Writing Samples
Memoirs & Nonfiction
FROM A soldier's redemption by lorenzo louden, THE MEMOIR OF A FORMERLY INCARCERATED MAN FROM chicAGO (ghostwriting)
One day in the summer of 1968, Uncle Rich left me with specific orders to slow-cook a pot of ham hocks and beans. All I had to do was keep adding water to the pot when the water level got low. But, I was a kid and I was busy doing other things. I went out into the backyard to play. Next thing I knew, there was smoke coming out the window. I raced upstairs to find the pot smoking really badly. All the water had evaporated out of it. I tried to clean out the pot, but I didn’t know you had to soak a pot before you could remove stuck-on food. The pot was ruined, so I threw it out in the garbage cans in back. Then I opened all the windows in the house. I lit some candles to mask the smell, and tried to air out the house. Knowing I had disobeyed Uncle Rich, I became terrified. When four o’clock rolled around and it was time for him to come home, I headed downstairs. I believed I would be safe down there, and I didn’t have any better ideas. When Uncle Rich came home and made his way upstairs, he started hollering. In a very threatening voice, he was yelling for me to come up. Jeanette was not home from work yet, but R.L. was out in the garage. The kids were also downstairs at the time. I very reluctantly dragged myself up the stairs, where I found Uncle Rich sitting at the kitchen table, huffing and puffing. “Tell me why I’m smelling burnt things in this house!” he demanded. Seeing him that angry made my mind go blank. “I don’t know,” I lied. That was a big mistake. Uncle Rich grabbed me by my shirt. I told him I’d burnt the beans by mistake. He pushed me back, telling me to go into my room. It felt like I was in there forever, but it was really only an hour or so. After a while, I needed to come out and go to the washroom. I didn’t know what to do because I was afraid to run into Uncle Rich. I cautiously came out of my room—and found him still sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper. It was obvious he’d been drinking. I said, “I’m hungry!” He snapped at me, “You don’t deserve to eat! You burnt up the food!” Then he told me to sit down opposite him at the kitchen table. Slurring his speech, he told me, “I am giving you up! I’m tired of you. You’re not my family anyway!” Before I could stop the words from flying out of my mouth, I said, “Go ahead! I hate you! I’ll probably have a better life without you in it!” He reached across the table to grab me. But, he couldn’t get to me because I leaned back in my chair—and fell. Then the table fell over. I got up real quick. Uncle Rich tried to run around the table to grab me. I was too fast for him. He was yelling, “You stop running!” I kept running, and now I was hollering too. He abruptly stopped running after me, and went out the back door onto the porch. Then he came back in with a ball peen hammer, and announced, “I’m gonna kill your black ass!” I was terrified, and I had only one thought in my head—to get as far away from him as I could. He reared back and swung the hammer, yelling, “I TOLD YOU TO STOP RUNNING!” Then he threw the hammer at me. As it went sailing through the air, I quickly dropped to the ground. The hammer hit the refrigerator door and lodged there. He tried to kick the table out of the way so he could corner me. But, when he reached for me, he fell over the edge of the table and landed on his side. He hurt himself in the fall and started screaming. As he was lying there, he grabbed my leg, but I managed to shake him off. I ran down the hallway...
