Guest Post – “God Please Clean My Room” Children’s Book

God Please Clean My Room

Book Cover

God Please Clean My Room ($15.99 + shipping) is a fun and innovative piece written by Valencya Thompson & illustrated by Chasity Broughton. This story is based upon a real childhood memory, and was crafted to teach a life-lesson for today’s children; however, after first glance, its readers will soon realize that there is a moral for everyone to absorb in this book. As the readers journey along with the narrator through Christian’s day, they will grow to love Christian and join her on a voyage to clean her room.

In short, many believers desire to pursue an active prayer life; yet some neglect to couple this practice with the essential concept of taking action steps on a day-to-day basis. This scripture-based book highlights for both, children and adult believers, how God has equipped us to accomplish the vision that God has planted in our hearts to fulfill in the earth.

Once you acquire this book and incorporate this gem into your home, you may be interested in its accompaniments: song (.99) available for download on most players, the Coloring Book ($5 + shipping) and Curriculum ($10 + shipping).

This book may be purchased via Xlibris Publishing directly at the following link:

Yet, if an autographed copy is desired or any of the accompaniments (preferred), please email the author directly at and submit a Paypal payment via this same email address to including the book amount plus shipping amount. Note purchases made through the author include a flat shipping and handling rate of $3.99 (up to 3 books – accompaniments included).

Blessings & Peace to You! May God Help

You in Your Quest to Clean Your Room.

Guest Post – Captivating, Realistic, Intense, Powerful

That’s what readers are saying about this book.

Let me back up.  You probably want to know a little about me before you hear about the book.  After all, in today’s literary world, we are, at times, as interested in the authors behind the stories as we are in the stories themselves.

First I just want to pause for a second, and thank Jason for this opportunity.  He doesn’t “get” anything from it – in fact, he’s even stated that having guest posters hurts his numbers – yet he offers these opportunities from time to time just to be a nice guy.

So.  If you’re interested in my “official” bio, it’s available on my website, as well as any number of other places where my books are sold.

I am happily, blessedly married to a wonderful man.  We have been foster parents for over six years.  We have adopted three times and hope to adopt our last two within the next year.  It may sound cliche, but being a mom is the best job I’ve ever had.  It’s also the most difficult, the most thankless, the most frustrating.  And let me tell you, when every child that comes into your home has special needs, it is downright hard.  But it’s worth it.  Not every minute, not even every day.  There are days I seriously contemplate throwing in the towel and giving up.  But in the end, it’s worth it.

Enough about my personal self, you say.  What about my writer self?  Well…

I write because I love to write.  (And also because I love to read.  My love of great books from an early age has always fueled my love for writing and desire to pursue it.)  From the moment I first picked up a pencil at two or three, I’ve loved to write.  I wrote my first story at the age of six, and it was like crack; I was hooked, and I’ve never looked back.  That is why I write.

Why I write what I write is an entirely different story.  As another writer mentioned, she writes what she wants to read.  I couldn’t state that with any more integrity than she has.  That is a very large piece of the puzzle that makes up my choice of subjects.  But there’s more to it, and it really just adds to that piece.  I write what I want to read, and in this case, it comes down to this:  there are stories that need to be told, and no one – or very few people anyway – is telling them.

My characters have lived in silence.  Now they need to speak out.  They need to speak for themselves, and they need to speak for others.  They need their voice to be heard for their own healing; and they need their voice to be heard to support so many whose voices are not heard.  Perhaps the telling of a story will prompt another to tell her story.  Maybe the reading of a story will convict someone to help a friend.  Maybe someone will read and realize that they know someone whose voice has been silenced.  Maybe someone will find the courage to speak, to be heard, to come out of the shadows and refuse to be held captive in silence any longer.

And there are many, many types of silence, methods of captivity.  You think sexual abuse is the only thing happening out there that silences people?  It’s not.  There are as many stories as there are people to tell them, and they ALL need to be heard.  I am compelled to tell them.

I hope others are compelled to read them.  Because every person who reads the story of someone silenced, helps end the silence. If they are further led to help others – whether one person they know, or in other ways – their effort to end the silence is multiplied, and will likely have a ripple effect as others are drawn to help as well.

