tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38837058727076944362024-02-20T10:32:44.343-08:00Eccentric Asians, Man-Eating Pandas & Other Mysteries of the WorldLisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-65284174013703274582016-05-10T20:59:00.000-07:002016-05-10T20:59:26.081-07:00I'm A Chinese Stand-up Comedian: Work Humor II<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">I have had a great time reading at the University Club of St. Paul. My reading caused roaring laughter. Here is the story and you can laugh yourself. I will download the video to </span><span style="font-size: 21.3333px; line-height: 24.5333px;">YouTube</span><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"> and share soon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Can You Tighten My Bra<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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By Lisa Wharton 05/30/2014<o:p></o:p></div>
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I knew her through work like most new people I have met
nowadays. We often ran into each other
at the only bathroom in the garage. Yes. My office was built into the first floor
garage of an air conditioning company where I worked as a consulting engineer. I often walked along dollies, big heavy
machinery, and giant sweepers operated by men.
Sometimes I passed by a group of workers standing in line to punch their
time cards. Their often-leering stares sent shivers down my spine. I didn’t belong here and I knew it. But I tried.
That’s why I started talking to our cleaning lady, Mona, in the bathroom
or the hallway. She was a loud petit
woman of 63 and loved to talk. Of
course, I wasn’t sure I liked talking to her all the time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Hey, Lisa. Would you
like to come to my house for a Jewelry party next Saturday? I live really close.” She asked earnestly,
which was reflected by her huge eyes behind her glasses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I don’t have much time, especially on weekends. Sure.
I will think about it.” I didn’t know how to just say no to my new
friend.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She immediately offered me a postcard and a thick catalog that
had Mary Kay in it. No, I didn’t want to
have anything to do with Mary Kay. I
heard myself shouting. Then, of course,
if she had a pink Cadillac, then I might consider it. I wouldn’t mind knowing a good Mary Kay
saleswoman. But I would never wear that kind
of costume Jewelry. Who did she think I
was, just an airheaded model? <o:p></o:p></div>
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She loved to look at herself in the mirror. She seemed to never have a good hair
day. She had matted, straight, shoulder
length hair, which reminded me of steel spikes pointing down. But she liked to comb it even though there
was nothing really to be combed. She
liked to adjust her glasses on her wrinkled skin. She said, “I’m tired a lot”. Even though I was so tired of hearing it, I
did sympathize. After all, she walked the
whole day throwing garbage around. She
often cried about her twin sister who died of syphilis and her brother of diabetes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One day she told me, “I’m going to a concert in two weeks
and one day and 8 hours.” “Which concert
and where?” I asked politely. “It’s at the Maplewood Community Center,” she
said with the same enthusiasm. “Have you
heard of Bret Michaels?” Her eyes
suddenly all lit up. She said in such
urgency as though if I didn’t know about him, she would slap me. “No. Who is he?” Of course, I had never heard of him, but I
wanted to learn more. “He is a very
sweet Rock & Roll guy. Oh, I can’t
wait to see him. I’m in love with him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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A couple of days later, I ran into Mona in the hallway. She stopped the big garbage can on wheels and
tried to take a few pictures out of a sandwich bag. “See.
This is HIM. Look, he gave me a
hug. He kissed me, too.” “Nice.
He looks very cute”, I said. “Yeah. He is so cute. I love him so much. I’m his groupie.” “Does your husband care?” I
asked. “No. He knows that I’m in love with Bret. I go every concert he has in town. I wish that I could afford to go to some out
of town ones. I love him so much.” She said with tears in her eyes. I didn’t exactly understand her love for this
hippie singer. But her emotion moved me
and I started to like her a little more until something else happened.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I ran into her in the bathroom one day. When I got out of my stall, I saw her looking
at herself in the mirror as usual. She
looked engrossed in private thoughts. In
order not to disturb her, I picked up my teacup and tried to slip out of the
door. Then I heard, “Hey, can you tighten my bra?” “What?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “I hurt my right arm yesterday and can’t lift
it up. Can you help me?” She said sincerely. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t really mind helping her. Yet from all the sexual harassment training I
had at my previous jobs, I knew I shouldn’t do it. It could get me in trouble. What if she decided to sue me? But I couldn’t just refuse. She would be offended and then I still had to
see her every day in the bathroom or in the hallway. It would be awkward. If I helped her, it would be awkward,
too. So I decided to treat it with humor. “You have weird requests,” I said. “Besides, I also hurt my arm yesterday. You
see.” I pretended having trouble lifting my arm. “You are out of luck. Maybe
you can ask one of the guys to help you.” She laughed. “You, bad girl.” I
smiled innocently and slipped out the door before she could react. During the rest of the day, we just said
“Hello” to each other whenever we saw each other in the hallway or
bathroom. The more I thought about it,
the more I wanted to laugh. It might have
been a totally innocent request. I
remembered once that she asked me to scratch her back. I actually helped her. She just simply didn’t know the current corporation
sexual harassment policiess. She didn’t
even know how to “work” the computer in her own words. So how could she get computer training about
sexual harassment? I was desperate to
share this incident with other people as kind of a bad joke. But I knew if I did, people might
misunderstand the situation and reach a different conclusion. They might even think we were lovers. Eventually
I did tell it to the lady I often ran into in the changing room before and
after running. She laughed, too. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Two days later, Mona came to my cubicle and said, “I’m so
sorry to have asked you to, you know? My
daughter told me to apologize to you.”
She looked sincerely sorry. “No
problem. Don’t worry about it”, I
replied. “I just didn’t want to get into
any trouble.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZE240UtjThKmTbs_M7r5i4L-EsJ3TlpJXQmObR5Xna6Aycu7CLg-nH3zPa0PGIr5zYhtRfCbFOuF9Qd-jcA2kCInT_Z6vXoZev_SmEw7Dk0hqrmfn5eKzJI1Sj3t9PvStLjgy_RktC98/s1600/13012756_1082760481746843_3820143957762308191_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZE240UtjThKmTbs_M7r5i4L-EsJ3TlpJXQmObR5Xna6Aycu7CLg-nH3zPa0PGIr5zYhtRfCbFOuF9Qd-jcA2kCInT_Z6vXoZev_SmEw7Dk0hqrmfn5eKzJI1Sj3t9PvStLjgy_RktC98/s320/13012756_1082760481746843_3820143957762308191_n.jpg" width="212" /></a>In the next few days, I thought that even though Mona was
the most uneducated person I had ever known, she was actually an interesting
person in her own way. Now I don’t work
there anymore and I even miss her sometimes.Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-80546110708886955292015-10-10T10:03:00.000-07:002015-11-21T19:59:19.364-08:00Some Humor From Work<div style="text-align: center;">
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I often meet people at work who are hilarious. I don't know whether it is true for everyone. I'm familiar with a writers's dream of quitting their day jobs and becoming a full time writer. I really sympathize with that. Actually my favorite place to write is on the beach in some tropic islands just like what Ian Flemming did. He wrote many James Bond books by staring at the sea. Who knows what I will see when I'm in the same situation. Artist Jasper Johns goes to St. Martin every winter just to produce amazing art. So I will definitely try the same and I will do it soon. I actually have been to both Jamaica and St. Martin. The French side of the St. Martin is the most beautiful. I have attached a beautiful picture of Oriental Beach in St. Martin for your enjoyment. Anyway, enough day dreaming. </div>
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In the last five years, I find my day job is most inspiring and stimulating. It prompts me to write many comic stories. I will share them here one at a time. The story I share today has caused a room full of people laughing when I was giving a reading at the University Club of St. Paul. It has happened at least six years ago and I have changed the names so no one will know who he is.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIfL6p8RsJXZcbm9hKZDaooWjrnB1l6ffZskT_qwGr0H2XqJerq9L4FNesEJ95lEa8t4rbdl2-Ic5Cxr8o1BxhV17T3hHvqVaub2fQKMJdrjku1_qOFpW6zv_vAYTqvclGwnRK7KR034/s1600/orient-beach-west-side.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIfL6p8RsJXZcbm9hKZDaooWjrnB1l6ffZskT_qwGr0H2XqJerq9L4FNesEJ95lEa8t4rbdl2-Ic5Cxr8o1BxhV17T3hHvqVaub2fQKMJdrjku1_qOFpW6zv_vAYTqvclGwnRK7KR034/s320/orient-beach-west-side.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Asshole</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: 10pt;">By Lisa Zhang Wharton</span></div>
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If I could, I
would smash his ugly face. If I were
allowed, I would pull his blond hair off his stupid head. If I don’t get into trouble for killing him,
I would stomp him to death (metaphorically). That was how
much I hated him for calling me “Stupid”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I met him at work,
which is how I meet most people nowadays.
Work had become my home away from home.
His name was M. He was a short,
blond and well-built middle-aged man.
When I first met him I found him weird because besides constantly typing
at his computer, he also would continually eat Grape nuts. He always kept a big bag of it in his cube. Who would eat Grape nuts all day for fun
unless he was a “nutty person”. For a
while, our workgroup either had celebrations for finishing our projects to the
50%, 90% or 100% point, or “Goodbye” lunches for many contractors we had laid
off. I could soon be one of them. Sometimes I could imagine myself lying on the
chopping board, being slaughtered or simply being run over by a car. Luckily I was still working due to my long
hardworking experience or my pleasant personality. Maybe it was both, or neither. Surviving as a contractor in a technology
company was not easy. Not showing up at parties
would not be looked upon as a positive.
Once I asked M whether he was going to a free lunch/barbecue. He said, “No.
Why would I want to socialize with people who are not married to me or
related to me?” This comment was the
most blatantly anti-social behavior I had ever seen. I was even impressed. I mentally added another comment next to his
name besides “Weird”, “Lovely eccentric”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One day, he came
near my test station to talk to D who was my friend and also a Caucasian. There were many East Indian engineers working
here. I thought M had a hard time
relating to them due to his small pea brain.
Even though I was not Indian, I had already made many Indian friends
within a few weeks. He started talking to
D about “chips”, the “computer chips”. I
was fascinated. Even though we were
engineers here, most people preferred talking about potato chips. After half hour of intellectual jostling, my
mind started wandering. I knew what his
problem was. He couldn’t stop once he
started talking. D was smart. He told M to talk to me instead, so he could
get back to work. I didn’t know when I
stopped listening. All I knew was that
for the next half hour I just nodded my head while whispering to myself, “Nerd,
Nerd”. I definitely would put “Nerd”
next to his name. I began to worry that
if I kept listening to him, people would start calling me “Nerd”. That was how serious it was.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One day, I was
sitting in a station next to M’s station, typing away. The reason I used this station was that it
had a faster computer. Since I had
automated my tests, I could let it run by itself. So I started chatting with him to pass the
time. He told me that he was going on
vacation. “Where are you going?” I asked.
He told me about some place in Iowa, which sounded so boring that I
didn’t pay attention to which town it was.
He told me that he could put in 40 hours work in two days and go on
vacation the rest of the week. I looked
at him with my mouth open. “How could you
do that?” I asked. “Just work 20 hours a day!” He said causally. “I can go 20 hours on and 4 hours off.” He was not only weird but also the hardest
working person I had even known. Later I
found out that he actually didn’t work twenty hours a day. He just said it. Did he try to impress me? If so, there was no need. He had already impressed me with his weirdness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I didn’t know at
what point he started to dislike me. He
gave me no reason or warning. All he did
was being rude to me. Then I realized
that it was not him who didn’t like socializing, but rather the other engineers
who didn’t like to mingle with him. Also
he had a habit of ignoring every woman engineer’s opinion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One day, I saw him
chatting with another engineer, which intrigued my curiosity so much that I
made a mistake of joining in. Of course,
it was not pretty afterwards. He and the
bearded engineer were talking about driving accidents. I remembered that I had something spectacular
to report.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“One day, as I was
driving to work, the car in front of me rear-ended the car in front. I slammed on the brakes, knowing that it
might be too late. Miraculously I
stopped just one inch behind the car.
