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Authors: Beware of This Scam

September 4, 2014 by Sonia Marsh 14 Comments

iStock_000030614208Small

BEWARE OF THIS SCAM. 
BE CAREFUL MY AUTHOR FRIENDS.

A few weeks ago, I received a request from a man in Fiji who wanted to order 40 copies of my memoir: Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of gutsy Living on a Tropical Island.
I was so excited, but part of me thought, “Is this a scam?”
At first I told him that shipping to Fiji would be very expensive, and he said, not to worry as he had a logistics guy to pick it up from my work address.
I sent him an invoice, and even offered him a discount, and was waiting for payment before I had the books available for pick-up.
Here is the first e-mail he sent me:
Dear Sales,I write to inform you that we are interested in your books, and we
would like to inquire about the following:Do you ship to Fiji Island?
Do you do Mail Order?
Do you accept credit card as for Payment (My US Master and Visa card
to be precise)? NOT PAYPAL

Thanks,

Wesley


My response to him:

Hi Wesley,

Thanks for your interest in ordering.

I can ship to Fiji, however I need to check on shipping rates.

How many books and which ones?

I’ve included the book link to my page, and you can let me know if it’s:

 

Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of gutsy Living on a Tropical Island

My Gutsy Story® Anthology: True Stories of Love, Courage and Adventure From Around the World

 

Thanks


His response to me:

Hi Sonia,

Apologies for my delays in getting back to you.
Below are the title needed:
Freeways to Flip-Flops
Qty – 40
Meanwhile, I want you to calculate the total cost of my order only and don’t worry about the shipping because I just got a response from my personal logistic agent that they will come for the pick up of the goods at your address and it will only take 1-2 days express shipping to my shipping address and I have inform them about these but they told me the best way to come for the pick up at your store is for you to email me with your store address and the time the order will be ready for pick up with your convenience time and date.
Please kindly get back to me if these title are in stock.
Shipping Address:
5 Nadi Back Road,
Main Town, Nadi.
P.O. Box: 1070, Nadi, Fiji.
Waiting to read from you soon.
Warmly Regards
Wesley

My response to him:

Hi Wesley,
Thanks for your order of 40 copies of Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of gutsy Living on a Tropical Island.
It just won the GOLD medal for Memoir at the Readers’ Favorite Awards.
 
I am curious if this is for a library or a book club?
I visited Fiji in 2007, and love your beautiful country and culture. I have asked to join the Peace Corps and would love to be stationed in Fiji.
I have attached an invoice with a 15% discount and as soon as I receive payment with a credit card, I shall let you know when the boxes will be available for pick-up.
Thank you for your order, and please keep in touch.

Sonia


His response to me:
Hi Sonia,

Thank you for making these order possible for me and I really appreciate the discount.
The total cost of my order is quite correct and OK by me but I just got a response from my logistic agent that he cannot receive payment via credit or debit card from me at the moment. So I want you to help me charge another $998 to my logistic agent who is going to pick up my order from you.
    The $998 that will be sent to my logistic agent is for the shipping of my order in your store plus some other goods I have ordered from other stores around your locality which will be deduct from my credit card. Also, I’m compensating you with the sum of $100 for the transfer fee and for your efforts. Please note that I should have given the shipping agency my credit card for him to deduct the shipping fees but he told me that he doesn’t have the facilities to charge or debit credit card at the moment, so that’s why I bring my vote of confidence in you. So I want you to transfer the shipping fees to my logistics agent after you have make the charges on my credit card and the money is in your account. You can transfer the funds to my logistic agent via bank transfer or western union. So the charges you will make on my credit card will be:
Order fee: ($508.30)
Agent fee with shipping fare: ($998)
Transfer fee plus your compensation: ($100)
Total: ($1,606.30)
Note that my credit card will be charged for the amounts above. Please do get back to me if you are in the office right now so that I can forward my credit card details to you, then you can charge full amount and transfer the agent funds to them via bank transfer or western union but make sure you email me after charging my card details so that I can give you my agent details to send the money to.
Waiting to read from you soon.
Regards
Wesley

VOTE BE GUTSY BADGE

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Interracial Couple: An Immoral Proposal

September 1, 2014 by Sonia Marsh 1 Comment

 

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An Immoral Proposal

 “My Gutsy Story®” by Jennifer B. Graham

The main road flanked by small businesses and industry teemed with dark-skinned people getting ready for their weekend activities. Convenience stores displayed attractive arrangements of tropical fruit and produce on the sidewalk.

