the Belt. I’ve been hesitant to answer them until I'd reached a decision concerning how to bring the book to market. In the time since I started writing “Journeys,” the publishing world has gone through some sweeping changes, not the least of which has been the Kindle (and the Nook, for those of you who are of the BN persuasion).  Digital readers have made a huge impact on the way books are being packaged and sold. And of course, Amazon is quickly becoming the leading force in the conversion from paper to digital content.

What does that have to do with Journeys?  Let’s go a back a couple of years – about two, in fact. And if you look closely, you’ll see me at my desk, happily banging away at the computer keys, and looking forward to the day when I would be able to offer a 400 page plus collection of novellas and short stories, then with a working title of Journeys from the other side of the brain. 

Now, press the fast forward button to the beginning of this year. I’m talking to my business manager (for those of you who know me personally, it’s the one I’m sleeping with, not the other one who is constantly calling me on the phone, wanting me to attend a conference in New York in the dead of winter – silly twit). He’s telling me that a big book of short stories is not the right way to package content for a digital world. And if it isn’t right for the Kindle, it isn’t right, period. His advice?  Deconstruct the book. Take it apart. Give readers what they want. Offer the longer novellas as individual books and repackage the short stories as a free bonus to promote new releases.

It sounded radical. Unconventional. Like a kid with two box crates and a broken set of skates trying to compete in the Indy 500. (If I lost you with the vague reference to an early skateboard, think “Little Rascals,” an old TV series.) But then the Indy 500 is pretty much the same racetrack as it’s always been. The publishing world is not. I know that. But I’m still a bit mesmerized every time I pass a bookstore, usually pausing to look at the new releases in the window, the temptation of wanting to wander in and ask if they have a copy of The Kure in stock often too overwhelming to resist. 

But I digress.

So, bottom line, the collection of novellas and short stories that I’d originally planned to include in Journeys From Above and Below the Belt has been changed. In addition, I’ve decided the next book release (after The Cruise – All That Glitters) is going to be The Beach, and will include a bonus short story titled “Short Time.”  Together, they represent the genres of sci-fi fantasy and suspense. I’m including a few surprises (and I’ll reveal some hints as we get closer to a release date) so I’m anxious to get them completed and into Amazon’s digital hands. The plan is to make them available on Kindle about the middle of July.

Until next time,

Jaye       

Maybe that’s the problem; for most of us, the reality of our young-adult years was a far cry from the never-ending peak experience we believed it was going to be.

Our generation had expectations beyond those of the previous—or any generation since. We wanted just the right occupation—one that would provide personal expression and a unique and lasting impact on the world. Determined our personal life would not separate from the professional, we promised ourselves they would flow together, blending in a synergistic ooze of Peter Max graphics and Desiderata posters. When it came to relationships, we insisted our chosen mate have just the right amount of yin to balance with our yang. And if we experienced one of our periodic but certain sexual lows, we told ourselves we could top off our tanks with an occasional sniff from the flower garden growing across the street, or next door, depending on who was home. And even though we spoke English, we talked a different language. We spoke in concepts, of visualizing our lives as an expandable space in which we could create a desirable destiny. Est bubbles—inflated with honest intention and tendencies of permanence, built to accommodate our finest moments, but never occupied.

Why do we have all these vacancies? I think we overbuilt.

So now, twenty years later, we join the spa, cut down on the red meat, and hope our friends notice how much younger we look. And yet, that nagging thought stays with us—an ironic awareness that even if we were able to put our bodies into double overtime and score just one dream performance, it would be out of sequence, just a compensation for what might have been, making it all too clear that the difference between making it real and compensating for reality continues to be driven apart by the wedge of time.

Which brings us to the big question: Now what?

Are we resigned to face each other in Yoga classes and ponder the strength of those invisible threads that connect us—to each other, to the big picture, to monkeys on an island whose name we can't pronounce? Or do we take a less physically demanding approach, and start shopping for a comfy front porch rocker so we can while away the days trying to remember that exact moment when circumstances scrubbed our chance to be an original in a world choking with boring predictability and repetition?

All very heady stuff—but not very productive.

Life is far too short—and precious—to waste. Spending what’s left of it in a state of constant introspection can be costly. Especially as we get older, and time gets more valuable, and we have more to be introspective about. (Get the insanity of it all?)