Hurray. Without stopping for
another minute to calm down, I went around the cars and drove away because I
didn’t want to be late for work.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Do you know there
is a state law requiring a material witness to an accident to file a report
with the police?” He cocked his head
with one of his satirical smiles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I didn’t know
that.” I said honestly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You are stupid
for not knowing such a simple law,” said M.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He called me
stupid. He called me STUPID. I didn’t remember anyone ever calling me
“STUPID”. I could feel my head
expanding, blood rushing toward my brain, and vessels on the verge of
bursting. Actually, a few capillary
vessels had already burst.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You,
asshole!” I couldn’t help blurting this
out. “You, asshole!” The second time, it was louder. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then I raised my
fist. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Stop, lady.” He tried to stop my fist from hitting his
face. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“You stop! You try to use the rule: that the more you
ignore a lady, the more she likes you.
Let me tell you that I’m not that kind of lady.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I hit him in the
face. The blow was so weak that didn’t
break his nose or anything. He smiled, a
big smile showing his crooked teeth that I had never seen before.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-298696177938744072014-05-20T15:08:00.001-07:002014-05-20T21:25:48.074-07:00Apple’s next great products: iPillow, iPet and iTap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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iPillow: Soft, comfy and silky. It plays Lullaby to put you to sleep or
“white noise” to shield you from the outside world. It is a book, a TV or simply a pillow. “iPillow”, you can’t sleep without it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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iPet: Cute, lively and furry. It is cuddly when you want it to. It will bark at the intruders with the push
of a button. It sheds no fur and doesn’t
chew your furniture like a beaver.
“iPet”, the ultimate life-long friend you need.<o:p></o:p></div>
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iTap: It makes tapping sound when you tap your shoes. It plays music when you tap. It flashes neon light when you tap. It even charges your phone when you are
tapping. “iTap”, it brings color and
sound to your life.<o:p></o:p></div>
Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-87309492854109063572013-11-21T21:39:00.001-08:002013-11-21T21:42:43.887-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Elon Musk Creates Our Future</h2>
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Elon Musk, the current most revered inventor, a visionary who extends his talent from electric car, solar power to space travel, a dreamer who convinced us that the hyperloop could be a reality and a true innovator who gets his ideas during morning showers. He runs three companies, serves as CEO for two and chairman for one. Yet he still has time to tweet. He posts for magazine covers like a true hero. With his charisma and super brain, he is one of the most exciting inventors of our time. I truly admire him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I married an inventor once before, Dr. Arnold Lande, son of a famous Germany physicist Alfred Lande. A trained heart surgeon and a talented medical device inventor, Arnie has invented the first commercial produced membrane oxygenator with the founder of Medtronic, Dr. C. Walton Lillehei. He puts himself to sleep by inventing a upside-down catamaran. His invention includes an wearable artificial kidney, an artificial lung, a diving gill and a frozen yogurt machine. The following is a story about my exciting life with Dr. Arnold Lande.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<h1 style="line-height: 200%;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3883705872707694436" name="_Toc411787378"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Lolita II: A Chinese Student's
Story</span></a></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Call me Lolita if you want, although
I am not fourteen. Sometimes I hold his
neck, whispering into his ears sweetly, "Manny, you are so
cute." Sometimes, at the end of our
daily running, when he mercilessly passes me by, I will say angrily,
"Yuck". Manny and I run along
the <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mississippi</st1:place></st1:state>
every morning and evening, in the rain, after the snow, under the sun and in
the wind. We have left so many pairs of
invisible footprints that even the road begins breathing the same rhythm. Only in the winter, our two pairs of foot
prints are visible on the snow. His is
the one with toes slightly pointing inward; mine is the one with toes slightly
pointing outward. Now these two pairs of
feet diverge and are no longer next to each other. They go off to the different directions and
will never come together again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> I have to see him again, my husband,
Manny, whom I just separated from a month ago.
I have been very slow on moving.
It has been almost two months since I moved out. I have not yet finished the moving. I am a little scared of seeing him. Scary may not be an exact word. But it is close. Nowadays, whenever I think of being with him
alone in his office at the quiet quarter of Doctor's sleeping rooms, I always
imagine him hitting me on the head or jabbing me with a knife. That is how much I think he will hate me for
leaving him, for ending our five years of wonderful marriage (he would say so).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> I have to see him now. I want to show him I am determined and will
not change my mind. It did happen once
when we were dating. I went away and
came back. That was almost six years
ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> I was a graduate student in the
Biomedical Engineering Program at the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Houston</st1:placename></st1:place>
then. I came to the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>
in a way like most other Chinese students did --- going to the graduate
school. I met Manny in the
Cardiovascular Fluid Dynamics Laboratory where I worked as a research
assistant. Manny was trying to do a
joint research project with my boss. It
turned out the project did not work and Manny got a girlfriend in compensation. He started the relationship by teaching me
how to drive. By the time I got the
driver license, we had also gone to the movie theaters, concerts, ballets and
sailing trips. I had a wonderful
time. Then one day, I suddenly
disappeared (in his words). I left him
for a handsome young Chinese student.
Actually he happened to be my roommate in a same house. He dated me out of convenience (I did not
know at the time). He was so possessive
that he did not even let me answer Manny's phone call.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> On a Saturday afternoon, I ran into
Manny in my lab. That was not exactly
the case. Since he no longer
collaborated with my boss, he was not there by chance. He went to see me there. Although I was the only one in the lab at the
time, his sudden appearance did not scare me.
At age fifty-four, he had a youthful, pleasant look, even with his
salt-pepper hair. He wore jeans, a red
button-down cotton shirt and a pair of new-balance running shoes. His slender, medium-sized body looked fit and
healthy. His eyes were twinkling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> "Bonnie, how are you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> "I'm...I'm fine." I stuttered.
I was not good at patching up misconduct. I did not know how to explain my
disappearance. For a girl from <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, going
out with men was something new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> "Have I hurt you?" He asked earnestly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> "No."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> "So why do you leave me?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> "You...you are too
old." I finally uttered the real
reason.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> "Okay, I hope I did not hurt
you." He patted me on the shoulder,
winked at me and left swiftly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> After I broke up with my handsome
roommate, I made a point calling him, although without any serious intention in
mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> He recognized my voice right
away. "Bonnie, it's so nice to hear
from you." He sounded so sweet that
I decided to try again with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> On my birthday, he took me out to a
nice seafood restaurant along the coast of the <st1:place w:st="on">Gulf of
Mexico</st1:place>. We had fresh
oysters and shrimp. Then we went back to
his house and swam in his swimming pool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> After we both dried ourselves with
towels, he suddenly held me tightly against his naked chest, nothing sexual
though. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> "Bonnie, I don't want to loss
you again." He said. Although he did not cry, I could sense the
deep emotion hidden behind his bony, tan chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> These words were like religion, the
gospel of my life. I obeyed. We got married a year later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Now six years after that incident, I
cannot think of any reason why it should happen again. Things change, situations change, I tell
myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> He has taken away my car, yet I feel
the most free, even though I have to go to work by bus every day. Today I am driving my boyfriend's car, I feel
very restrained. I am going to see these
people, people I use to see everyday in the hospital, the nurses, volunteers,
janitors and cafeteria workers. They are
used to see us, an odd couple, and everyday, coming to work together and having
lunch together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">To be </span></span><span style="line-height: 32px;">continued</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"> in my book:</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoegcBtzAyINAZJXAr6AWoVNvhFJgDD6NH0t0Xy0uGTqFSg_ihWjn2iihvYwQMGb3zEGbb6fWMzSrDuQpuMkJykR581H51ZrlZheEUImcv3xOW34aky5VI8emv1QA5nutyBfr68efrBeQ/s1600/Chinese+Lolita+-+front+cover+only+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoegcBtzAyINAZJXAr6AWoVNvhFJgDD6NH0t0Xy0uGTqFSg_ihWjn2iihvYwQMGb3zEGbb6fWMzSrDuQpuMkJykR581H51ZrlZheEUImcv3xOW34aky5VI8emv1QA5nutyBfr68efrBeQ/s320/Chinese+Lolita+-+front+cover+only+(2).jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-41247015592609705442013-03-18T21:10:00.001-07:002013-03-18T21:10:20.512-07:00Paperback of "Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" is On Sale at $4.86<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw1dif6SWMu3rFEKuUDLxK0HWqSPQCaZ025L1vZKAVU91GgDEnCn9BikZg5PhZhb_awj4y13Oo-GIosbLcMzE39rSgufdPQe00XzLaWgXNSP5ymB3ZjVOAcH25_uYwpHyNW43n5BWV2sg/s1600/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw1dif6SWMu3rFEKuUDLxK0HWqSPQCaZ025L1vZKAVU91GgDEnCn9BikZg5PhZhb_awj4y13Oo-GIosbLcMzE39rSgufdPQe00XzLaWgXNSP5ymB3ZjVOAcH25_uYwpHyNW43n5BWV2sg/s320/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/LastKissTSPaper">Get a copy of paperback for $4.86</a>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-81863605557626337902012-05-01T20:03:00.001-07:002012-05-12T07:49:54.712-07:00Paperback for "Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" is ON SALE in Amazon for $10.79"Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square", a love story between a Peking University student and her mother's formal lover set in the midst of the 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre is selling like hot cakes. It has been reduced to $10.79 per copy by Amazon due ot its popularity. See the following excerpt.<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFf1HeLmhSULCq1DiyRlQhbQRDTC2vh8E9YblS4Vx06xdUqnXfE3Rxg4BA9mLLHJnZqOs18trddAHZMdstXGeXCHnh-4LrcQB5iKiSi-AUYtqmFOdwCJMtSgVye6ijMCTKpnx-ykfd67Q/s1600/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFf1HeLmhSULCq1DiyRlQhbQRDTC2vh8E9YblS4Vx06xdUqnXfE3Rxg4BA9mLLHJnZqOs18trddAHZMdstXGeXCHnh-4LrcQB5iKiSi-AUYtqmFOdwCJMtSgVye6ijMCTKpnx-ykfd67Q/s320/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><a href="http://amzn.to/LastKissTSPaper">Get your copy</a></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">Inferno<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A soldier jumped off a truck next to the tank, carrying a
pack of rope-like things.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a short stout man, he approached her slowly as though he
was afraid of her. When he was two feet away from her, he released the black
rope in his hands. It was a two-meter long black leather whip.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The whip was like a snake dancing in the air and hit Wu
Zheng's body. She did not move and did not even look at her torturer. Instead,
she ran towards him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Give me back my husband!" Wu Zheng cried like a
wild animal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The whipping continued. Her white blouse was broken into
shreds and was full of bloodstains. Then she caught the whip in her hand. She
started pulling at it. With God's power in her hands, she got the whip away
from the soldier and started whipping him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While this was happening, Pumpkin struggled in her husband's
embrace. "Let me go! Let me save her!"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Are you crazy? You are going to be killed. I'm not
going to let you go!" His face touched her face, and their tears mixed.
This was the most intimate act they had ever shared.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wu Zheng tightened the whip around the soldier's neck and
began strangling him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cheers came from the crowd. "Kill him! Kill the
bastard!"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The tank started rolling and crushed them both.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The angry people moved over towards the tank.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They threw fire torches and gasoline; the tank caught fire.