Thank you for reading thus far, and without further adieu, I give you the first in a collection of books whose hope is to end the silence: Lies That Bind: Kaedyn’s Story.

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Synopsis:  Kaedyn is only sixteen when her mother dies of cancer and she finds herself drowning in her sorrow. As she discovers powerful mechanisms for coping with her grief, she withdraws from her family and friends more and more. Believing it is in her best interest, Kaedyn’s father sends her to live with her sister Kallie. But both Kallie and Kaedyn are about to learn that there are even more painful experiences than losing their mother, and that there can be dangerous consequences to withdrawing from the people they love most: each other. Kaedyn’s Story addresses issues relevant to today’s teen and young adult women and takes a step in withdrawing the veil drawn over child and teen abuse.

You can purchase Lies That Bind: Kaedyn’s Story for Kindle on Amazon, for Nook, and on Smashwords and iBooks.

Don’t forget to visit me at!

Guest Post – I’m Tired of Chasing Giraffes at Midnight

I live in Canada so it should come as no surprise to any of you that giraffes are not a native species to the coastal province of Nova Scotia where I live.  Piping plovers and seagulls – yes.  Giraffes – no.  Despite this, five years ago I was jolted out of bed by loud thumping and banging sounds coming from downstairs in my living room.  As a mom I instinctually jumped up to react to what sounded like an intruder in our home.  I attempted to wake my husband who just rolled over and returned to sleeping.  Apparently fending off potential burglars in the middle of the night is a ‘pink collar’ job in my house. Luckily for me, it wasn’t a burglar.  It was a giraffe.

Actually, it was my youngest daughter sleepwalking – or sleep galloping to be more precise.  She was 6 years old and was flying through the main level of our house and was very clearly ‘riding’ something.  Something that was fast.  I had a heck of a time catching her.  I’m not much of an athlete to begin with, even less so in the middle of the night.  I eventually did round her up and was able to guide her back to her bed where she safely resumed sleeping.  The next morning she announced that she had the best dream ever.  She had dreamed she was riding a giraffe.  No wonder short little me couldn’t catch her.

Both of my daughters were sleepwalkers when they were young so chasing giraffes or following my zombie-like children around very much became the norm for me in the middle of the night for a few years.  It was exhausting.

Shortly after the giraffe incident, both of my daughters stormed my room and said, “Mom, you’re a liar.”

“Why am I a liar?” I asked.

“You’re a liar because you always tell us we can be whatever we want to be when we grow up and if that were true you’d be a writer.  You’re not so that means you lied.”

Great.  In that moment I was forced to decide whether to give my little girls a list of very legitimate adult excuses explaining why I wasn’t the writer I had always dreamed of becoming or to prove to them that anything was possible.  My response to them:  “I’m not a writer… yet.”  And so began my journey to prove to them that I wasn’t a liar.

Jennie Fowler Nighttime Prowler was just released on August 15th and is my response to my daughters’ challenge.  It is the first book in a new series for children about a young girl named Jennie who just happens to be a sleepwalker.  After all, sleepwalking can be an adventure!

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Meet Jennie Fowler.  She’s a pretty ordinary kid looking forward to going to summer camp wit her friends.  There’s just one problem.  She’s a sleepwalker.  If she wanders out of her cabin at night she could get lost in the woods or maybe even eaten by a bear!  Luckily, she and the kids of Mayfair Heights have come up with a brilliant plan to keep her safe.  Will it work?

“Young readers will undoubtedly enjoy spending time with Jennie and friends in this first installment of a series” – Kirkus Reviews

Lisa Pomfrey-Talbot is a Canadian author from Bridgewater, Nova Scotia.  Jennie Fowler Nighttime Prowler is her debut.  You can learn more about her by visiting: or her blog

To purchase Jennie Fowler Nighttime Prowler visit your local bookstore and ask them to order it in for you or order a copy online:

In the U.S.:

Barnes & Noble –

Amazon –

In Canada:


eBook version available worldwide.