FROM MY BLACK BOX: FLIGHTS OF BIPOLAR BY MICHELLE MURPHY (GHOSTWRITing)
One It all started when the television changed. News channels were no longer spinning news or deliberating with experts about the latest gossip. Instead, there was a documentary showing on TV. I could see the documentarian who was covering the gruesome genocide in Darfur. He had been denied coverage on the major stations and the information he’d uncovered had been denied by the United Nations. All kinds of things were now being uncovered and the truth was coming out. Men had been falsely accused of sexual rape of their children, thanks to horrible psychologists prompting the kids to recall false memories. These poor fathers were innocent but they had to serve time in jail. On every channel, people were mesmerized. The only sign that this was still a news channel was the transparent logo at the bottom of the screen. On many of the channels, people were forming teams—for what, I didn’t know. All I knew was that people were starting to communicate telepathically over the airwaves, and form teams. Everyone was being given a purpose in life. Everyone was moving in robotic, tick-tock order, following some game. They had been brainwashed for this very moment, through TV, video games and their dreams. The weekend was approaching so most people didn’t need to go to work, but those that did go to work were on teams in the workplace. Everybody was on a high.While all these things were going on, I knew what was really happening: the poles were shifting and everything I had been prepared for in my two previous episodes was about to begin for real. A young woman with a gift was entangled in a battle between the forces of good and evil. And the future of the world was at stake. That was how I felt… I thought to myself, I am ready. Let the games begin.*** I have a real good connection with nature. It has always been that way. I love exploring the outdoors and I would rather walk on grass than the sidewalk. When I was a small child, we were living in Paducah, Kentucky and we had a big hill in the backyard. After my dad cut the grass, he liked to lie down and together we would roll down the hill. One night when I was about three years old, Dad told me I could sleep outside. I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited. He stayed with me until I fell asleep and then carried me back inside. In the morning when I woke up and went to find my dad, he was still sleeping outside. When I was two, I had gotten a little sister named Stephanie. She was very adventurous and loved animals. We had all kinds—a rabbit, an iguana, fish, and cats, but no dog—and she loved looking after them all. Later in life, she would end up majoring in psychology and helping kids with autism. Dad loved being a father. He was very family oriented and kind, and always put all of us before himself. He was a K-Mart manager and a hard worker. Mom was a stay-at-home mom, and she was very proud of us. She took us to the Methodist church, which was a good experience. I ended up liking church a lot. She encouraged me in my school work and studies and became a great role model. In 1982 when I was four and we were still living in Kentucky, I had my first nightmare. It was a recurring dream in which I am playing in the front yard with my parents, and a vampire comes up to the house and whisks me away. Once I started having those dreams, it became very hard to fall asleep because I was afraid there was a vampire under my bed. Everyone in the family knew about my vampire fears and Dad would check under the bed for me every night. In the mornings, I would scoot to the edge of the bed and jump as far off the bed as I could. That way, no one could grab my ankles. At that same age, I also became very interested in superhuman powers and believed I already possessed them. I thought I was special. Of course, as a kid, I was watching a lot of weird shows on TV. Every night before getting into bed, I would thank God for my special powers. When my parents went out with friends, Stephanie and I would stay with a babysitter. She was a young girl and I adored her. We loved to find roly-poly bugs and play catch with them. Sadly, after we moved away, I found out she’d died in an accident. She was riding a lawnmower and got pinned underneath...
FROM LESSONS FROM NEVERLAND BY MELISSA HULL GALLEMORE (GHOSTWRITING)