It blazed in the dark and moonless night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone cheered as if they were the ghosts in Dante's
inferno as the two soldiers were forced out of the tank.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The soldiers stumbled towards the angry people. As soon as
they were away from the blazing tank, they were in the hands of the mob.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They beat them with sticks and metal bars. They spit on
them. "Shall we kill them?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Of course. Why do you speak for the enemy?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"They are not our enemies. They don't even know what
they are doing."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What do you mean? They have already killed innocent
people. They are criminals." A middle-aged man went over, pulling at the
collar of a young man as though he wanted to start a fight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The soldiers disappeared in the crowd as their bodies were
torn to pieces, and they quickly disintegrated through hundreds of angry hands.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Red-eyed people threw body parts back at the burning tank.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They held up their hands in a 'V' sign, until a spray of
bullets from another vehicle gunned some of them down.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-356095773661310452012-02-21T16:50:00.000-08:002012-08-22T08:14:48.118-07:00Jeremy Lin Got to Realize His Dream While My Dad Wouldn’t Allow Mine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNUdHQCnUJAhZLR7PvgtxS8wRO83bGMrVNhaHTfEn_d9kxLKPj-SU2hoX-5_LeArOjbDVjxdbe8s_9mhEi1LXuJhirANuEXHUwmFahsiMGjMPEnIyJgHCk6Mec17OlkZqwZ4U9xUqRxc/s1600/jeremy-lin-linsanity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNUdHQCnUJAhZLR7PvgtxS8wRO83bGMrVNhaHTfEn_d9kxLKPj-SU2hoX-5_LeArOjbDVjxdbe8s_9mhEi1LXuJhirANuEXHUwmFahsiMGjMPEnIyJgHCk6Mec17OlkZqwZ4U9xUqRxc/s320/jeremy-lin-linsanity.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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When I was 14 years old, I was 5”6’ tall. A basketball scout came to knock on my apartment door in the campus of the Beijing Institute of Aeronautics and Astronomy. The scout said I should go to a Basketball training center. My dad told him that we were not interested. I, who had never played basketball before, didn’t know what to say. All I remember was that my dad told me I should spend my time studying and playing violin. Playing a sport was a waste of time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In China, people don’t believe someone could be good at both sports and academics. They consider athletes to be dumb and stupid. So my dad took away my one chance to utilize my tall body in a promising way. Now after so many years, I wish that my dad had let me play basketball. I think it is far-fetched that I would become a basketball star but at least I would have learned how to become a team player, a trait which I have acquired recently in my middle age. I have become a sports nut in my own way, but my favorite sports are running, swimming, bicycling, skiing and skating, all of which are individual sports. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So Jeremy Lin, the Knicks new star, an Asian American NBA basketball player was lucky to be born in the US. If he were born in China, he would probably be forced to play piano or violin. If he were “lucky” and discovered as a potential basketball star at a young age, he would most likely be sent to a basketball training camp far away and not allowed to see his family often. So a normal family in China doesn’t usually let their kids pursue such a career at a young age unless they were orphans. So my dad was being selfish for not letting me go to the basketball-training center. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I happen to have a son who is 16 years old, 6”3’ tall and an aspiring basketball player. So Jeremy Lin intrigues me even though I don’t watch basketball games. My knowledge about basketball has been gained from watching my son playing at middle school and high school games. I normally don’t have time to watch games due to my duties as a working mother. . My interests fit into a stereotype Asian’s tastes. I like classic music, theatre and movies. If I have time, I often choose to go to these activities. Sports are not something I would watch unless my son is playing. As though fate is working against me, my son who has been taking piano lessons since he was 7, is very talented in sports. The sport we encourage him to do is fencing, which we think it is not a very popular sport, so he has a chance to get ahead. He also plays baseball with his friends in the summer and became the pitcher of his team for a couple of seasons. As for basketball, he always shies away from it. He was a scorekeeper for his Quaker School team for two years before he decided to try playing in middle school. Then he flourished. He quickly became one of the best players on his team. At the same time, his body is telling him that he should be a basketball player because he was 6 feet tall in eighth grade and has kept growing to 6”2 in his freshman year in high school and 6”3 now in his sophomore year. He even made it onto the better freshmen basketball team in his high school, whose man’s basketball team is among the top 5 in the state. That was quite a challenge because he was playing with basketball players whose first words were “Basketball”. Compared with them, his two years of playing is just not enough. He was benched a lot but has also learned a lot. This year, he didn’t even make the JV team of his high school. He felt a little discouraged yet he went to play in a recreation league even after he promised to go back to fencing. I know in his heart, he still loves basketball. So let it be. I’m not going to force him to do things he doesn’t like. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-30812107367157444662012-02-14T18:43:00.001-08:002012-02-17T21:26:45.348-08:00I'm Chinese Lolita<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDWSP0NZuNSVL0hCCmMt2lz6_GtWYQFesDCqNEpOlurmHa1fJgjqC9aXqOlFPZ4PVHjFZ56G0TEJ8SIPrlhC-LZY2sVD0DZitB0VrtaAhGCFTNVvlpREyg_ZsQpynIOSPFmr9nIvRqKw/s1600/Chinese+Lolita.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDWSP0NZuNSVL0hCCmMt2lz6_GtWYQFesDCqNEpOlurmHa1fJgjqC9aXqOlFPZ4PVHjFZ56G0TEJ8SIPrlhC-LZY2sVD0DZitB0VrtaAhGCFTNVvlpREyg_ZsQpynIOSPFmr9nIvRqKw/s320/Chinese+Lolita.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I'm also featured in Alison DeLuca's blog for Valentine's Day where you can read an excerpt of another one of my romantic short stories:<br />
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<a href="http://alisondeluca.blogspot.com/2012/02/wild-fire-lisa-zhang-wharton-and.html">"Wild Fire" by Lisa Zhang Wharton</a><br />
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I'm sharing an excerpt from my award-winning short story, "My Uncle" in which the main character fell in love with her mother's lover. This story will come out as an Amazon Single very soon as well as in my next book "Chinese Lolita".<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=3883705872707694436&postID=3081210736715744466" name="_Toc411787379"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 18pt;"><b>My “Uncle”</b></span></a></div><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=3883705872707694436&postID=3081210736715744466" name="_Toc447428409"></a><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">It was a Sunday morning. Mother said she was leaving for work. Father hollered: "You god damn woman, get out of here. Go, stay with your fucking boyfriend. You all get out of here, get out of my house!"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Father had just awakened. His eyes were still fogged. He sat on the bed, meditated for a while, and then stood up. He stumbled a few steps toward the door and poked his head out of his room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">"Meihua, come back. Who said you could go?" He caught me before I slipped out the door. "Go to the kitchen, and see if the garbage needs to be emptied. God damn shit! Why do you always have to be reminded?" Waving a filthy athletic shoe in his hand, he stared at me with his half-open, beady eyes. It seemed he might throw the shoe at my head if I did not obey him. I went to the kitchen and did as I was told.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px;">"Where are you going?" Father saw me put on my tight nylon sweater which showed my two small breasts, and a few dabs of blush on my round face.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">"I'm going to work!" I said and slammed the door behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">It was a cold winter day. The sun moved slowly from behind the white clouds like a shy girl. Water from melting ice was dripping from the roof. "Dita, dita." It sounded so crisp. With slightly softening soil under my feet, I opened the metal buttons on my grey down-coat and untied the blue wool scarf from my face. I breathed deeply and let the unmuffled air enter my nostrils and flow into my lungs. What a beautiful day! I wanted to cry out. Everything was going exactly as I had planned. Father was right about Mother meeting her boyfriend. But he did not know my secret. I was going to see one of Mother's boyfriends too, of course a different one. I used to call him "Uncle".<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">It was eight years since I had last seen Uncle Weiming. I had lost track of him completely, but I was quite sure that he was still working at the same place. People in China do not move until they scuff a hole deep enough to bury themselves. Therefore, what should I do if I wanted to visit him? Just go to the factory? Like the old saying says, if you want to go north, just follow the North Star. In this case I followed my instinct.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Sitting on the bus, I gazed at the trees that passed by so fast that I wished the bus would slow down. Questions kept going through my mind. What was I doing here? Visiting Mother's old lover who had disappeared eight years ago? Begging a married 35 years old man to be my father while I was old enough to be his lover? Asking him to be my sister Mingming's father again when Mingming did not even know he existed? It was like I was trying to pick up an old rotten melon. My only accomplishment could be to soil my hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">But in the last couple of weeks, a memory kept haunting me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">It was in 1976, a few weeks after Chairman Mao had died. In an early afternoon, Uncle wandered into our one-story red brick apartment without knocking and sat down on a chair by the dining table. Father, who had used to Mother's varieties of friends, nodded stiffly and walked out of the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">"Uncle!" Having not seen him in two weeks, I was excited. Uncle looked at me and did not respond. "I'll get Mom for you!" I went in front of Mom's bedroom where door was shut closed. "Mom, Uncle is here." I knocked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">"Yes, just a minute." In a while Mother strolled out with a cigarette in her mouth. She closed the bedroom door (where she had a visitor) and sat next to Uncle. They both kept silent for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">"Got someone new?" Uncle directed his chin toward Mother's closed bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">"It's none of your business."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">"You pick up fast. Let me say this, if I may. I know who he is. He is a notorious asshole."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">"OK!" Mother stood up, ran into her bedroom and rushed back with a paper box in her hand. She openned the box and smacked the whole box of photos of hers and Uncle's onto Uncle's face. "Get out of here, I don't need you anymore! You'd better go back to your pretty young girlfriend!" <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Uncle rose up and strode out of the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">"Uncle, don't go! Uncle, come back!" I chased him and burst into tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">From then on, laughter and happiness had disappeared in my life. My heart along with those memories had become frozen until now. There had been enough chaos at home. My quiet, hard-working nature had pleased Mother and Father. I had become such a useful child for them. Gradually I had taken over the household. I cooked, I shopped and I even managed the money. When Mother had a problem, she would complain to me; when Father was hungry, he would ask me to make something for him to eat. I had been used to the life and felt proud for the responsibilities until I went to college. My vision for life suddenly changed. I realized people did laugh and joke in life; life did not just consist of constant working. I felt incompetent. I needed help. But who could help me? Uncle, the long disappearing Uncle suddenly came back into my memory. "Go to see him. Go to see him." A voice was telling me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
Coming soon from Fantasy Island Book Publishing:</div><br />
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Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-47723432372800971462012-01-23T19:03:00.000-08:002012-02-10T21:54:34.482-08:00"Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" is FREE today with a #130 Amazon Free Book Ranking<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">My Best Ranking ever:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">#130 Free in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Free in Kindle Store)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">#4 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Genre Fiction > Historical</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">#38 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Genre Fiction > Romance</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Lf6_c56vxe4hDK-PtEijz0EUNQK2vzKJODsFKAOc55VToKWt_z_tALF2e0iLVL1QuPA30lJug3HjPjfFZZ9KOwXZojVjRD6uINNYNpR5kaqTZLFUaRtq4WeJbzZJGlbw1w1QE7dYWcs/s1600/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Lf6_c56vxe4hDK-PtEijz0EUNQK2vzKJODsFKAOc55VToKWt_z_tALF2e0iLVL1QuPA30lJug3HjPjfFZZ9KOwXZojVjRD6uINNYNpR5kaqTZLFUaRtq4WeJbzZJGlbw1w1QE7dYWcs/s320/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Last-Kiss-Tiananmen-Square-ebook/dp/B005QBZN6Y/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1327374030&sr=1-1">Press this link to get a copy at Amazon.UK</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"> <a href="http://amzn.to/LastKissTianSquare">Press this link to get your FREE Copy At Amazon.com</a></span>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-74960596371556016722012-01-19T18:56:00.000-08:002012-01-27T21:48:29.094-08:00The Best Part In "Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square": Baiyun's Dysfunctional Family in a Dysfunctinal Society <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"><b>An Excerpt from Chapter 4</b></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">It was a small, odd-shaped hallway, with the kitchen and a room on the left and an entrance that led into two rooms on the right. The white wall in the hallway was cold and smooth like porcelain under the late afternoon sun. Dried-up bok choy, muddy turnips and tall spinach lay, looking tired, against the wall. In the middle of the hallway, to one side, stood a refrigerator and an old bamboo dish cabinet set on top of a wet-looking wooden rack. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16pt;">Baiyun walked in her father's bedroom, which was also the dining room. Her father was sunk down into a cushioned wooden chair trimming the end of a twig. A pot of sand sat next to the twig. In the dim light of a desk lamp, he examined the twig to make sure the cut was perfect. After several tries, he buried the end of the twig in the sand and set it next to a row of pots on the windowsill. With the help of the magnifying glass, he examined them one by one. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Meow, meow!" He yowled, and Baiyun took it as a sign of pleasure. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Father," said Baiyun, which startled him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Oh. What are you doing here?" He looked at Baiyun with his old eyes and went right back to his trimming task.