Guest Post: “A Man’s Work Is Never Done . . . A Novel About Mentoring Our Sons “

Much appreciation and thanks to OM for providing the opportunity to share this work with his readers and followers and his patience helping me to get here.


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An excellent resource for those moms and dads who are struggling with raising a teenage son–Jim

How many out there know of someone close-perhaps a family member, a next door neighbour-someone who knows someone who has a teenage boy who is troubled emotionally, is angry, perhaps violent and perhaps suicidal and he is fatherless. I suspect the response would be somewhere between substantial and overwhelming. Over the past two/three generations fatherlessness has become the number one social issue of our time and yet most who are touched by it in some way don’t or won’t talk about it. Research confirms there is a crisis in our families. I wrote this book, not to scare people, but to draw attention to the problem and to enlist the voices of those who get it–those who understand we need to develop a new paradigm about how we parent our kids.

I also wanted to pay tribute to those single moms (80% of single parented homes are headed by moms) out there who are doing the best they can to provide food, shelter, love and care to their families. What they can’t provide is the guidance and the knowledge their sons will need to navigate the transition from boyhood to manhood. I also want to commend those dads who are trying to figure out how to undo the damage done and somehow learn how to provide the male leadership that is so vitally important to young men.

A quick look at ” A Man’s Work Is Never Done: A Novel About Mentoring Our Sons” :
Jacob wanted all the privileges of being a man, but not the responsibility that goes with it. Follow the story of a disillusioned young man in his mid-teens who did not receive the benefit of having a father guide, of the trials of a single mother who struggles with understanding the realm of manhood and of a man who knows how difficult it can be to stay true to himself as a man in today’s world. Whether you are a single mother or a teenage boy looking for a little father guidance, this story will help you develop skills, learn techniques and uncover lessons life has to teach so that you can create a life filled with balance and promise, peace and happiness. I not only identify some of the issues that need to be dealt with, but also suggest practical solutions that can be used by most people.

Understand more about what it means to live a life as a man in today’s world and do it with passion and excitement. The important others in your life will be grateful you did.

For more information about the book and how to purchase a copy please go to:   web page   e-mail me


Guest Post – Silk Threads

Firstly, many thanks to Jason for allowing me to promote my novel on his blog.
I’m African, although like Jason, my skin is a different shade to the majority; my face sharper, hair straighter. Like many misplaced races I know nothing about crumpets or the Queen, although many people automatically assume I do.
Frankie Kay is a pen name – the real me is pretty boring.

Displaced by Mugabe, I could no longer continue with my chosen profession, so I did a degree…and then another one and now I work mostly with people with Aspergers Syndrome (I call them Aspies.)

I’ve noticed when someone asks me, “What is an Aspie,” they switch off the moment I take a breath to explain! It’s much easier to say “Lisa is an Aspie,” (read my book!)

My first novel Silk Threads, “came” to me all in one second. I was lying in bed thinking through a discussion I recently had with a client and boom – I saw Eugene lean into Lisa on the flowerbed, saw him take control of her; her life. It’s so easy for this to happen to an Aspie, but I leave the reader to decide if he abused her.

Writing Silk Threads was easy, it just poured out of me…but promoting it has been very difficult. I’m not an “out there” person by nature. For me to puff myself off, sell myself, is very difficult. And so once again, a big ‘thank you’ to OM for offering me this opportunity.
When I came to publish Silk Threads, I knew nothing about blogging, or twitting or any of the tools used nowadays by independent writers. Someone told me, “you have to blog…you need a blog to promote your writing, connect with fans!” so off I went and investigated this new tool. A world I didn’t know existed opened up for me, and I became cyber-acquainted with a set of new people with diverse interests.
I can’t say I have always wanted to write, but I tend to retreat into an imaginary world; when I’m driving or bored. I’ve always told children stories and they generally clamour for more. I use my blog to practice my writing and talk about my life; even started another one showcasing photographs of my wonderful country, Zimbabwe. Here is a link to my photoblog: frankiekayfotos
I changed ‘Silk Threads’ gradually – sanitised it somewhat, eventually publishing the revised version as “A Silken Thread” on Amazon. (Silk Threads and my short story, Jack and JIll are still free on Smashwords.)
This is the glory of self publishing, I can change things continually – tweek and perfect them!
Please click on the links to download my book or email me to send you a copy. You will find all the links on my blog, frankiekay

Below is a chapter from Silk Threads…..