Despite the fact that Joey was still spending a great deal of time out of town, I was really happy and feeling pretty good. I resumed my counseling appointments with Scottie and worked with her on becoming more patient and understanding with Drew. She taught me how to direct Drew’s energies into positive directions so I wasn’t constantly scolding him. I started having an easier time managing my boys and was sleeping better at night. On May 18th, 2000, Drew and I took a bunch of unpainted wooden birdhouses into his preschool classroom, along with a bunch of paint and brushes. The kids had a great time painting their birdhouses and Drew and I had our picture taken together. In the photo, Drew is sitting on my lap holding his birdhouse, surrounded by all the other kids holding theirs. It was a wonderful and memorable day for me and Drew. As we left preschool, my son was proudly carrying his brightly painted birdhouse. He loved primary colors and especially “Power Ranger” red. So he had painted his birdhouse red and added some blue, which is my favorite color, and some green. After preschool, we stopped by Burger King and had a wonderful time there. It was a bright sunny day so, when we got home, I took the boys outside where they could eat watermelon and splash around in the kiddie pool. Meanwhile, our dogs ran around the cornfields surrounding our yard, panting from the heat. When I heard the phone ring, I went inside to take the call, while keeping one eye on the boys outside. It was Joey who was out of town with Gabby. I told him about our wonderful birdhouse project and he told me about Gabby’s latest accusation of me. Our phone conversation devolved into an argument and ended with him hanging up on me. I was sick to death of talking to Joey about Gabby and fed up with her constantly meddling in our lives. I despised her for it and resented Joey for allowing it, but that didn’t dampen my resolve to be a good mom and a better wife. When I went back outside, Drew sensed that I was upset. “Mommy, let’s get Popsicles and make us happy!” My son had the right idea. I needed to turn my frown upside down with a Popsicle. So, that’s what we did. The boys and I ate Popsicles and then they watched Thomas the Tank Engine while I cooked dinner. When it was the boys’ bedtime, I went to find Drew so that he could brush his teeth. I discovered him already asleep in the top bunk where he always slept. He was still wearing that day’s outfit but I didn’t want to wake him by undressing him. I pulled the blanket over him and let him sleep, kissing him on the cheek. Then I lay down next to Devin on the bottom bunk. Once Devin had fallen asleep, I made my way to my own room and fell asleep, alone. I wasn’t expecting Joey back home until the following evening. At some point during the night, I was awakened by the sound of Devin coughing. I went into the boys’ bedroom, picked up Devin and brought him into my room with me so I could give him a breathing treatment. It took a while to get him to the point where he was able to breathe freely. And two or three o’clock in the morning, I called Joey. I was calling to ask him to cancel his patients for the following day in the satellite office and come home to help me. He let my call go straight into voicemail. I figured he must have turned off his phone right after hanging up on me earlier. I left him a message, explaining, “I’m exhausted and I really need your help with the boys!” I knew that, if I couldn’t get Devin’s breathing trouble under control, I was going to need to take him to the hospital. If that happened, I would really need my husband’s help with Drew. I made a couple more attempts to reach Joey but, each time, my call went straight into voicemail. I left a couple more messages for him, saying, “I need you to call me as soon as possible!” I immediately got up and went into the playroom where I had left Drew. He wasn’t there and the video had stopped. We have a one-story house and there weren’t a lot of places indoors that he could have been hiding. The dogs weren’t inside the house either. Instinctively I sensed that something was very, very wrong. I ran into my room and threw on a sundress and flip-flops. Then I ran outside, calling for Drew. On my way out the door, I noticed that the sliding glass door was open a little bit. Drew must have opened it to let himself out, which would explain why I hadn’t heard the shutting of the back door when he went out. Otherwise, the sound surely would have awakened me...
FROM THE STRAIGHT TRUTH BY WILLIAM GULYA, THE NONFICTION BOOK OF AN EXPERT WITNESS (GHOSTWRITING)
EXPERIENCEThe Expert’s Most Valuable Asset
“The young man knows the rules,but the old man knows the exceptions.”~Oliver Wendell Holmes