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">After taking care of the plants, Father returned to his desk. He began scribbling on scraps of paper. Once in a while he would crumple the paper and throw it into the wastebasket. Then he took a new piece and scribbled some more. Finally he held a sheet of paper in front of his nose and laughed loudly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"One and a half rats per flower pot, my honored citizens. That's right. Ha, ha..."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">He spun around on his chair and picked up a white plastic pail from underneath the desk, which was full of dead rats. He took out the rats one by one and laid them on the dirt in flowerpots. Returning to his desk, he began cutting the rest of rats in half with a huge pair of rusty scissors, one after another. Blood spilled on the floor, and sprayed onto his clothes and face.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Meow, meow!" He seemed to enjoy the taste of blood in his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Watching this, Baiyun couldn't stand it anymore. She ran out of the room and thought about leaving that disgusting place. Then she remembered her duty to bring food to father. She opened the refrigerator and found some cold stir-fry. She heated it up on the gas stove in the small kitchen and walked back to the dining room with one hand on her nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Father was writing comments between the lines of a textbook using a magnifying glass. The book itself revealed why he had to use the magnifying glass. It was a textbook of advanced mathematics called, "Special Function" that had equations and words. However, a handwritten version also was superimposed on top of the print. In fact most of the printed version had been either crossed out or pasted over with handwritten text. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Baiyun left the food on his desk. Underneath the glass on the table, Baiyun noticed many new pictures of red and purple roses.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Father wolfed down his food and continued his writing on the textbook. After a few minutes, his head nodded. His hand dropped with the weight of the magnifying glass. The pen stopped; blue ink soaked through the page and created a large stain on the page. In a minute, loud snoring sullied the silence. Under the dim lamplight, the flushing of his face made him look like a roasted animal.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Baiyun looked away and only to set her eyes on pots of roses in full bloom. Their color ranged from yellow to pink and from red to black. But most were bloody red like a girl's lipstick ready to be kissed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Baiyun realized her parents were in no mood or shape to talk to her. Before she decided to leave, she heard a motorcycle approaching. She decided to sit at the desk at the middle of the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Lao Zheng rushed into the apartment without knocking. He nodded to Baiyun, winked at her, and then went straight to Meiling's bedroom after letting the curtain down. The curtain on Meiling's bedroom door was like a woman's summer dress—just long enough to hide the mid-parts of the body.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Meiling asked him "How much do we have now?"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Oh, about twenty thousand," Lao Zheng answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"No, I don't believe you. You must have put away some for yourself."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Come on, woman. You can't be serious. Have I ever cheated you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Stop!" It was the sound of Meiling slapping Lao Zheng. "Don't think you can lay me as soon as you get here. Get serious for a minute. If a civil war started, we wouldn't have anything left. We'd better find a way to save our hard earned money."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Okay, but let's talk about that later."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Oh! What do you want? What do you want? Ha, ha..."Meiling's hysterical laugh indicated she was no longer ill. The handsome tiger embroidered on the dark brown knitted curtain suddenly came alive. His widely open mouth and pointed teeth revealed his great hunger.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Don't be too rough with me! I'm sick."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Come on, I'm the cure for your illness."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Two pairs of feet in slippers appeared in the space beneath the curtain. One was big and strong with bulging veins under rough dark skin, the other tiny and elegant as marble. They moved closer, separated and rose up onto the bed. The door was closed shut.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">The tiger on the curtain seemed to roar. The curtain was thick and impenetrable. Peering through the tiger's eyes, Baiyun could see Meiling's and her boyfriend's ecstatic faces that made her look away immediately. Just before she was about to leave, she saw her father go into the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Father lit a burner, took a fire poker and laid it on the fire. When the tip was red hot, he picked it up and marched toward Meiling's bedroom. Without hesitation, he jabbed the fire poker directly through the eye of the tiger on the curtain. A hissing sound told her Meiling's bedroom door was closed and Father had also burned a hole through the wood. Then he burned another and another. Finally he threw down the poker, jumped at the door and, like a lizard crawling on a wall, spied into Meiling's room through the holes he had made. He leaned against the door, making it squeak, then he turned toward one side and slid down. Something was growing in the front of his pants. He put his hand in, rubbing and squeezing. His face was scarlet and twisted.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">"Aaeh! Aaeh!" This time his moaning became harsher and more intense.</span><o:p></o:p></div><br />
</div>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-14278606098925600722012-01-02T21:33:00.001-08:002015-10-09T21:02:22.821-07:00I’m Chinese Girl With the Dragon Tattoo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7w8B5zF-pOCmNGtMgp0B9nXLjr_uV1H9obMa85PgiiPPfZbqEUK2CzTn6r1X2PH0RW1JJQ3hsbEMJ5jhCY9gm_CcKq3ZmFbwRXeAYAi-MLIA6HUsMT1VxdF-Z9yW4BMQpw3XPi_9fzA/s1600/the-girl-with-the-dragon-tattoo-2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7w8B5zF-pOCmNGtMgp0B9nXLjr_uV1H9obMa85PgiiPPfZbqEUK2CzTn6r1X2PH0RW1JJQ3hsbEMJ5jhCY9gm_CcKq3ZmFbwRXeAYAi-MLIA6HUsMT1VxdF-Z9yW4BMQpw3XPi_9fzA/s320/the-girl-with-the-dragon-tattoo-2011.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div>
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I neither have spiky Mohawk hair nor do I have the dragon tattoo on my back. I don’t walk around in a heavy motorcycle helmet and a pair of leather army boots. Yet inside me, I’m every bit like her. I have leather skin around my heart, spikes poking out of my lungs and tattoos stenciled on my intestines. Like LisBeth, I was physically abused at a young age and was raped twice in my twenties but my math skills have helped me to find a bona fide job. My heart was so insolated that when I was raped, I didn’t even know it was rape until 25 years later when I was reading the story in my writing group. Here is the story that happened twenty five years ago when I came to this country fresh out of China. I was not affected at the time due to my lack of knowledge or sex education in China. I will relate more stories of my family in future posts and you will see why I was not hurt by this event.</div>
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<h1>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Raped in Fargo</span></h1>
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My Professor Dr. Swirsky, was a tall and slender man with messy salt and pepper hair. When he wrote on the blackboard, he had to twist his tall frame 90 degrees in order to write with his left hand. He taught “Quantum Mechanics” and also served as my faculty/adviser.</div>
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On my first day, he cleared a bench top for me as my desk and gave me a stack of research papers on the “Structure of Protein Molecules” to read. Soon I started going to the lab routinely. Time went fast for me. Very soon the snow started falling and my short bicycle commute became a long trudge through the snow. I was wearing the warmest down jacket one could find in China. I was wearing a pair of long underwear beneath my jeans, kept my mitten-covered hands in the jacket pockets. I naturally curled up my body to reserve the heat, yet this was not enough. The cold wind blew onto my naked face like many knives. My eyelashes got frozen. My feet cried for help. I might just as well stop and become a snowman. Once I got home, it was such a treat to have our homemade egg rolls, fresh out of the hot oil. </div>
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This was how I met Mohammad. Just like me he was a new graduate student from Lebanon. He had black hair, bushy mustache and a pair of penetrating eyes. He loved to ask me questions. When he was asking, he would stare at me. I could feel a sense of desire shooting out of his very expressive eyes. He was rude but macho. Sometimes he would snatch my pencil away from my hand while I was doing my homework.</div>
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“Hey, stop! Help me!” He pointed at his chest as though I didn’t understand him. I didn’t mind teaching him since I was an instructor at Beijing Medical University before I came to the US and also was offered a half-time TA (teaching assistant) during my first quarter at the North Dakota State. With my limited English, I did remarkably well. I used my body language and my sense of humor. My outstanding troubleshooting skills really helped me in teaching the physics lab. </div>
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At first, I thought that the students talked rather fast. But they were good-natured and did not mind occasionally repeating for me. Sometimes they would repeat questions in my funny accent. There was chemistry evolving between me --- a young student from P.R. China and these pink-faced American students. At the end, I gave everyone a B or better except for two students whose lab reports were messy and illegible. They came to me sad faced.</div>
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“Why did you give us ‘C’s’?”</div>
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Looking at these two innocent students, my heart fell for them. I changed their lab grades to “B”. I loved to see happy faces. I was not much a believer in grades anyway, even though I was mostly an “A” student all throughout my grade school and high school. I knew how misleading it could be.</div>
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Mohammad loved to drive me around in his old Chevy. I didn’t always have time to go with him. I only remembered going with him once. The car radio played Rock’n Roll music while we were driving on the quiet highway. I didn’t know much about Rock ‘n Roll music, not even the Classic Rock. Before I left China, I listened to Beethoven’s Third, Fifth and Ninth Symphonies --- quite a change from the Communist Revolution music I used to sing and listen to. I actually enjoyed it. Besides I used to listen to the classic music my father played with his violin when I was young. I had never heard of Jazz music, let alone Rock n’ Roll. I just grew up in much more ancient time than the rest of the world. Since I was so behind, I had never had time or tried to catch up. It didn’t really matter. Rock n’ Roll music was not supposed to have deep meaning. It reflected the easy and happy mood in American culture or the culture of the western world that was so different than my upbringing. I was told as I was growing up that life was hard and happiness was to be earned. I thought that I would never understand Rock n’ Roll. </div>
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Mohammad spoke of his family. His parents got married when they were both teenagers, his father 15 and his mother 12. He had several sisters. He also had a nice girlfriend.</div>
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“But she deedn’t wanta to cum here.”</div>
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I didn’t want to go out with him even though he often stared at me hungrily like a wild animal. I found that attractive but I did not love him.</div>
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Sometimes we studied together at night mostly because he wanted me to help him with his homework in “Quantum Mechanics” or “Classic Mechanics”. One day he asked me to go to his apartment after studying.</div>
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“Come on.” He stared at me, his eyes burning with desire in a dark night with a few stars in the sky. </div>
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“No.” I shook my head. My quiet voice implied that I wanted to. Yet I couldn’t. Even though sleeping with someone who desired my body sounded attractive in a cold winter night, what would my roommate think if I came home late or not at all? She would worry about me. She might think something bad had happened to me like being seduced into a classmate’s apartment or simply being murdered. She would for sure gossip about me if she found out that I had slept with a Lebanese man. Deep inside me, I wanted to. I imagined what it was like being kissed and caressed by a wild man. But I never budged. Mohammad, however, didn’t give up. He invited me again to have lunch with him a few days later. He made it sound like just lunch, nothing else. I actually believed it. </div>
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“Come on. Come to my apartment and I will cook for you. I can also show you some Arabic art and my family photos.”</div>
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“What are you going to cook?” I asked.</div>
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“You will find out.”</div>
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After he drove me to his one bedroom basement apartment, I found out that there was neither art on the walls or any windows. He mixed a couple of eggs and fried them in a small frying pan. During lunch, he told me about his experiences during the war.</div>
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I was impressed by his courage. I admired people who had participated in a war, whether he or she was forced into it or volunteered. Being able to confront death could open up an entire new world in one’s psyche. I was listening to him with admiration.</div>
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“I was wounded once. Do you wanta to thee my scar?” He said earnestly. In his eyes, I did not see any of the usual animal desire. I was going to say yes. I wanted to. Before I could utter a word, he took off his pants. Apparently he had to take off his underwear to show me the scar. Then he quietly pulled me into the bedroom. I tried to refuse but it was too late. He pulled down my pants and underwear and leaped on top of me. I screamed and said “No. No” repeatedly. I was not sure what he had done to me. All I could see was that there was blood on his white bed sheet. It took me another year or two before I found out that I really lost virginity that day with Mohammad because I was not convinced at the time. It went so fast. I didn’t think he entered me at all. I quickly gathered up things and left. He had to drive me back to my apartment.</div>
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“You never had sex before?”</div>
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“No. I want to be a virgin until I get married. I want to save my virginity for my husband.”</div>
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“I thought you had a boyfriend in China.”</div>
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“Yes.”</div>
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“What did you do together?”</div>
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“Talk.”</div>
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“I don’t understand. How do you express love?”</div>