A barefooted paper boy waved copies of The Argus artfully dodging between densely moving traffic chanting, “Argie…Argie.” This was the brown people’s area, designated for them by the apartheid government. Even though Voortrekker Road was bustling, Michael and I were still conspicuous in his old Chrysler Valiant on our clandestine date. I noticed he kept switching his eyes from the road ahead to the rear-view mirror.

“I think someone’s tailing us,” he said calmly. He was not given to panic. I instinctively looked back and there he was, the hard-faced Gestapo-like policeman in his dark glasses and black leather jacket. We crawled along in the heavy traffic till I saw our chance to shake off our pursuer.

“Quick, turn down here to the right,” I directed, pointing my finger, being more familiar with the area than Michael. My voice was steady but my heart was beating wildly. He sped up and with tires screeching swung the car abruptly. Our stalker followed suit. Michael steered the car down a side road to the right, then left. The “Gestapo” man was still there, a few cars behind us. As we approached the railway crossing, the signal began to flash red and the booms to descend.

“Keep going! You can make it!” It was all I could do from keeping my heart jumping right out of my mouth, but externally I still remained calm. That’s the way I’ve always dealt with crises and when over, I’d fall apart. Michael’s next manoeuvre was worthy of the best Hollywood movie stuntman as we flew across the tracks. I turned around to see the barriers down and our pursuer blocked.

“Whew,” Michael blew out the air from his cheeks. That was his way – very low key.

We made our way along the back roads to our favourite secluded beach spot. The sun was just dipping below the horizon as we pulled into the deserted beachfront parking area. Table Mountain silhouetted in the distance struck its classic postcard pose across the shimmering Atlantic. But we were too shaken to appreciate the breath-taking vista before us. We sat in silence. We both knew that we were playing with fire. He was my first true love, but I knew that our “love affair” was doomed right from the beginning. I had wanted to call it off some months back, but when he begged me not to, I knew his feelings for me were genuine.

Several weeks later, we were parked again. This time under the dank, concrete underbelly of the spaghetti junction overpass. I had resigned myself to our relationship going nowhere. I saw no way out for our predicament.

“We can’t go on this way,” I said softly, my seemingly calm disposition belying the weight of anxiety pressing down on my chest. Michael had always treated me with utmost respect and dignity and I would handle the situation as such. After all, Mama had always taught me to conduct myself with poise, “like a lady.”

“What do you mean?” he replied, gazing sideways at me from behind the steering wheel. Concern was written all over his gentle round face just like the last time I had wanted to end our relationship.

“We have to face the inevitable, Michael. Things are just getting too dangerous. That man who followed us – I’m frightened. I can’t go on like this.

Let’s face the facts, we have no future together.” It seemed like an eternity before he spoke.

“You’re right, my darling. I know the strain you’ve been under and you’re right, we can’t continue this way. I’ve given the matter a lot of thought, and this is what I propose. I know I’ve procrastinated on a decision about our future which was remiss of me.” Michael took a deep breath.

“Jennifer,” he began, sounding exceedingly serious. He rarely called me Jennifer, always, Jen.

“I love you and want to spend the rest my life with you. Would you come away with me to England, where we can give ourselves a chance – in freedom? I know this is asking an enormous sacrifice of you, sweetheart, to give up your country, loved ones and friends.”

I couldn’t believe what he had just said, and not being one to think on my feet too swiftly, I was dumbstruck but my expression remained deadpan. What I really wanted to proclaim to the whole world was,

“Going to England? Yes! Oh yes!”