• Making a Difference I have been in the business of site-work construction since I was a kid. I started out working for my father and uncles during summer vacations, went full-time in 1972, and eventually took over my father’s business. I have been quite successful, but the reality is that my line of work is limited, in terms of the kind of fulfillment it offers. Like a painting that starts with a blank canvas, we start with an unimproved piece of land. Unlike the creation of a painting, my work generally goes unnoticed. No one remembers what the land looked like before we started, so there is little appreciation of the hard work we did to mold and shape it. Nobody ever sees the pipes underground, or fully understands what it takes to shape the earth, and make the parking lots. Building construction is different. People might watch a building going up and say, “Gee, that’s a nice looking building!” Rarely does anyone ever look at a parking lot and say, “Gee, that’s a great looking parking lot!” It happens only once in a blue moon. Every working person wants to feel that the contribution they make in their particular line of work has an impact, and adds value in the greater scheme of life. The idea of becoming an expert witness began to appeal to me because I saw it as a way to truly make a difference—in a way that people could easily recognize and understand. An expert witness is described as follows (quoted from the online encyclopedia, www.wikipedia.org):“An expert witness, professional witness, or judicial witness is a witness who, by virtue of education, training, skill, or experience is believed to have expertise and specialized knowledge in a particular subject beyond that of the average person, sufficient that others may sufficiently and legally rely upon the witness’s specialized (scientific, technical, or other) opinion about an evidence or fact issue within the scope of his expertise, referred to as the expert opinion, as an assistance to the fact-finder. Expert witnesses may also deliver expert evidence from the domain of their expertise…” All you have to do is look at that definition, and you can begin to see how being an expert witness offers the opportunity to be of service to others in a very concrete and meaningful way. Expert work always leads to a tangible result. And, it all begins with your report. Your expert witness report is a critical part of the judicial process, and is often a major factor in determining whether or not a case ever goes to trial. More cases settle than not, due in large part to the presence of expert witnesses in the judicial process. In fact, of the 15,000,000 lawsuits filed each year, 95% are settled out of court. If a case does proceed to court, the expert’s report has a huge impact on how the jury absorbs the evidence and facts. A well-constructed, well-written report ensures that the jury will give due consideration to the expert’s opinions and conclusion related to the evidence and facts at issue in the case. Prior to any trial, your report will be submitted to opposing counsel, as part of the discovery process. Once you, as the expert witness, take the stand in a courtroom, or are deposed in deposition, the opposing counsel will attempt to twist, manipulate, and take out of context the contents of your report. It’s nothing personal. It’s their job, and it is worthy of respect. But at the end of the day, attorneys know what they’re up against. For all their posturing, they realize that an expert opinion supported by the facts, the evidence, and the truth, is irrefutable. Does that mean that the truth always wins out in the end, and justice is served in every case? Sadly, no. It does mean that an expert witness properly doing their job, and telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth as they know it to be, can profoundly alter the direction of a case. In the ideal scenario, the opinions and conclusion expressed by the expert will motivate opposing counsel to go to their client and say, “You know, we potentially have problems in this case that will be very difficult to overcome. If we address these things by battling it out in a court of law, my fee is going to be hundreds of dollars per hour. When you multiply my hourly fee times each eight-hour day we spend in court, the costs can add up. Maybe we ought to think about getting this matter resolved.” When your expert report is instrumental in inducing settlement, you can’t help but feel like you’re making a real difference. • Assessing Your Qualifications
Once I had decided I was potentially interested in becoming an expert witness, I had to determine whether I could turn my knowledge and experience into something that would help others with their legal issues. Some honest self-assessment was in order. I had to ask myself some hard questions, and be willing to hear the answers. The very first question I needed to ask myself was this: Am I qualified to be an expert witness? If the answer to that question was no, there would be no point in giving the idea any further consideration. What was the main qualification of any expert witness? Experience. First and foremost, I needed to be experienced, and know my field thoroughly. I needed to have experienced many different circumstances and situations, and know the proper, industry accepted way to handle them...