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“We kissed each other.”</div>
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This was last time he invited me to his apartment. He stopped staring at me with the animal desire. Every now and then, he still asked me to help him with his homework. I sometimes saw him waiting outside of the student union for someone to show up, a new girlfriend I guessed.</div>
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After this episode, I didn’t want to have a boyfriend for a long time. It was as though this experience with Mohammad had stunned me and left a bitter taste in my mouth. I wanted to have a relationship that was caring and mutual. “Some day”, I told myself.</div>
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Twenty-five years later, after I read this story to my friends in my writing group, one of them said, “This is rape. You were raped!” All of sudden, a light bulb lit up in my head. I WAS RAPED twenty-five years ago and didn’t even know. I was speechless. I didn’t which was more painful, being raped or not knowing it. All I knew was that I didn’t have much trouble with men in my life thereafter. I married not only once but also twice. I had relationships with a handful of people in my life. I had experienced passionate love. So this rape did not scar me. It didn’t even bother me. What bothered me more was I did not know it. But why?<br />
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Coming soon from Fantasy Island Book Publishing for the whole story:</div>
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Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-22456444283257856342011-12-28T12:29:00.000-08:002012-01-07T21:59:13.350-08:00Paperback for "Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" is available in Amazon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJv1yv52Wit70sef4xBXoD3X20feQfIAX1F8QvL1bWqMOqwtGUf1IfaTpSkAM9cluAOG42XrTGGxqieCLPs7YjmvP-CtHdaOm4qYil5CVjjYU697BNDlfYDh_KENRcysNaoMc_GAIqyrk/s1600/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJv1yv52Wit70sef4xBXoD3X20feQfIAX1F8QvL1bWqMOqwtGUf1IfaTpSkAM9cluAOG42XrTGGxqieCLPs7YjmvP-CtHdaOm4qYil5CVjjYU697BNDlfYDh_KENRcysNaoMc_GAIqyrk/s400/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" width="258" /></a></div> <br />
<a href="http://fantasyislandbookpublishing.com/online-bookstore#ecwid:category=1049078&mode=product&product=8541123">Click here to get your copy</a><br />
<br />
<b> An Excerpt From Chapter 3</b><br />
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<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Several hundred people assembled in front of the men's dormitory, #41, near one of the campus gates. The red Beijing University flag was billowing in the wind. Some windows of the dorms were open and the students who'd overslept yelled, "Wait for me. I will be down in a second." Some came down with a piece of bread in their hands. <o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
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<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>When Baiyun, Yumei and their roommate Li Yan arrived at 7:00am, each girl had a different feeling about being there. Baiyun wore blue pants and a faded jacket, hoping her appearance would attract no attention. Yumei's bright orange sweater indicated that she wanted to be noticed immediately. Li Yan wore a neutral white top and black pants, as though she was still in mourning for the death of Hu Yaobang, which was absolutely adequate. Her approach to life was more realistic. She was a stout girl with two bushy pigtails and she loved sports and politics, so she was just happy to be a part of it.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Their decision to skip class on Monday was a big one. The liberal arts students organized the march. Since the girls were chemistry majors, Baiyun, Yumei and Li Yan would probably be the only people there from their class. Besides, most chemistry majors would not have a friend like Longfe, an economics major, to inform them about the march. Math class was important but easy to skip. Physical education wasn't as important, however it was much harder to skip because as soon as they lined up, the instructor would notice who was missing immediately. The physical education teacher was reasonable. Everyone loved to skip the Political Science class. No one listened during those lectures anyway. Everyone read either their math textbook or a novel right under the instructor's nose as he tried to politically indoctrinate his students by swinging his arms and spraying saliva through spaces between his teeth.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>The sky looked gray on that spring morning, for the sun hid behind thick layers of clouds and seemed far, far away. Occasional gusts of wind blew the dust into the air, a familiar scene in Beijing. Yumei was a girl from Shaanxi, an ancient province southeast of Beijing. She began to sing loudly, even though they hardly knew anyone around them.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Beijing, our great capital, <o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b> Beijing, a beautiful city.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b> But in the spring, <o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b> Ladies cover their faces with gray scarves."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Li Yan was a news addict, and she kept informed on everything through her radio. She was carrying a Walkman. "On the broadcast they said it might rain today." Li Yan informed them.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Come on, I never believe the weather forecast. They are rarely correct," said Yumei, absent-mindedly.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"But it rained yesterday," said Baiyun, pushing her glasses up a bit on her straight nose.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Maybe God is weeping for Hu Yaobang's death," said Yumei, looking around to see if anyone had noticed her.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Have you heard anything interesting on the BBC?" asked Baiyun. She knew Li Yan listened to the BBC short wave broadcasts every day.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Yes, they're making all kinds of strange predictions about China's future. Some say Hu Yaobang's death is a sign that the conservatives will come back. Some say his death could stir up a full-scale student movement, which would begin to turn China into a more democratic society."<o:p></o:p></b><br />
<b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Longfe approached the girls. "Hi, Yumei! It's nice that you are here already." He wore a tan blazer and a pair of blue jeans. His big eyes were beaming behind his square-rimmed glasses.<o:p></o:p></b><br />
<b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Baiyun felt ignored after Li Yan left to join students from other departments. She found Longfe very attractive. She liked his big tall body, the deep set of his eyes and his smooth round face. But every time he was around, she was too nervous to open her mouth. She felt embarrassed just standing there, and an idea dawned on her. <o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Yumei… I'm going back to pick up our raincoats or an umbrella for us." Baiyun interrupted Yumei and Longfe's conversation. Longfe stared at her and frowned. Baiyun turned and ran away.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>On her way out, she saw Li Yan along with Xia Nan, a communist party member and the head of the student association in the economic department, talking to a group of students with a megaphone.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Baiyun quickly got back to the dorm, and after looking through the suitcases, drawers, and under the beds, could not find any raincoats or umbrellas. Then suddenly she realized that she had left hers at home and Yumei had probably had lost hers as usual. She decided to go to the campus grocery store to buy an umbrella. If she was late, she could always ride her bicycle to catch up with everyone. In any case, she wanted to be truly part of the march this time instead of being just a bystander as she had been on previous occasions. She was famous for always missing exciting events by staying in the library and studying. As she walked toward the store, she heard a voice accompanied by the noise of a motorcycle behind her.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Baiyun, what's the rush? Let me give you a ride."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Lao Zheng, fully equipped with a helmet, leather jacket and goggles, had stopped his motorcycle behind Baiyun. He had a big grin on his face. Yuck, what is he doing here? Baiyun asked herself. She quickly composed herself and faked a smile. "You've come to the wrong place to find Mother."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Well," he set his left foot on the ground. "Are you going to Tiananmen Square? I can give you a ride. It's such a long way to walk."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"How did you know about the march?"<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"I saw a group of students marching out of the gate when I came in. I asked them where they were going."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Have they already gone?" Baiyun felt bad. What would her friends think of her if she wasn't there? They would think she had missed another important event again. Baiyun could just imagine how the others would talk about her: "How clever, that Baiyun. Going back to get an umbrella is just her excuse. Do you remember how she got out of the march last time? She stayed in the library overnight and came out once everyone was gone."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Ha... You really need a ride now." Lao Zheng smiled like a victor.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Would you?"<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Let's go"<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Baiyun jumped onto the back seat of the motorcycle. Although she hated the cigarette smell on his jacket, she had to hold on to it tightly and bury her head in it, because she did not want others on campus to see her riding on a motorcycle with such a man.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>The streets were full of busy people going to work on bicycles, buses or occasionally on motorcycles. The ringing of bicycle bells and honking of bus horns awakened the city like a rooster's crowing at dawn. At every street corner, there was a little yellow cylindrical station painted with red stripes. Policemen wearing white summer uniforms and sunglasses either sat in the station looking out, or stood in the center of the intersection of two streets, directing the busy traffic with a little blue and white stick. Sometimes a policeman would stop an unfortunate bicyclist because he was carrying his son or both his son and his wife on the bike fender seat. They usually got a warning from the policeman and were told to walk to the bus station to let the wife and son take the bus. But as soon as they were out of the policeman's sight, they would get back on the bike and fly. Violating traffic laws was not considered a crime in China.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Lao Zheng and Baiyun found the marchers stopped in front of a big farmer's market, two kilometers from the campus. <o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Hey, Baiyun, we caught up with them in no time at all. Let's ride along with them. What do you think?"<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Would you let me get off?" She pointed toward the market. "So I can buy an umbrella and find my roommate."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Don't you want to march with me? We have a motorcycle, the modern transportation." Lao Zheng stood by his motorcycle proudly. With his sunglasses and shining new leather jacket, he almost looked like a movie star.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Baiyun was not impressed. "Please let me off!" She screamed.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Actually your mother asked me to come here and pick you up. She worries about you," Lao Zheng's tone changed.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"I don't believe you. Mother never bothers me at school. She trusts me."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Ok, I came here to find you myself. I think you'd enjoy going out with me. We'll spend some money and have a good time. This demonstration is boring. What do you think?" Lao Zheng put on his charming mask again.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Baiyun jumped off the slowly moving motorcycle and ran to the other side of the street where the students were, trying to hold back her tears.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Baiyun! Baiyun!" shouted Lao Zheng, dumbfounded.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Baiyun, why are you so late?" Baiyun could hear someone in the crowd yelled at her.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>As Baiyun was crossing the street, she saw that Yumei, Longfe, Li Yan and the other students were staring at her. She blushed. How shameful! She said to herself. But to the others, she was speechless. There was a lump in her throat.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"How do you know someone who owns a motorcycle? How exciting!" said Yumei. Then she took Baiyun's hands and smiled charmingly, which cheered Baiyun.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"According to the BBC, motorcycles are the practical modern transportation for the future in China. I'm proud of you, Baiyun. You'll be a pioneer motorcycle rider on campus," said Li Yan.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"I didn't know there is another side of you, Baiyun. Your hidden side is really exciting," said Longfe, looking impressed.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>Yumei hit Longfe on the shoulder. "Stop!" Then she took Baiyun to the side.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"What's the matter with you?"<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"I feel awful." Tears streamed down Baiyun's face.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"So, that's your mother's boyfriend? What does he want?"<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"He wants me to spend the day with him." Baiyun stared down on the ground as though this was the most embarrassing moment in her life.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Oh, my God. He's really interested in you," said Yumei, half teasingly.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Yes, is that awful?"<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"I don't know. If you don't like him, yes."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"I'm not going to go back home anymore."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Ok, stick with us."<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b>"Sure," said Baiyun. She couldn't think of a better way to spend the day.<o:p></o:p></b><br />
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<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-8618576136820512660" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 540px;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #484848; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The following books have been published by Fantasy Island Book Publishing and are available at Amazon.com:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div style="clear: both; color: #484848; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"></div></div><div style="color: #484848; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 19px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=J.Darroll+Hall&x=0&y=0">Books by Fantasy Island Book Publishing</a></span></span></b></div><div style="color: #484848; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