Perhaps the key to dealing with the past is to value the perspective it can bring to the future. Hidden in our angst, there is purpose and, even more important, promise. Our bittersweet memories of lost love, fortune and prosperity can become gentle reminders that life is simply what we choose to make it. The best we can do is to periodically examine our lives, check direction, and make adjustments. Maybe that’s been the plan all along—to spend the first thirty-five years or so getting acquainted with ourselves. And then listen to the feedback from our souls. The fact that we hear and feel a bit of disappointment—and even frustration—are all signs of a working receiver.

I’ll leave you with this: There is something very liberating about facing the demons from our youth. It instills a greater appreciation for the “now,” giving us the courage to move forward with not only a calm acceptance of the past, but also an optimistic resolve for the future.

Good ’ol Forrest Gump may have had it right all along—except in my case, life is just a box of Good and Plenty.

They arrive wrapped in welcome sunshine—drifting clouds, soaring kites and cherry blossoms. All promises of spring. They bring with them a sense of growth and renewal, of rejuvenation and revival, and according to Alfred Lord Tennyson, “thoughts of love.”

Spring has traditionally been a time to celebrate our relationships, to rekindle the spark of passion and intimacy. And while the popularized example of an April Love usually focuses on the young and their quest for a new romantic interest, it’s equally important to commemorate the existing relationship we have with our spouse or significant other. For most couples, a good marriage/relationship equates to a great life. (And unfortunately, visa-versa.)

In January, I met a wonderful couple who, many years ago, took the rites of spring to heart. They told me a very poignant story about their commitment and devotion to each other, and how every year they celebrate a very personal love ritual. I hope you’ll find their example as inspiring as I did.

Married on March 21, 1961, Henry and Alice were both seniors at Arizona State University and just two months away from graduation. That summer, Henry was hired by Mountain Bell, and was looking forward to quick promotions and success in the corporate world. But within eight months, he received his draft notice, and after completing basic training, was assigned to the Campbell base in Heidelberg, Germany. He and Alice decided that she would stay in Arizona—close to her parents—and visit Henry as often as possible.

Leaving Alice behind was one of the hardest things Henry had ever done, but before he deployed for overseas duty, they celebrated their first anniversary. That night, he took Alice by the hand and repeated their wedding vows, adding that if he could do it over again, he would “marry her in a New York minute.”

Two years later, Henry completed his military service and returned to his job at Mountain Bell, working rotating shifts as a central office technician while Alice struggled through her first pregnancy. Money was tight, and she did her best to help out by baking wedding cakes for one of the local reception halls.

Through the years, they experienced the predictable and the unforeseen, and yet they never forgot their first anniversary ritual. And although their second anniversary had to be shared by telephone, it was the only one they celebrated apart. Every following March 21^st, after Alice had cleared away the dishes and they had opened each other’s card, they took each other’s hand and repeated their vows, words they now knew by heart.

This March, Alice and Henry will recite their wedding vows for the 50^th time.

During our recent visit, I asked them if they would share their secret to a happy marriage. They looked at each other and laughed.

“I suppose it’s a lot like a prescription,” Henry began. “It changes for what ails you. Sometimes, it’s an equal dose of tenacity and patience. Other times, it’s simply being there, supporting each other when life throws you a curve ball. If there’s anything we’ve learned about having a sucessful marriage, it’s simply deciding—each day when you wake up—that there’s no other person you’d rather be with. You commit to each other because you know how important your relationship is, and how much better your life is because of it.”

We continued to chat for another hour, with Henry and Alice recalling memories of their first real vacation together, the births of their two children, and the time they were pulling a travel trailer cross-country and Henry drove away from a gas station with Alice still inside the Texaco rest room. (“I really thought she was in the trailer,” he said. “I never saw her get out.”)

Although Henry and Alice continued to good-naturedly dismiss the value of any specific advice that they might share with other couples, I gained a great deal of insight from our conversation. And so from their stories, memories and remembrances, here’s what I learned:

• There are no mind readers. Your spouse needs to know your expectations. When you find yourself upset or unhappy, explain to your mate why some situations and behaviors leave you disappointed, and more important, what could have been done to prevent it. By the same token, listen to your spouse when he or she needs the same consideration. Healthy relationships do not spring from movie magic and romance novels.

• Support your partner with everything you’ve got. Make your spouse’s happiness and well being a priority. Put them first in your life and see what happens. Build your life together with mutual goals. And if you sense that you’re pulling ahead or away from your spouse, talk about it and if necessary readjust your priorities.  Value each other as you would a priceless work of art—keeping it safe and protected for as long as it is entrusted to you.

• Don’t let the intensity fade. New relationships are full of highs and lows, but over time, familiarity and the general consistency of life tend to even out our emotions.  And while that means the disappointments are generally less devastating, it can also mean the feelings of excitement can become little more than a memory. Don’t take your spouse for granted. Remind yourself of the quality, companionship and contentment they provide. Try to imagine how much you would miss them—what your life would be like without them.