FROM LADDER TO THE MOON BY GEORGES BUDAGU MAKOKO, THE MEMOIR OF AN AFRICAN IMMIGRANT (DEVELOPMENTAL EDITING)
My family began preparing all the belongings necessary for my sister’s journey, including new clothes, shoes, lotions, and soaps. There were many things she would need for her new life and according to cultural norms, everything had to be purchased new. My sister was about to begin an entirely new lifestyle, and it was going to cost us the value of one cow to buy everything she would require. Once my father had purchased everything my sister would need for her married life, he set the specific date that my sister would leave, and then secretly informed everyone in the village—everyone, except my sister! Everyone in the village was warned not to tell Nyanoro anything about the date of her wedding. This secretive way of handling an upcoming wedding was traditional in my tribe, and was intended to keep the bride from suffering emotionally. Nyanoro’s journey to her new home would require one day of walking, the wedding itself would last one day, and then those who accompanied her would return on the third day. My family, and the people in the village who would accompany my sister, began making preparations to leave. My sister could see that my father was buying her new things, and she knew that the day of her wedding was approaching—but she never knew the exact date. Girls never participated in any decisions concerning their marriage. They were rarely happy about their upcoming marriage, and many had neither interest nor pleasure in their wedding ceremony. It was a time of separating themselves from their families, and it was very heartbreaking for them and for their family, as well. Some brides were still young when they married, but because of the healthy diet we followed in our village, they developed their figures at a young age and usually looked mature by the time they reached marrying age. Long before a girl’s figure developed, the women in the village counseled her to remain pure and preserve her family’s values. Life’s richness often lies in the small, everyday experiences. From a relaxing morning ritual to a spontaneous conversation with a friend, these moments contribute significantly to your overall well-being. By appreciating and savoring these daily experiences, you can find greater joy and satisfaction in life...
FROM how i ate a live scorpion and survived twenty years of doing business in china by michael s. ward, THE NONFICTION BUSINESS BOOK OF A MAN WHO HAD DONE BUSINESS IN CHINA FOR OVER TWENTY YEARS (GHOSTWRITING)
How to Eat a Live Scorpion
A couple of years ago, I visited a factory in China that manufactured over the road (semi) trucks. We arrived early in the morning and spent most of the day touring a massive complex – several million square feet of manufacturing. This was a new supplier and we had never done business together before, but I had been in China for over twenty years, doing business in the automotive industry, so there was a commonality of suppliers. And, I knew people like Mr. Chen, who over time grew to become an influential member of the Communist Party. My reputation preceded me.That night, we had our first formal meal together. The factory had reserved a private room in a large Chinese restaurant. When we first sat down to dinner, there was every indication that the meal would unfold along the same lines as the scores of other dinners I had enjoyed on my many trips to China. Whenever I am able, I like to take an associate with me to China, as it speeds the information and contacts inside our company – and relieves me of the total drinking responsibility at mealtime. So, on this particular trip, I had Mike Felder with me as my traveling companion and back-up alcohol drinker. Felder had made enough trips with me to understand the drill at mealtime, and the rule to always choose beer at the beginning of the meal. Unfortunately, this night of all nights, I had let my guard down and been looking the other way when we were offered our choice of liquor. By the time I realized what had happened, it was too late. Felder had made his fateful choice: the Chinese white liquor – which I tend to think of as hot sewer water!Except for my colleague’s choice of the white liquor, the meal followed all the usual procedures, with soup being served second to last, and fresh fruit being served as our last course – or, so I thought. As I was finishing my fruit, I noticed over my shoulder someone in a white chef’s uniform with a stovepipe chef’s hat. I thought, hmm, that’s strange. Another course? The chef was carrying a twenty-four-to-thirty-inch silver platter. With great fanfare, he circled the table. He then approached me directly, presenting the platter on the lazy Susan in the center of the table right in my line of vision. As my eyes were trying to focus on the contents of the platter, I heard Felder, who was seated to my right, exclaim, “Chief, do