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font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Last-Guardian-ebook/dp/B005MHHBKI/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325104582&sr=1-3"><span style="color: black; font-size: 15pt; text-decoration: none;">The Last Guardian</span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 14pt;"> by Joan Hazel</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tellers-Anthology-collection-Publishing-ebook/dp/B006K67IIU/ref=sr_1_4?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325104582&sr=1-4"><span style="color: black; font-size: 15pt; 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font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Servant-of-the-Gods-ebook/dp/B0062PXJT6/ref=sr_1_11?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325104582&sr=1-11"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Servant of the Gods</span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"> by Valerie Douglas</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sin-ebook/dp/B005WOEDWA/ref=sr_1_12?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325104582&sr=1-12"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Sin</span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"> by Shaun Allan</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sakuri-ebook/dp/B0060IBQL8/ref=sr_1_22?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325104714&sr=1-22"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Sakuri</span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"> by Jacob Henzel </span></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Enchanted-Heart-ebook/dp/B006K5RVVK/ref=sr_1_23?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325104714&sr=1-23"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Enchanted Heart</span></a> by Brianna Lee McKenzie</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Silent-No-More-ebook/dp/B005VDFI58/ref=sr_1_24?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325104834&sr=1-24"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Silent No More</span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"> by Krista K. Hatch</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sons-Roland-Back-Story-ebook/dp/B005V9V9GO/ref=sr_1_27?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325104855&sr=1-27"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Sons of Roland: Back Story</span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"> by Nicole Antonia Carson<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;">City of Champions by Daniel Stanton</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div></div></div></div>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-81070751648243907092011-12-18T08:09:00.000-08:002012-01-12T21:18:39.331-08:00"Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" is FREE Today<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">"Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" will be FREE again on January 14th, 2012 (Saturday).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #349 Free in Kindle Store: "Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square" is on her way up the rankings chart.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">#14 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Genre Fiction > Historical</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ29KonIlT5GmsV-t5Lwv9RhF5KWUD-29Jk0yP9ImMlKKzR639xgujP_cbjf5x3nqdEF1lxS5kNMzny-hrtX34jk_rxKk37bCh92pQhEPs54r8lWj32U10Hdfvqras9z8pICLqrzGdrYA/s1600/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ29KonIlT5GmsV-t5Lwv9RhF5KWUD-29Jk0yP9ImMlKKzR639xgujP_cbjf5x3nqdEF1lxS5kNMzny-hrtX34jk_rxKk37bCh92pQhEPs54r8lWj32U10Hdfvqras9z8pICLqrzGdrYA/s320/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" width="207px" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"> <a href="http://amzn.to/pHNZGC">Click here to get a FREE copy</a></span></span>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-67233038518022529002011-12-08T21:25:00.000-08:002011-12-09T22:07:21.508-08:00Scariest Moments In My LIfe: Why did I decide to become a novelist?<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">I have experienced a few scary moments in my life as I was growing up in China. The scariest moment was when my mother was threatened at knifepoint by one of her co-work/boyfriend at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution when I was 10 years old. It was indescribable fear. It was like someone had pushed me against the wall and pressed the knife-edge on my neck. The time was frozen. I thought of going off to find some neighbors for help. Yet most of them were still at work and I was running out of time. I could imagine mother lying in a pool of blood, struggling to get up and putting cigarette back to her mouth. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">The second scariest moment was when my father raised a cleaver threatening to cut off my mother's head when I was 15 years. Now in age fifty, I just begin to fell its impact on me after having a successful family and a relatively successful engineering career. This is why I have written two books and one of them "Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square" is in Kindle now. It has taken me 20 years to get it published. However, I have felt immensely lucky. Here is a short excerpt from my novel "Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square":</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“I don’t know. Because of my harsh childhood, I felt like an old woman by the time I was fifteen. Now I feel so happy, I’m actually getting younger. Maybe I’m too young to die. I want to experience true love.” Baiyun stared at Dagong and her eyes were brimming with tears. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather share my last meal with."</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“So, you picked me.” Dagong beamed at Baiyun. </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“I think you have picked me. Remember, it was your idea to come here?” Baiyun sounded a little happier. She was smiling. </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“I think we have chosen each other.” Dagong reached across the table and took Baiyun’s hands in his. </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"> “Are you ready to order?” The waitress showed up all of sudden.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Sure,” Baiyun was skilled at switching her moods as needed. She had plenty of training in hiding her emotions during her complicated childhood. “I would like to order a plate of sliced beef tongue and a plate of pig ears.”</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“I would like to have some crispy shrimp. That’s it,” said Dagong. He handed the menu back to the waitress, who walked away, wiggling her hips as she went.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“I hate that she interrupted our nice conversation about the life, death and love, especially the last one,” said Dagong. “I’m still curious about why the Qigong knife feat disturbed you so much. Do you care to tell me?” </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Why not, even though it will give me nightmares tonight,” said Baiyun in a matter-of-fact way, as though she was commenting on the furniture.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“You don’t have to if you don't want to. I don’t want to wreck your mood.”</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“No. Everyone knows that I’m different and strange sometimes… it is because of this… it's about time for me to tell everyone, so let me begin with you.” She looked boldly at Dagong. “It is time for me to come out as a young woman instead of staying an old one.” It felt good for Baiyun to say it out loud.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Great. I’m glad that I helped you to come out,” said Dagong.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“One day, I arrived at my apartment after school. After walking through the dark hallway, I opened the door. I saw my mother sitting, smoking a cigarette and on her right standing by the bed was a slender young man with mustache…” </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">The north-facing one-room apartment was dark in the late afternoon. A double bed and a single-bed filled up the far side of the room. On the left stood a dresser with a big vacuum radio on top and a big wooden desk; in the center, a square wooden table. Initially it was so quiet that Baiyun could make out the clock ticking. Then she saw the young man with the knife in his hand and the world no longer stood still. </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Baiyun heard thunder in her head; her mind was racing. She remembered the young man coming to her apartment once before and she thought he was friendly. She quickly realized that she was mistaken and the young man was obviously mad. He was mumbling chants and waving a knife as he slowly approached Meiling. Then with swing of his long arm, he grabbed Meiling’s head and held the knife to her throat. Baiyun was ready to leap forward to punch him, or bite and kick him. </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Baiyun heard Meiling’s steady voice. “Take the knife away. Have you heard me? Take the knife away,” said Meiling. Her voice was so firm that it made </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Baiyun think it might be a joke that the young man was playing against Meiling. All those years later, as Baiyun told Dagong about the incident, her voice was not nearly as steady as Meiling's was that afternoon. Baiyun stopped speaking to take a breath as Dagong listened.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“What happened next?”</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"> “Nothing. Mother is still alive. He didn’t even break the skin. He packed his things and left, as she finished her cigarette.” Nothing happened. And yet it was the most intense moment in Baiyun's young life. </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Dagong was engrossed in Baiyun's story. He didn’t even notice that the food they ordered had been set on the table before them. Baiyun began eating. "Does it give you nightmares?" he asked her. She did not answer, but not because she did not have nightmares. She did not answer because her mouth was full. Dagong did not yet understand; he assumed the best and joined in the feast. “As long as you are eating, you are doing fine. Otherwise you wouldn’t have grown to be a college student. You would have perished a long time ago.”</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“You are right. I’m doing fine. Don’t worry about me… it only showed me that my mother is invincible.” As Baiyun said it, she realized that she could be invincible as well. </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Baiyun looked at Dagong carefully, trying to gauge whether his attitude toward her had changed. She nearly regretted telling him so much. But whom else could she speak to? </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Dagong touched Baiyun’s hand. “If you ever need to talk about it, talk to me. ” </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Baiyun smiled at Dagong through a mouthful of beef tongue. She swallowed before she spoke. “Am I full of surprises?” </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“I love the fact that you are full of surprises.” </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Dagong held Baiyun's hand, and she knew he understood her. “How about you, Dagong? Do you have any secrets?”</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Of course. But I think we have revealed enough secrets for now. Maybe if you're lucky I'll tell you one of mine over the cream puffs.” Together they laughed over their past tragedies.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5crnOsm2USaL4XtLwdBISmwm0ZiXjIG43jFWDdGEhdcnrY7_AfnPj22g-a-cbn5AeBM0LhufPPqSL91eTJwycTPzHrquzWGJbcm-k6YN1JfwM0V-nIC7vjPCZJ0pMn5DqMy7nBmJXNM/s1600/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5crnOsm2USaL4XtLwdBISmwm0ZiXjIG43jFWDdGEhdcnrY7_AfnPj22g-a-cbn5AeBM0LhufPPqSL91eTJwycTPzHrquzWGJbcm-k6YN1JfwM0V-nIC7vjPCZJ0pMn5DqMy7nBmJXNM/s320/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" width="207px" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/pHNZGC">Get your copy in Kindle</a><br />
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Next post: I was raped but didn't know about it until now.<br />
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My website: www.lisazhangwharton.comLisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-27124969809796537792011-12-03T22:19:00.000-08:002011-12-05T16:04:58.888-08:00A New 5-Star Review for "Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b> </b></span><b><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12pt;">Love the Chinese Voice of Lisa Zhang Wharton</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12pt;"> By Connie J. Jasperson</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">I love the Chinese voice that Lisa Zhang Wharton writes with. Her experience as a Chinese woman comes across in her story, and it feels almost autobiographical. You feel the grimness of the conditions that the people of China lived under during the time of the Tiananmen Square Massacre. Hope thrives under the conditions of hopelessness. Baiyun struggles with her mother's morality, her own wishes and dreams, and with the burdens that were inherent to being a modern woman in China. I highly recommend this to anyone who loves modern literature, and especially those who love anything about China, as I do. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJOi2fZ-6C051oFhTKg4ykAktPj-dtaur5Auf0R3t71LmcOpebNLhMcrnSccIAcrHQCLC596RuqZP2ju9VATIq2FXzA6iUkaN3fvXfp6JCDbUpCgPAu52TP9FUEZKchqgCuDQ9Ri08rA/s1600/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJOi2fZ-6C051oFhTKg4ykAktPj-dtaur5Auf0R3t71LmcOpebNLhMcrnSccIAcrHQCLC596RuqZP2ju9VATIq2FXzA6iUkaN3fvXfp6JCDbUpCgPAu52TP9FUEZKchqgCuDQ9Ri08rA/s320/Book+Cover_front_small.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> Amazon Link: <a href="http://amzn.to/pHNZGC">Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square</a><br />
</span>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-46170744181774403442011-10-22T19:24:00.000-07:002011-12-08T17:51:14.010-08:00Is Kauai heaven, Pierce Brosnan Thinks So<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyy4lgZpBx3SirdA2Kaqrcot7Ic6nsi2Z9MB04CLGj1z6mpUpJWSV2bf5FdQTICCaKBUA3V27QMQynclaSdgMePrTiQ3sdbg25MneW2NPy9cMCAk6IicZmN09QcvRhMspWa6ublhRrNB0/s1600/Kauai+Flower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyy4lgZpBx3SirdA2Kaqrcot7Ic6nsi2Z9MB04CLGj1z6mpUpJWSV2bf5FdQTICCaKBUA3V27QMQynclaSdgMePrTiQ3sdbg25MneW2NPy9cMCAk6IicZmN09QcvRhMspWa6ublhRrNB0/s320/Kauai+Flower.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the spring of 2010, I was fortunate enough to be a part of the Wharton’s family reunion in the north shore of the Kauai Island. The Wharton family only has reunion once every ten years. But every time, it is in heaven – the Kauai Island. We stayed in a house that was only three houses away from Pierce Brosnan’s house and resident at the time. His kids went to the same school with my sister-in-law’s kids who lived across the street. One day, my husband ran into Pierce on the beach during a stroll and had a picture taken with him. No, actually my husband was too shy to do anything. Piece stared straight at him. My husband almost said that “Pierce, don’t piece me.” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Kauai offers a little bit something for everyone. You can either stare at the violent ocean thinking I’m glad that I’m not in it. Or you can jump straight into a 200 feet waterfall to have some thrill. I did it with the aid of a rope swing. Even though my hips got slapped red when I jumped in, it was really rewarding when I swam lazily in the water afterwards watching others jump in one after another, yelling and screaming. I saw people of all ages leaping into the waterfall as though there were no tomorrow. <br />
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Kauai Island is one of a few islands where you can take a water color painting class in fancy hotels like Mariotte and Hyatt and Sheraton. Taking a painting class in a boring classroom is one thing. Taking it in the courtyard of the Mariotte surrounded by tropical birds and flowers is really a treat. My sister-in-law Sarah Riggle, mother of my book cover designer Jake Riggle has created this class along with serveral her artist friends. I highly recommend it for anyone who is planning a vacation to the Kauai Island.<br />
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Kauai Island also has a vibrant theatre community. Jake's brother Toby Riggle, a talent singer and actor, performed in many shows in Kauai after moving there about seven years ago. So when I heard that he was going to perform in the local dinner theatre's "South Pacific", I jumped up and down with joy. It was quite an experience watching "South Pacific" while in South Pacific!<br />