• Cultivate common interests. We’ve all heard that opposites attract, but sorry, it just isn’t true. For long-term happiness, it’s important to develop and cultivate common interests. Explore things you like to do together, especially if it means learning a new skill or activity that both can participate in.

• It’s the little things. When Henry and Alice described the best parts of their lives, they never mentioned the new car they were driving, or the several homes they had bought and lived in, or even the accomplishments they achieved in their careers. They reminisced about the little things: Sitting together on a porch swing; walking in the rain; holding hands on the beach—the kind of memories that are made by spending simple times together, without worrying about the future or fretting over the past. Strive to find quiet moments that you can share, without the distractions and demands of career and material accomplishments.

Until next time,
Jaye

http://www.amazon.com/The-Possibilities-of-Amy-ebook/dp/B007LPVXIA/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1332085581&sr=8-1-fkmr0

Here's a short synopsis:

Amy is the ultimate trophy girl—gorgeous face, killer body, and a vivacious personality. But there’s something else about her, something that makes her even more special. Amy is new. A transfer student from out of state, she’s starting her senior year without knowing a soul. And that means she’s up for grabs, available.

An acquaintance of mine had a fairytale start in life. Born into a loving and financially secure family, he followed the role models of his parents, attending the best schools, excelling at sports as well as scholastics. After graduation, he moved up the corporate ladder and became a successful executive. And at age thirty, he married the girl of his dreams. She was beautiful, intelligent, and supportive of his career and life goals. And as they stood before a packed church repeating their wedding vows, most couldn’t help but envy them.

The first two years were idyllic for the couple, and while there were adjustments—moving to a new state, making new friends and coping with the demands of an upwardly mobile corporate career path—they were, in the most real sense, truly happy.

It was on a quick trip to tour a property that had just come on the market—their potential dream home—that Janice suddenly felt dizzy. Although she told Mark she was fine, she fainted in the car on the way home. She dismissed it, passing it off as a benign symptom of fatigue, probably caused by a lack of sleep from a recent whirlwind trip to Barbados. 

Three days later, while Janice was busy in the kitchen preparing a snack for a visiting neighbor, she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Mark stayed by her hospital bed for three days, hoping—praying—that Janice would open her eyes. He knew the doctor’s prognosis wasn’t good. She had suffered a stroke on the left side of her brain, potentially affecting her memory and the muscle control of the right side of her body.

Her recovery was long and arduous—and incomplete. Even after several years of therapy, she remained confined to a wheelchair and experienced difficulty remembering her home address and phone number.

The misfortune brought a natural outpouring of sympathy from family and friends. It was a natural reaction to an unexpected tragedy. But then something unusual happened. After a year or so, after the shock of the event had subsided and people came to accept Janice’s situation as an unfortunate happenstance of life, they directed their sympathy—and pity—toward Mark. Some even saw him as the victim, denied his rightful destiny because of the “obligation” of being forced to care for his invalid wife.

I remember one of the comments as especially cruel: “I hate to say it, but she’s an albatross around his neck, keeping him from realizing his true potential.” Thankfully, Mark never heard it, at least not directly. 

Mark had made changes in his priorities. Instead of staying on the fast track to a vice-presidency at a Fortune 500 company, he asked to be demoted to a less demanding staff position, which would have eliminated the need to travel. The company fired him.

He could have felt sorry for himself, bemoaning his sudden reversal of fortune. After all, he had worked hard, sacrificing his personal interests to concentrate on career advancement and future financial success. Instead, Mark found an on-line sales rep job, allowing him to work from home while he cared for Janice.

While others assumed his decision to change his priorities—and his life—to be a no-win obligation, Mark didn’t see it that way. “I always had choices, he said, “but leaving Janice in the hands of strangers was never one of them. I was used to corporate titles, and how the business world uses them to motivate, reward, and establish responsibility. It made me realize there were only a few titles that really mattered. So in my way of thinking, I simply added the title of caregiver to my previous status of soul mate.”

Mark’s courage in a seemingly impossible situation made me realize that many of the so-called obligations in our lives are simply the result of personal choice—whether we realize it or not. Regardless of the situation or circumstances, no one else is going to live our lives for us, which places the responsibility of choosing honestly—and wisely—directly on us.

Turning obligations into choices—I think it’s what George Eliot was talking about when she said, “The strongest principle of growth lies in human choice.”

Until Next time,
Jaye