you see what I see?” Felder had already locked his eyes onto mine in an intense stare. I leaned towards him and whispered, “Be calm. This is not what it looks like.” At that point, I was certain it was a joke or something. It was simply impossible! It had to be a joke. On the platter was a block of ice ringed with a wreath of fresh garden vegetables. On top of the block of ice were eighteen to twenty black scorpions! The critters were two-to-two-and-a-half inches in length. And yes, they were very much alive. I could not believe my eyes. I looked up at the chef, and around the table at our hosts. They all had great smiles on their faces. Although the ice had slowed down the metabolism of the scorpions, there was definite movement, including twitching of their inquisitive tails. It was one of those moments where time seemed to be suspended, even as my mind was racing to make sense of it all. I thought to myself, okay, okay, I must stay calm, and summon all of my Chinese experience so as not to lose face in front of my hosts. I retrieved my best smile, and picked up my chopsticks. At the same time, I saw my life flash before my eyes. As my chopsticks probed the pile of scorpions, the chef stepped boldly forward, and using his own chopsticks, plucked a scorpion from the block of ice. He was quite careful with his chopsticks, grabbing the scorpion at the end of its tail, with only its stinger exposed. The only thing visible protruding from the top of his chopsticks was the stinger. The pinchers and the rest of the body were dangling on the other side of his chopsticks. The chef brought the scorpion right up to his mouth, bit off the stinger with his teeth, and dramatically spit it on the floor. Then he quickly disposed of the rest of the very angry scorpion by popping it into his mouth. He was giving me a step by step demonstration. As the chef chewed up the scorpion, I could hear the crunching sound coming from his mouth. Our Chinese hosts roared with approval and with a wide grin, motioned for me to try one. About this time, Felder came to my rescue. “I want to be next!” he announced. I was surprised, but not shocked. I had taken notice during the dinner that Felder had been bravely trying to uphold the company honor by taking more than his share of the white Chinese liquor. He knew I was not happy with his decision to overrule my beer-only policy. And, he was trying to make it up to me in a big way.“Chief,” he said, with only the tiniest slur to his speech, “I’m taking one for the team!” Oh, no, I thought. How will I ever explain this to his family if things go south? He had been with me for so many years, I personally knew not only his wife, but his mother and father, as well. Since I had obeyed my own beer-only rule, and was the one still in control of my faculties, it was going to be on my conscience if I didn’t save him from himself. Before I could get this all sorted out in my own mind, Felder had made his move.He had already selected his after-dinner delight. Emboldened by the white Chinese fire water, Felder bit off the tail with even more finesse than our chef, dropped the scorpion in his mouth, and swallowed it with a big smile on his face. I was stunned. Even the chef’s demonstration couldn’t hold a candle to Mike Felder’s scorpion eating talent! After swallowing, Felder signaled to our hosts as if to say, “Now, it’s your turn.” But, our hosts’ eyes were wide open and fixed into a stare. Clearly, they could not believe what had just happened. I do not think, in their wildest imagination, they ever thought it would progress this far.
FROM FINAL DRIVE BY SHELLY HESS, A MEMOIR I GHOSTWROTE FOR A MOM WHO LOST HER ESTRANGED HUSBAND IN A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT
October 3rd, 2009—The Accident“Oh, I ran so far through a broken landI was following that drummerBeating in a different bandAnd somewhere on the highwayI let go of her handNow she’s gone foreverLike her footprints in the sand…”~“My Baby Needs a Shepherd,” by Emmy Lou Harris
Around nine o’clock, I was startled awake. Was I dreaming, or was the phone really ringing? I was in a daze from sleeping so heavily. Then, it hit me—it was Dylan calling me to let me know he’d made it safely to Rampriders. I rolled over and reached for the phone. “Hello? Dylan?” I said. “Shelly,” the voice said, “you don’t know me, but…” Through the haze of cold medicine, I was having trouble focusing. I said, “Dylan? Honey, is that you?” “You don’t know me,” the voice repeated, “but I’m Jan’s friend.” “Who?” I asked. “Who is this?” “You don’t know me, Shelly,” he said, one more time. “I’m John, Jan’s friend—you know—Bill’s mom, Jan. I don’t know how to tell you this, but…there’s been an accident…” As he was talking, I was looking around my room, trying to decide whether or not I was dreaming. What was happening here? He said, “Shelly? Shelly, are you there?” I said, “Who is this, and what did you just