RABSON Dube worked at the wildlife orphanage. He fed the animals, cleaned the cages and helped out around the place. A simple soul, he liked his job. He drank too much, but he swore this helped with his migraines.
Tall, with rounded, barrel chest and powerful arms, the task of carrying meat to the lions and bags of food to the elephant were easy for him. The smell of rotting meat and dung from the animal cages permeated his being, but Rabson didn’t appear to notice.
At night, in a dark alley, this spectre would be scary. His appearance was alarming, mostly on account of his bright red eyes. Inside, Rabson was a gentle soul with cataracts. Son of a scout and brought up on a private game ranch, he was good with animals, understood them, liked to talk to them.
In his workman clothes, old overalls, usually open to the waist at the front, and a cheap pair of plastic gumboots he blended into the background, invisible to most visitors to the orphanage.

MIDWEEK, when cleaning cages, Rabson noticed a man. Noticed the man didn’t look at the animals. He watched people only. Rabson thought he was like a leopard. He walked like one. Rabson knew this man was not there to look at the animals, he was there to look for something else. Prey? Fanciful? he thought, shaking his head slightly. However, he watched the man. Watched him look at each and every person who worked at the wildlife orphanage: the tea girls, the cleaners, even the boss.

TODAY, Saturday, Rabson cleaning the monkey’s cages saw a woman arrive from the car park. He saw she was alone; not only alone in the car, alone in her head. He saw her gaze track around, not pausing as it swept past his face, not pausing as it passed anyone’s face. Rabson knew she had seen him, had noticed him; not like most white people, who didn’t notice black people. She had seen him, but she didn’t want to see him; didn’t want to see anyone.
She was tall, and powerful, with strong shoulders and a flat stomach. She was different. She talked to the animals, like he did. She stopped and spoke to the suricats, their cages close to the entrance. Her face, like still water. Impenetrable on the surface, visible if you look under.
Rabson saw her delight when the mongoose popped up over the fake ant heap and her fascination at the bundle of scales which was the pangolin, curled up against the fence.
Most people who visited the orphanage only looked at the animals, crossing each off some sort of a mental list, before moving on to the next. This woman was different, she dragged herself reluctantly away from each cage, slowly making her way down the path, saying good-bye to each animal.
He lost track of her for a while, perhaps thirty minutes. She reappeared, climbing up a path across from the one where he was busy sweeping. He could see her face again now, saw her linger near a cage for a time, before continuing on her way.
Then, he saw her stride falter, one foot stranded in mid air. It was as if she had stopped breathing, as if she wanted to be invisible. Half way through a step, she stopped. Then she backed away one step. And then another.
With a grin, he guessed she had come face to face with the leopard, lying on his log staring at her, utterly still, completely cold. Although she was more than ten meters away, she instinctively sensed she was in danger, and she would have been, but for the double layers of diamond mesh wire between them.
Rabson knew the feeling, the leopard did it to him on occasion, and he always found its icy stare scary. Perhaps he was playing? Rabson, grateful he always had the mesh between him and the leopard, didn’t wish to find out.
Those eyes. That watchful, predatory stare. The implausible beauty of this dangerous creature, mesmeric. Hypnotic.
He was right, this woman was different. He hardly ever saw anyone react to the leopard like this. Sometimes children did. Recently he watched a boy pass that way. Unlike the woman, when the child saw the leopard, he backed away, first one step, then he kept on going, right to the bottom of the path, back to his mother.
And then she did. She backed away another step and then another. Rabson glanced back at the leopard. He had hissed at her, his lips pulled back from his teeth, exposing the inside of his throat, his pink tongue. Then, as only big cats do, he put his head back onto his paws, and closed his eyes.
The woman remained on the concrete path and watched, for a long, long time. He noticed, like the little boy, she didn’t pass the leopard cage, she returned the way she came and turned right, once more out of sight.
He was sure she didn’t know it, but she was moving towards the elephant pen. Rabson couldn’t wait to see her reaction to the elephant. He loved the elephant, loved to talk to it. Such a clever animal, playful, but never like the leopard. The elephant was gentle, had kind eyes. Rabson wouldn’t see her face from where he was working, so he wheeled his barrow around behind the lion pen.
He managed to see her talk to the elephant, and it was worth his manoeuvre. She watched it eat, watched it drink, move.
Rabson, his shoulder propped against a tree, watched her climb up the steps and sit down in the viewing platform.
He had a well developed instinct for danger, being brought up in the bush, in a park teeming with wild animals. Suddenly fear spiked his nerves. Alert, he jerked around, directly into the gaze of the man he had seen in the midweek, and Rabson knew he was not safe.
This leopard was not behind two layers of wire mesh. He was over there, less than thirty meters away, and Rabson knew instinctively he was dangerous and that he was watching him, Rabson.
Why, he wondered?
And, like the woman and the little boy, he backed away warily, back to the heap of leaves he had abandoned on the path and continued his sweeping.
The woman sat in the upstairs viewing platform for about an hour and she watched that elephant. She watched it throw sand over its back, drink, eat the fresh hay. Rabson had work to do, but he noticed when many people began to arrive, she left.
They bothered her.