I couldn’t wait to get out of South Africa with its oppressive laws. I couldn’t wait to see the back of my dysfunctional family life.  So at that moment, what I really wanted to do was to throw my arms around Michael’s neck and smother him with kisses. But even in my euphoric state, I was conscious that embracing him in broad daylight was far too risky.

“I love you too, and I too want to be with you for the rest of my life,” I said shyly.

“I can’t promise you a bed of roses, my darling. You don’t have to give a reply right away, but would you give what I’m putting forth some thought?”

Under normal circumstances anywhere else in the world, two people in love would pick out the best romantic settings Cape Town’s stunning scenery could afford.

The man would go on bended knee, produce an engagement ring and the air would be filled with jubilation. But these weren’t normal circumstances. In the eyes of the law, this was unequivocally an immoral proposal for which we could be imprisoned.

We had one of two choices: break off our relationship or leave the country. We chose the latter and have never looked back. Our journey took us all over the globe and we’re still trucking along as strongly as ever.

 

memoir - Copy

 

JENNIFER B. GRAHAM is a self-proclaimed global nomad who began life in South Africa, left when she was 19 and since then hasn’t looked back. She’s also lived in England, Canada, USA and New Zealand.

After earning her degree in communication/print journalism from the University of Mobile, Alabama, USA in 2001, she wrote freelance feature articles on topics such as food, health, travel and profiles for miscellaneous publications that include Destinations, Connections, The Press, The Citizen, The Fairhope Courier as well as Triond.com.

Jennifer is a member of the Writers’ Community of Durham Region. An Immoral Proposal is her first book. She lives with her husband near Toronto, Canada. Her five grandchildren split between New York and Regina keep her wandering.

 

SONIA MARSH SAYS:  What a beautiful love story that truly portrays the emotions you felt at the time. I love the ending and am glad we connected online.

Please visit Jennifer’s website: http://www.jenniferbgraham.com/

Purchase her memoir on Amazon.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jbgmemoir

Jennifer B. Graham Memoir cover
Click on cover to purchase on Amazon

 


 

VOTE BE GUTSY BADGE

You have from now until September 10th to vote on the sidebar, (only one vote per person) and the winner will be announced on September 11th, and will select a prize from our generous sponsors.

 

 

NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS

Get Published in our 3rd

“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

MGS FINAL COVER Small
Click on cover to go to Amazon

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 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

International Book Awards Finalist 2014

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

Paris bookfestival

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

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Vote Now For Your Favorite August 2014 “My Gutsy Story®”

August 28, 2014 by Sonia Marsh 1 Comment

 

VOTE BE GUTSY BADGE

You have from now until September 10th to vote on the sidebar, (only one vote per person) and the winner will be announced on September 11th, and will select a prize from our generous sponsors.

Our 1st “My Gutsy Story®”  Gisela Hausmann is “My “Gutsy” Journey to the Dalai Lama’s Potala Palace-Lhasa Tibet”

amazon whiter

SONIA MARSH SAYS: 

“Thank you for taking us on a spiritual and historical journey through your Gutsy adventure to Tibet.”

 

Our 2nd “My Gutsy Story®” is by Maralys Wills

Maralys Wills 1

SONIA MARSH SAYS: 

 

Our 3rd “My Gutsy Story®” is by Barbara Charlene Barker

Barbara Charlene Barker

SONIA MARSH SAYS: 

 

 

Our 4th “My Gutsy Story®” is by Leslie Johansen Nack, “I Wished Him Dead.”