say?” “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but, there’s been an accident. Billy is gone.” Bill’s mother, Jan, always called him Billy. I was still lying in bed at this point, holding the phone to my ear. Gone? Bill? My Bill? I sat up further in bed, struggling to shake off the effects of the Nyquil I had taken only two hours earlier. “We were going to be leaving on a cruise tomorrow,” he continued, “and Jan suddenly felt like she had to talk to Billy. She didn’t want to leave town without letting him know we’d be gone for awhile.” That was a first. In the past several years, there had been only a couple of Bill’s mother’s trips that we knew about in advance. We usually didn’t even find out she had been traveling until months after she’d been home. “Anyway,” he went on, “she had this overwhelming need to call Billy. When she called his phone, somebody answered—but it wasn’t him. Jan hung up, thinking she had the wrong number, and then called right back. The same strange voice answered, and said, ‘May I ask who is calling?’ And Jan, thinking it was Lisa, who is not exactly her favorite person, got defensive, and said, ‘Well, who is this?’ Then the woman identified herself as a nurse…” A nurse? Why was a nurse answering Bill’s cell phone? My eyes were moving back and forth over the room. I looked down at my body, and hardly recognized it. I could hear the words coming through the phone, but they did not compute. John was saying, “And then the nurse said, ‘I need to know who I am speaking to.’ And Jan said, ‘I am his MOTHER!’” As the story came out, each fragment ricocheted around in my brain. John said, “She was a nurse from St. Joseph’s Hospital in Highland, Illinois…” Highland, Illinois? Why would a nurse in Illinois have Bill’s cell phone? I looked at the phone receiver, unable to speak. My mouth no longer seemed to be working. I could not move...
samples: BIOS & about pages
SAMPLE:Eric J. Caron is a former U.S. Diplomat, U.S. Special Agent, and HSBC Middle East Bank Executive. He is currently a security consultant and an analyst for Channel 7 News in Boston, Massachusetts. He is also an Adjunct Professor at the Massachusetts Maritime Academy on Cape Cod, where he teaches a course on How to Identify and Prevent Transnational Crime. Caron has held senior positions within the Department of Treasury, Department of Homeland Security (DHS) and INTERPOL. Throughout his career, he successfully initiated and managed covert operations that identified and disrupted international WMD proliferation networks, terrorism, terror financing, and transnational crime networks involved in drug smuggling, human trafficking, and intellectual property rights (IPR) violations. He was the lead DHS official in Dubai, responsible for preventing WMD materials from entering the U.S. and military technology from being acquired by Iran...
SAMPLE:Stuart Gregory grew up in New York on Long Island. He worked on Wall Street through Manhattan’s golden age of the 1980s. Enjoying all the spoils of his bond trader’s income, he immersed himself in New York City nightlife. Then in 1988, he decided that it was time to get out of the fast lane for a while and rethink his life. Trying to get as far away from his New York lifestyle as he could, he joined the Peace Corps. He found himself on Tonga, a primitive island in the South Pacific. His adventure was filled with as many surprises, perils. and scandals as the streets of New York City. Along the way, he experienced a Walden Pond type transformation, remaking himself from the inside out. Before returning to New York, the author made a detour to Hong Kong. Once again, he found himself right in the middle of a boom period, this time in the Asian financial markets. Over the next couple of years, he continued his personal and business evolution, eventually returning to New York, victorious. Stuart splits his time between Long Island, New York and Palm Beach, Florida. He credits his lovely wife, Kingsley, with motivating him to finish this book. Notes Stuart, “Without my beautiful bride threatening to withhold mac ‘n cheese and all fun times until I got this book finished, you wouldn’t be reading it today!”I’m a paragraph. Drag me to add paragraph to your block, write your own text and edit me.
SAMPLE:Carlton has always strived to embrace all the gifts and knowledge his multi-dimensional career has brought to his life – not the least of which has been an awareness of the profoundly healing, penetrating, barrier-transcending force of music. In his willingness to explore uncharted territory, Carlton also discovered the necessity and the power of the liberated written word, and has felt compelled to find and create avenues to harness that power. With that in mind, he has taken the bull by the horns and created Treelife Publishing, a platform that will allow the two worlds of rhythm and writing to blend seamlessly together with an everlasting impact.