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In the evening, when the sky was painted with red, pink and blue, when the cool breeze swept across my cheeks, when the violent tide pounding against the shore, I couldn't help calling out, “Paradise!” <o:p></o:p></div>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-33110185869356071992011-10-05T04:38:00.000-07:002011-10-19T20:25:39.725-07:00The Top Ranked and 5-star Reviewed Novel "Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square" is Now in Kindle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99TjQ0_PAP49m2JVMhL7myNWEeIhSvL99T9ertvTf_-DbdZKyTVaxoN5Wrs3vPpL9spA5l2Eobs267R2v_TT768wipabJ-IF3kfRtQ4569iSazj0hMH1DRpjVXFh2j30LW0-f1pfwvrs/s1600/Book+Cover+Last+Kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99TjQ0_PAP49m2JVMhL7myNWEeIhSvL99T9ertvTf_-DbdZKyTVaxoN5Wrs3vPpL9spA5l2Eobs267R2v_TT768wipabJ-IF3kfRtQ4569iSazj0hMH1DRpjVXFh2j30LW0-f1pfwvrs/s1600/Book+Cover+Last+Kiss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Check out my novel in Kindle now: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://amzn.to/pHNZGC" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://amzn.to/pHNZGC</a></span><br />
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See the following review:<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Lisa Zhang Wharton was born and raised in Beijing, China. In Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square, her first full-length endeavor, she explores everyday life in China in 1989, focused on Baiyun, a college student at Bejing University. Baiyun living at school and finally away from her highly dysfunctional family for the first time, is studying hard to pass the TOFEL exam, which would allow her to study in America and be the gateway to a better life.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">She gradually becomes embroiled in the Student Democracy Movement, protesting the authoritarian government and demanding increased freedoms for all of China. While working as a reporter covering the Movement for the school paper, she meets Dagong, an older factory worker volunteering to help the students, and over the course of several action-filled days, experiences true love for the first time.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Intertwined with the global events culminating with the Tiananmen Square Massacre, the book also tells the story of four families huddled within the confines of a government mandated collective house, once the single family dwelling of a prominent family, but now post-Cultural Revolution, divided into four tiny apartments.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">As the military gradually clamps down on the protesters, and situation becomes dangerous for all involved, Baiyun learns that Dagong is married and has a young child, and sees her love, her ideals, and the remnants of her dysfunctional family disintegrating before her eyes.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">This novel works on many levels. In addition to being a simple love story with a backdrop of world events, it's a close-up look at the lasting effects of the Cultural Revolution on everyday Chinese families and an intriguing exploration of historical events. It's truly a must-read for all audiences.</span><br />
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</span>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-70750655805748709712011-09-23T08:27:00.000-07:002015-10-10T22:00:07.406-07:00Butterflies: A Surrealistic Writing Class<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The following story was inspired by the Paris Writer's Workshop I attended in 2007:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNke2YgQYddFwOuXy_hvGYFhXQTY7fGZTAKfBS6Gb-L4aabSe-bXIFRVB0NetjTbWFb3eYQfEWp-yduNGiawt_HrploQZ0slORchIRiNeRYwnZchdWWAf6m68uUH7RE4Ub-KpZFto-fLY/s1600/Bloody+Legs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNke2YgQYddFwOuXy_hvGYFhXQTY7fGZTAKfBS6Gb-L4aabSe-bXIFRVB0NetjTbWFb3eYQfEWp-yduNGiawt_HrploQZ0slORchIRiNeRYwnZchdWWAf6m68uUH7RE4Ub-KpZFto-fLY/s320/Bloody+Legs.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Butterflies: A Surrealistic Writing Class</span></b> </div>
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I got up in the morning in my second day in Paris and had a healthy breakfast from the landlady, Christina, who wanted to feed me like a horse. I turned down the ham but happily accepted the cucumber, yogurt and a delicious cup of hot cocoa. After having a quick Parisian goodbye, hugs and kisses with Christina, and stuffing the first manuscript we were going to discuss into my leather bag, I stepped out the door on my way to my class– Master Class for Novel Writing. It was going to be taught by an American-French writer, Ms. Catherine Texier. It was perfect for me, a non-native speaker, to be taking a class in English in Paris.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The weather was cool but not rainy. Since I didn’t know how to take the subway, I decided to join the briskly walking Parisians on the street. The Google map said it would only take about twenty minutes to walk to the class site but it actually took twice as long, including getting lost twice at the same street corners where I got lost the previous day. Since I had figured out how to get through the doors in Paris by pushing buttons and pulling latches the day before, I had no trouble getting into the building. But I had no idea where the class would be. I decided to go straight to the garden at the far end where there were a fishpond and many beautiful flowers. Since this place resembled paradise, it had to be somewhere near here. But I was wrong; there were no human beings in sight. Instead, there was a garden full of butterflies.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Hello!” One of the butterflies said, fluttering right in front of my face. I almost fell backwards.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I can lead you to your classroom,” said the Butterfly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was dumbfounded. What sort of place is this? The Butterfly must be some kind of high-tech navigation device. I obediently followed the butterfly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I walked up the squeaky staircases, the atmosphere became more mysterious. I could see light smoke hovering in the air.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“What sort of place is this?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You will find out soon,” The Butterfly flapped her wings and went ahead.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like being drugged, I started feeling light headed and followed ahead. So when I saw the green rolling hills, the colorful flowers, and the happily running squirrels and rabbits, I was not surprised. I slowed down, checking the surroundings of this wonderland.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Hurry up. Otherwise we will be late,” said the Butterfly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We entered a forest, and crossed a few streams over some miniature wooden bridges. Then we came to a log cabin.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Here is your classroom,” said the Butterfly. Then she started flapping her wings rapidly. “Open the door, please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I could hear loud footsteps coming to the door. Then the door opened and a frog’s big green head stuck out. “Welcome. You must be here for the Master Class for Novel Writing.” The frog had an impeccable British accent.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Without even asking why I was here taking a class from a frog, I stepped in. Maybe I was drugged. Maybe I was in a dream. Or it was simply an adventure, which for a writer was a golden opportunity. <o:p></o:p></div>
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After I had found out, who my classmates were, I was not sure that I was in the right class. Sitting around the table were a giant moth, quite old but beautiful, a raccoon, very earnest, a beaver with prominent nose and a parrot who couldn’t stop talking. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“A human? I haven’t seen one for a long time,” said the Parrot.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Have you noticed how young she is,” said the Frog.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I looked at myself up and down and was surprised to see that I wore a red and white pleated skirt and an apron. I had two long black pigtails hanging down on my shoulders. For some reason, I pulled up my skirt and curtsied.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You can sit down now.” The Frog waved her hands. “One, two, three, and four. We have one missing. Before we start, let me pour some tea for everyone.” She went to a miniature stove and grabbed the teapot. There were already a few tea ups with saucers on the little wooden table. The Frog started pouring the tea into the teacups carelessly as though the tea would spill all over the table. But magically every cup was filled with tea all the way up to its edge and there was no visible sign of a mess. Then everyone was pushing the teacups and saucers across the table to each other like they were playing a game. Whoever could push the teacups and the saucers the farthest without knocking over the other teacups won. Then they started throwing the teacups and saucers at each other through the air like airplanes. Then this wonderful game was interrupted.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Knock. Knock.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Who is it?” The Frog asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m Robbie.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh, come in.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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A giant gray rabbit jumped in, panting. “I didn’t hear my alarm. Sorry,” he sat down next to the Raccoon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Now everyone is here. Let’s start,” said the Frog, “Beaver, you can start first. Read the first three pages of your writing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Beaver started chewing a piece of wood. The Parrot interpreted his story for him. “Beavers are slaughtered in large numbers because the humans like the fur. They are always living in fear. They have to build special shelters and only go out in the middle of the night. If they do have to go out during the day…” Beaver started crying uncontrollably.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I really like the story,” said Moth, flapping her wings. “It’s moving.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Why don’t you fight back?” Forgetting the fact that I was a human, I couldn’t help but be on the Beaver’s side.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“We are too weak to fight humans,” said Beaver, still weeping.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You can hire an army of Raccoons to help you,” said the Raccoon with his two big eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m not sure that humans can be defeated by armies of raccoons,” said Moth with an air of authority.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I have good relationships with humans,” said Parrot proudly. “They like me. They pay a lot of money to buy me. This story is too depressing. I like uplifting stories. I think that we should make peace with humans. What do you think, guys?” Parrot glanced around.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You are just satisfied to be a pet. You are coward,” said Robbie. “I love freedom. I represent all the freedom loving animals, let’s fight the humans!” Robbie jumped up and down to make his point.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I agree with you. We should just give up our lives and our fur.” As he was speaking, the Raccoon started glancing toward me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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All of sudden, I felt every creature in the room was staring at me with not-so-friendly facial expressions. I was sweating. I couldn’t stand this anymore, I was telling myself. This roomful of creatures would definitely defeat me. I stood up and ran out of the door as fast as I could. There must be a door out of this wonderland! As I was running, I heard a loud scurrying sound behind me. I looked back and saw a troop of mice chasing me, holding chopsticks-like swords. Their captain was sitting in a cart that resembled a Chinese-takeout box. As I was running, the flowers nearby started closing in on me and tried to block me. I pushed them away and ran even faster. The funny thing was that these flowers all had faces and they looked very surprised with their oval-shaped mouths and pedal bonnets all standing up. I couldn’t help laughing. What kind of creatures were they? Just before I was about to be captured by the mouse troop, I dove into the flower bushes. I pushed and shoved to get in as far as I could. Then I came to a rose-covered cabin guarded by two guards with peony heads with frog’s bodies. I stood in front of them and bowed. One of the guards waved me in. After I entered the cabin, I discovered a flower palace. There were tulips on the wall, on the ceiling and on the floor. I was actually walking on rose pedals. On the flower-covered throne, there sat a Frog king who also wore a flower crown. There was an enormous green bronze fountain covered by all different colors of flowers next to the throne.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“My child, are you here for the fountain of the creativity?” His eyes looked enormous behind a pair of very thick glasses. He looked very intelligent.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Sure.” I said. Do I have other choices, I asked myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Let’s congregate!” As soon as the Frog king waved, creatures of all kinds came out from behind the flower curtain and gathered around me. I looked around and saw my teacher, Ms. Frog, and my classmates, the Beaver, the Raccoon, the Moth, the Parrot and the Rabbit. Everyone was holding hands. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Are you ready?” asked the Frog king.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yes!” Everyone yelled in unison.<o:p></o:p></div>