Leslie (2)

SONIA MARSH SAYS: 

 

 

NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS

Get Published in our 3rd

“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

MGS FINAL COVER Small
Click on cover to go to Amazon

Benjamin Franklin Digital Awards Solver

 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

International Book Awards Finalist 2014

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

Paris bookfestival

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

IMG_20140702_070759918

 


I Wished Him Dead

August 25, 2014 by Sonia Marsh 9 Comments

Leslie (2)

Forgiveness

“My Gutsy Story®” by Leslie Johansen Nack

 

Forgiving him was something I knew I needed to do. I couldn’t carry this weight around any longer. It was crushing me. But forgiving him was mile fifty and I was stuck on mile one. Hell, I was stuck on mile zero as I sat naked on the bathroom floor wrapped around the toilet seat waiting for the next convulsion. Mile one was a million miles away from me: publicly admitting I needed help, that I was slowly killing myself one line of cocaine, one drink, and one guy at a time, in an effort to avoid the sharp, stinging, dull, aching pain that pierced the very essence of me. I needed help. The clock read 6 am and I needed to get myself ready for work.

As I lay on the bathroom floor, I knew these days were numbered. I could feel it.  Either I was going to die, or I had to get help. Something needed to change in a big way. It had to. He’d been dead for five years, so why was I still running? Why couldn’t I stay in one place? I must be destined to be disconnected. Why did I keep thinking those people over there, the ones who were laughing and happy, were the answer for me? Why did I keep comparing my insides to their outsides and conclude I would finally be happy if they would just be my friends?

All night long I couldn’t stop listening to Take it to the Limit by the Eagles over and over again as I snorted line after line, poured myself wine from a gallon jug, glass after glass, in a sad pathetic state, all alone, trying to be quiet so my roommate wouldn’t hear me up for the entire night again, peeing in the Mexican ceramic pitcher so I didn’t have to walk to the bathroom across the creaky floor, claiming this song as my mantra:

You know I’ve always been a dreamer

Spent my life running ‘round

And it’s so hard to change

Can’t seem to settle down

But the dreams I’ve seen lately

Keep on turning out and burning out

And turning out the same

 

So put me on a highway

And show me a sign

And take it to the limit one more time

 

I should just hit the road; leave him behind, leave everything behind. The only problem: he always comes with me like a tape on continuous loop, “You’re stupid, worth nothing. Nobody will ever hire you. You’re doomed to fail.” When I slept, I dreamt about the eyes. The eyes were also his, staring me down, undressing me and wooing me.

I had been running for five years, and now, as I got ready to call my little sister and beg for help, I felt like a complete and utter failure as a person at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

Why can’t I be still? Regret? Self-loathing? No, self-hate. I am worthless. I hate myself. Nobody will ever love me. He’s right. I played Wasted Time over and over again, thousands of times, lying with my head up to the speaker the night before, the wine glass in my hand, a mirror in front of me with my last half gram:

            So you live from day to day,

            And you dream about tomorrow

            And the hours go by like minutes

            And the shadows come to stay

            So you take a little something

            To make them go away.

 

            I could have done so many things baby

            If I could only stop my mind

            From wondering what I left behind

            And from worrying about this wasted time.

 

My life was a waste. Oh God, maybe I killed him. I wished him dead so many thousands of times. I screamed it, whispered it, yelled it, and got on my knees and prayed for it with complete earnestness. My prayers were finally answered. I did this. I am responsible.

Oh God, I killed my father.

Maybe when enough people want you dead, when say, one thousand people wish it, you die. Maybe it’s a rule. Maybe family members’ prayers for death hold more weight than just regular, everyday people who wish you dead.  Monica and Karen wished him dead too, I’m sure of it. And Mom, of course she wished him dead. She’s been praying for his death for at least twenty-five years now. I’d only been praying for his death since I was thirteen. How does this work anyway? God was sick of hearing me whine and finally killed him.  Am I that powerful?

My life was empty, like a room that lost its air out the windows incredibly fast. Stillness. Now it’s getting ready to draw in new air.  That’s where I was in life: in between.  Something was going to happen.  Something big.  But the room was empty, silent, dead. I hated myself. I don’t deserve to be happy. How could I have sunk so low?  How did I become a cocaine addict?  Dad would be so disappointed.