SAMPLE:Georges Budagu Makoko is a member of the Banyamulenge—a Tutsi tribe. He was born in the southern Kivu province of Eastern DR Congo, spent his early years living among extended family in his villages, and later moved to the urban areas of the Congo to further his education. He lived for many years in war-torn Congo and Rwanda. After barely surviving the atrocities in the region, Budagu sought—and was granted—asylum in the United States, taking up residency in Portland, Maine. In 2011, he was sworn in as a citizen of the United States. The author is a devout Christian, who believes strongly in God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—the giver of eternal life. He is a devoted family man, who has built his life in America upon the same principles of mutual support he enjoyed as a child. Budagu believes that justice, freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness should be available to all people equally, and he is deeply wounded by the suffering and injustice he witnesses. He also believes that integrity, honesty, and hard work are the keys to a good life; that knowledge and wisdom are among our most powerful tools; and that without forgiveness, we will never conquer divisiveness or oppression. Georges lives by the philosophy that, “The story that is not told dies in someone’s mind—and the truth goes along with it. Evil flourishes whenever it is not pointed out.”
SAMPLE:General Richard “Butch” Neal is a retired four-star general and served from1996—1998 as Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps. He was born in the small town of Hull, Massachusetts, and went on to carry those solid small-town values with him into a long and distinguished career in the Marine Corps, the smallest of the major military services. After graduating with a B.S. in History and Education from Northeastern University in Boston, Neal was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Marine Corps and spent the next thirty-five years commanding at every level. During his time in the Marine Corps, he also went on to graduate from the National War College and earn his M.Ed. from Tulane University in New Orleans. The author served two tours in the Republic of Vietnam, and during Desert Storm, he served as the Deputy Director of Operations for General Schwarzkopf as well as Central Command Briefer. As a result of the many televised international press briefings he delivered during the war, General Neal returned home from the war to discover that he had become a household name and a nationally recognized figure. Since retiring in 1998, General Neal has been president of three intellectual property companies. He was the Senior Mentor for the United States Marine Corps for five years and is currently a Senior Fellow for the National Defense University. The general also served as Chairman of the Board for the Military Officers Association of America, is presently on the board of directors for several companies, and sits on the Board of Trustees for Norwich University. General Neal’s decorations include the Defense Distinguished Service Medal; Silver Star Medal with Gold Star; the Defense Superior Service Medal with Palm; Bronze Star Medal with Combat V; and the Purple Heart. He lives by the creed expressed in the Bible book of Luke, and articulated so beautifully in a speech long ago given by President John F. Kennedy: “For of those to whom much is given, much is required [and expected]. And when at some future date the high court of history sits in judgment on each of us, recording whether in our brief span of service we fulfilled our responsibilities to the state, our success or failure, in whatever office we hold, will be measured by the answer to four questions: First, were we truly men [and women] of courage….Second, were we truly men [and women] of judgment….Third, were we truly men [and women] of integrity….Finally, were we truly men [and women] of dedication?” (Bracketed text added.) First and foremost, Butch Neal is a family man. He is the proud father of three children, Andrew, Amy and Erin, and cherishes his role as Grandpa Guy to Marina, Nathaniel, Aiden, Kennedy, Tegan, Dominic, Sophia and Holland. He also maintains relationships with many of his Brothers in his Marine Corps family. When he is not spending time on Capitol Hill with Kathy, his wife of forty-eight years, and their kids and grandkids, or visiting his hometown of Hull, he can often be found reading or running. And he can frequently be seen walking solemnly along the Vietnam Wall near his home, honoring and remembering his fifteen Brothers from India Company 3/9 who perished on March 30—31st, 1967 in the Vietnam Battle of Getlin’s Corner. He considers it his solemn duty to remember his fallen Brothers, and believes that, in the remembering of them, they live on.I’m a paragraph. Drag me to add paragraph to your block, write your own text and edit me.