You can find a copy of Silk Threads here on Smashwords and here on Amazon

Guest Post – We are turning our kids into criminals

Our society today is incredibly superficial. No one looks at inner beauty anymore and we thrive on constant pointless arguments. The goal of finding a peaceful balance seems to become further and further from reality with the press and new expectations that appear on a daily basis.

Walking through the store, a little girl pointed out what someone was wearing and immediately began negatively talking about the person. This was not a lady who had on incredibly revealing clothes, she was wearing some very tight and very brightly noticeable pants though. Her shirt was rather long covering all the essentials and actually creating a nice but vibrant outfit. I actually overheard the little girls grandmother tell her she should not say such things because of what the lady was wearing. She explained she was wearing tights under a dress, there was no cleavage showing and though she had on tights, you could not see her bottom.

The grandmother began a speech on not judging a book by its cover and never judge someone because they wear different clothes. She could be from another country or maybe she just liked being different. It was an honorable thing to overhear. It is not often I hear anyone correcting teens these days.

Our teens have began to get out of control. Most of them are disrespectful and lack manners. I know my children are expected to use their manners anywhere and everywhere they go. There are consequences for  being rude and I get complimented often on their behavior. So many teens think it is okay to argue, curse at, and put their hands on adults or younger children. I blame the parents for this, sorry for being honest.

As parents, we are supposed to teach and guide our children to do the right thing. If we do not, we end up with snot nosed little shits. I once had to babysit some children who made me ponder pulling my hair out. They were rude and demanded I clean their rooms because they refused. They did what they wanted, when they wanted, and never once said please or thank you. If you told them to do something, they told you no. I never watched those kids again, I declined every time I was asked.

Why is this okay? If the children had parents who busted their ass once or twice they may not be little demons. More and more kids are beginning to act like this now. If they get a swat on the ass they threaten to call child protective services. This is ridiculous and I feel if spanking is necessary as a punishment, it should be done. I do not mean beat your children. Child abuse is a big huge no-no in my book. I will call the police and child protective services over abuse. On another note, swatting your child on the ass with your hand is not abuse in my book. I understand not everyone feels this way.

It is statistically proven that there is more child and teen crime as “abuse” laws become more and more ridiculous. I do not fully understand why this trend has not been noticed or why no one has done anything about it. I have swatted my child in public, not hard of course, and had three different people thank me for punishing my child rather than letting her continue to throw an unnecessary fit because I would not get her the toy she wanted. I also do not take her out to the park or places like that when she acts up. It is the same with her brother. They act right or suffer the consequences.

This is how it should be. We are allowing our children to walk all over us and then wondering why they are turning into criminals. Possibly because we teach them no discipline or how to respect authority. This is why we have some of the issues we have today and I do not feel anyone can convince me otherwise.

Teach your kids manners and respect, that is all!

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