Photo_2005_10_13_19_44_32_edited
“Bjorn Erling Johansen” Leslie’s dad

No!  He wasn’t really dead. He can’t be dead. He was faking it. Interpol and the CIA were behind all of this and they made him disappear for a while. Recovering stolen boats around the world was dangerous and he needed to hide. Yes, that must be it.  Tomorrow he’ll come around the corner in his cut-offs, brown floppy hat, feet spread apart just enough to make a stance, like the King of Siam, with that all-knowing bearded face, arms across his big belly, his blue hawk-eyes drilling holes in my skin. He wasn’t really dead. He couldn’t be. He stalked me my entire life. He was larger than life. He was my entire life until I escaped from him at sixteen, ran away in order to save myself from his predatory eyes, hands and mouth.

But now I needed to dress for work. The nightmare could wait, like it always did, for me to return and stoke the endless fires again.

SONIA MARSH SAYS:

Thank you for sharing your personal story and helping others who have been abused by their fathers. You made us wait to discover who you were talking about, which I found intriguing. I cannot wait to read your memoir and wish you all the best Leslie.

 

LESLIE JOHANSEN NACK  is currently working on her memoir. She is a graduate of UCLA with a B.A. degree in English Literature as well as being a member of the National Association of Memoir Writers and San Diego Writer’s Ink. She lives with her two children and husband of twenty-five years. You can visit Leslie at http://www.lesliejohansennack.com/

Please Join Leslie on the following social media platforms:

 

Where I hang out: facebook-100x100[1] Facebook twitter-100x100[1] Twitter pinterest-100x100[1] Pinterest
Instagram: @lesliejohansennack
Linked In: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/leslie-johansen-nack/76/58a/789

NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS

Get Published in our 3rd

“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

MGS FINAL COVER Small
Click on cover to go to Amazon

Benjamin Franklin Digital Awards Solver

 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

International Book Awards Finalist 2014

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

Paris bookfestival

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

IMG_20140702_070759918

 


How I Get Over Being Shy in Front of Audiences

August 21, 2014 by Sonia Marsh 3 Comments

Sonia Reading her 1st Chapter at Kean Coffee, in Tustin, California
Sonia Reading her 1st Chapter at Kean Coffee, in Tustin, California

In order to sell books and become a little bit “famous” in your community, writers have to speak in front of their audiences.

The problem is, what do you do if you’re shy and scared to speak in front of a group?

Well practice helps, we all know that, but what else can you do to feel at ease in front of a crowd of people staring at you.

SMILE and BE YOURSELF

Let’s face it, you’re sharing your story, only you know your story. Only you know what it took to write it.

Here are some tips I use to overcome shyness:

  • I say to myself, I’m here to make friends, not to sell books. If I do, great, if I don’t, so what, I’ve connected with new people.
  • I get there early and chat with my audience as they trickle in.
  • I shake hands and introduce myself to a few people in the audience before I speak.
  • I ask questions to find out if they are writers and ask them about their interests.
  • I try to be open, friendly and share something  about myself so they feel they can relate.

Last night I read the first chapter of my memoir:

Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of gutsy Living on a Tropical Island

Maddie Margarita organizes a wonderful monthly event called:  Lit Up: A Conversation with OC Writers and Readers.

“Another fun night at Lit Up! Thanks to Kean’s Coffee and to our talented authors Sonia Marsh PJ Colando and Lance Charnes – Author for rocking the house! Three very different stories told by three very different writers. It was outstanding!” —Maddie Margarita

PJ Colando and Maddie Margarita
PJ Colando and Maddie Margarita

 

If you’d like to participate, Please read below. You will get to read in front of an audience and practice your “public speaking” skills. It’s a ton of fun.

“We are accepting fiction and memoir submissions up to 3,000 words for the upcoming months so if you’re a writer and are interested – submission guidelines will be on purefictionleague.org within the next few days!”

 

NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS

Get Published in our 3rd

“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

MGS FINAL COVER Small
Click on cover to go to Amazon

Benjamin Franklin Digital Awards Solver

 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

International Book Awards Finalist 2014

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

Paris bookfestival

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

IMG_20140702_070759918

 


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