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All of the sudden the room went pitch dark and lightening came followed by thunders. The clouds swept through like thousands of sheep. The sky was going to be split into half. Many ghosts came in from all directions. They were tangled up as though they were in a battle. Then two enormous ghosts were left alone in the sky, yelling at each other. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“You told me that you loved me,” said one ghost with trembling voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“That’s history. I don’t love you anymore,” answered another ghost apprehensively.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Remember we used to do so many fun things together?” The first ghost sounded on the verge of crying.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“It’s getting old. Let’s move on!” The second ghost wouldn’t budge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m going to kill myself!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Go ahead! I’m tired of hearing this. Please do as you have said for once. Die, die!” The second ghost’s voice was so penetrating that it hurt my ears.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then they were gone. The sky had turned peaceful as though a curtain had been closed. But the peace was short-lived. The enormous wind started blowing accompanied by thousands of ghosts howling. It was followed by the rain, the blood rain, to be more precise, as I could taste it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Drink, child, drink!” said the Frog king. His voice sounded dreamy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I woke up in the garden under a grape vine. Looking around, I didn’t see one single butterfly. Instead, I saw writers standing, drinking and talking about writing, which seemed so surreal for me. I sat up and tried to wake up. But a voice startled me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">“Hello, Young lady! Why didn’t you go to my class?” I raised my head and saw my teacher standing in front of me. Her red curly hair made her look like a lion roaring at me.</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">“I, I thought that I just took a, a class,” said I, still feeling dreamy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">“Where did you take it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly didn’t see you in my class!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">“I, I took it here,” said I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My voice drifted down and I knew that I had felt a sleep here and had completely missed the class.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">“Ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are still jet-lagged so I forgive you today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If this happened again tomorrow, I will have to have a talk with you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She turned around and disappeared like a gust of wind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided that it was time to go back to my bed-and-breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked all the way back without even getting lost once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I opened the apartment door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could hear the loud music playing inside, which I recognize as Rock & Roll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I noticed the shadow of two people hugging. Then I started making out that one of them was my landlady Christina in the dim late afternoon light coming through the opened living room door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were kissing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feeling like an intruder, I quickly averted my eyes and ran to my bedroom like disappearing shadow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I closed the door and tried to take a nap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet I was as curious as a cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked to the door and pressed my ear on it, listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I missed you so much,” said the man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then Christina stepped out from the living room in her usual tights and a low-cut short-sleeve black top.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m glad that you are back.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She kissed me on both cheeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m getting used to this, I was telling myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How is the class?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Surreal!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What else could I say?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I would like you to meet with my former boyfriend Jean-Paul and his wife Lila.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she lowered her voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please don’t tell anyone else that they are in town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jean-Paul’s life is in danger in this country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They snuck in just to visit me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I nodded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gee, I thought the drama in my life had stopped in the flower palace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just kept on going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I ended up watching Christina dancing with her boyfriend Charlie, a much younger man from the Congo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jean-Paul and Lila watched also since they were much too frail to dance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Watching Christina and Charlie swirling around in the small but well-lit living room, I could not help thinking that, Paris is a writing workshop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Fantasy Island Book Publishing will publish my book “Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square”. It will come out in Kindle very soon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The following books have been published by Fantasy Island Book Publishing and are available at Amazon.com:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=J.Darroll+Hall&x=0&y=0<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bbbbbb; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Terps by Elaine Gannon<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">HarBinGer by Anabell Martin<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Rose Tower by Connie J. Jasperson<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Don't Feed the Fairies by Eileen Gormley<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">After Ilium by S. M. Swartz<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Heather's Heart by Douglas A. Sanburn<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Whatever Became of the Squishies by Claire Chilton<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Children Of The Elementi by Ceri Clark<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Emeline and the Muntant by Rachel Tsoumbakos<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Miranda Warning by Marilyn Rucker Norrod<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Sofia’s Story, The Shattered Seeds by Clu Gallagher<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Brother, Betrayed by Danielle Raver<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Ednor Scardens by Kathleen Barker<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Land Of Nod, The Artifact by Gary Hoover<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Losing Beauty by Johanna Garth<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The King Of Egypt by J. J. Makins<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Last Good Knight by Connie J. Jasperson<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Night Watchman Express by Alison DeLuca<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Black Numbers by Dean Frank Lappi<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 19px;">Beloved by Patty Sarro</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 19px;">Sin by Shaun Allan</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 19px;">Recycled Souls Lynette Ferreira</span></span></span></span><br />
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</span></span></span></span>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-59840986634227617912011-09-03T20:24:00.000-07:002011-09-15T08:57:24.165-07:00Fantasy Island Book Publishing's New Book in Print -- The Last Good Knight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuW-7ks9xcdJLMITp0l4gv9Gbx_PkNbcDe0s41jidSbxbX-pWXMregCC8jhlLuU0KvIzeO2bP_TSlPTyfZcDR3aqQfCnJRJgpnhfIhUmfx9XZcNL6-IJbPyt1NM4hmID9OrITRsaABII/s1600/The+Last+Good+Knight+Book+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuW-7ks9xcdJLMITp0l4gv9Gbx_PkNbcDe0s41jidSbxbX-pWXMregCC8jhlLuU0KvIzeO2bP_TSlPTyfZcDR3aqQfCnJRJgpnhfIhUmfx9XZcNL6-IJbPyt1NM4hmID9OrITRsaABII/s320/The+Last+Good+Knight+Book+Cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Check out this lastest paperback release from Fantasy Island Book Publishing. I have read her book. She is a terrific writer of courage, love and humor. The main character Sir Julian Lackland was very attractive and funny. It was no surprise that he was involved in a love triangle with a twist. You can buy a copy from the following link:<br />
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http://jdarrollhall.blogspot.com/2011/08/last-good-knight-by-connie-j-jasperson.html<br />
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If you want to know more about her, please read the following short interview:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Q: When did you start writing fiction?</span><br />
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<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">A: I started writing short stories in the mid 1980’s because I didn’t have enough money to buy books as fast as I could read them, and the library didn’t have many that I had not already read. So I started writing stories that I would like to read. I also wrote fairy tales for my kids.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">Q: Who is your favorite writer?</span></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">A: My favorite writer - it depends. I loved Marion Zimmer Bradley. I loved Tolkien, and such diverse writers as McCaffrey and Fritz Lieber. There have been so many wonderful writers that it is hard to have a favorite. The new indy authors are putting out some amazingly high quality work.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">Q: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">Do you belong to a writing group?</span></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">A: I am a member of the ANBA Writers Group, and have a local NaNoWriMo group that I work with. Keeping connected with other writers is crucial to developing as a writer. Also, I am very close with the other authors at Fantasy Island Book Publishing. It is a lively group!</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">Q: Where did you get your writing inspiration?</span></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">A: I don’t know! I get these random ideas about a story that I would like to read, and I just write it down. I usually write the idea – synopsis first, but sometimes I write the last chapter first and then work up to it.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">Q: What is your favorite place to write?</span></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">A: My favorite place to write is the Batdorf and Bronson Coffee Shop in downtown Olympia. Such good atmosphere for creativity there! About once a week I drive up there and spend most of the day writing there.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">Q: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">Do you remember your grade school sweet heart?</span></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">A: My grade school sweetheart was a boy named Jeff, when we still lived in Seattle. My family moved to Olympia when I was 10, so that ended that!</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">Now I'm pairing a story from a famous Epic fantasy written in the ancient China and it is called "Journey to the West". This was my favorite book when I was a teenager.</div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsG9OIrSwXXfVc9RooRFMKFDu2ILq6FPZaqpH8xtzfVNd9EjiT8YEsloEfl5Y0zutwqkVcwFCjxA4vnZUSWNQTcfXt6RcgXhDlrRk40Ylt3E97v1wTDCvib6XEwvNUhuKPFx4ago_P6Zs/s1600/Monkey+King.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsG9OIrSwXXfVc9RooRFMKFDu2ILq6FPZaqpH8xtzfVNd9EjiT8YEsloEfl5Y0zutwqkVcwFCjxA4vnZUSWNQTcfXt6RcgXhDlrRk40Ylt3E97v1wTDCvib6XEwvNUhuKPFx4ago_P6Zs/s320/Monkey+King.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"><div class="MsoNormal">Monkey King Subdues The White-Bone Demon<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One day, monk Tsang Hsuan with his three escorts, Monkey King, Pigsy, and Sandy are traveling toward India in search of Buddhist scriptures. They arrived at the White Tiger Mountain. The ever-watchful Monkey King senses danger and volunteers to go ahead as a scout. He draws a magic circle around the others and tells them to stay inside. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now in this mountain there lives the White-Bone Demon, a terror even among demons. She loves to eat this delicious smooth-faced monk, Tsang Hsuan. She tries to attack Tsang Hsuan in meditation. But the golden rays shoot out the magic circle and blocks her. Demon decides to change into a beautiful young maiden carrying a basket full of steamed buns in her hand. Greedy Pigsy smells the fragrant steamed buns and races out of the magic circle. Pigsy pulls Tsang Hsuan and Sandy with him. Monkey King returns, recognizes the demon and kills her with one blow of his staff. But it is only the demon’s transformation, however, and the demon escapes in a wisp of cloud. Tsang Hsuan, who does not see the magical escape of the White-Bone Demon, is horrified by the death of the young maiden and accuses Monkey King: “Look, what you’ve done; you’ve committed a crime.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then crafty demon now changes into a pious old woman who pretends to be the girl’s mother and then an old man. Monkey King has defeated them in both cases with his powerful staff. But Tsang Hsuan, deceived by the White-Bone Demon’s transformation, decides to dismiss Monkey King and tells him to go back to his home in the Flower and Fruit Mountain.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Without Monkey king’s protection, White-Bone Demon captures Tsang Hsuan and Sandy in no time. Pigsy narrowly escapes this fate due to a few magic skills he has. He travels instantly to the Flower and Fruit Mountain and begs Monkey King to rescue their master. Monkey King replies sarcastically, “Oh, Master’s so kind-hearted, he’ll persuade the demon to release him.” Pigsy is miffed at this and swears to fight the demon alone. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Actually Monkey King is planning to save his master Tsang Hsuan. He just keeps it secret from Pigsy. He mounts a cloud and heads for the demon’s cave as soon as Pigsy has left. On the way, he runs into the Golden Toad Fairy, mother of the White-Bone Demon, who has been invited by her daughter to a feast of Tsang Hsuan’s flesh. He kills the Golden Toad Fairy and all her attendants. He turns into the Golden Toad Fairy himself after making a few little demons by pulling some hairs from his body. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Monkey King arrives at the White-Bone Demon just in time before his master Tsang Hsuan gets cooked. He plucks more hairs from his body and turns them into many small Monkeys. Together they fight White-Bone Demon with their golden staffs. Before she flees, they spew out magic flames, which reduce the demon to her true form, a white skeleton.<o:p></o:p></div></div>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-86185761368205126602011-08-19T15:22:00.000-07:002015-10-10T22:02:00.214-07:00A Spooky NIght In the Austria Alps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Austria Alps and My Short Dark Science Fiction Inspired by A Spooky Austria Mountain Night<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Ray and Sam had been gone for a while, I meant more than an hour in this pitch-dark Austria Alps night. Earlier when I was out with them, it was so dark that I couldn't make out anyone's face even though they were all standing next to me. I worried about them. I knew even though Ray agreed just to go to the rushing river with Sam, there was no guarantee that they would stop there and turn back. In fact, I knew for sure that they would go further. Where did they go? I had no idea. Ray had a knack for adventure and his clumsiness made me worry. They could trip in the dark and fell in the rushing river because they only had a headlamp with two small red bulbs in it. It had other brighter settings yet Ray never used them in nature. He hated disturbing the wild life. Now I remembered, the headlamp got damaged during the plane ride and would never shine bright light even Ray wanted it to. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">I stepped outside and looked up to the sky. Two enormous mountain peaks was hanging over my head through the clouds. They looked way too close to be real and I felt they would crush on me anytime. I could just imagine that Sam fell into the river and Ray tried to reach down to grab his hand that was slowly moving away. I could hear Sam's screaming, "Ray, help me!” which was fading as Sam was drifting away. Of course, in reality, this could not have happened because the river was less than a foot deep. But I still couldn't get the image of their bodies floating in the river out of my mind. I decided to go inside and wait for another half hour. If they didn't show up soon, I would call the police, which I had no idea how to contact them in this small town deep in the Austria Alps. I didn't even have a phone that worked there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">After about ten minutes, I looked out the window. Two red lights are slowly approaching the door. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">"They are back!" I couldn't help to yell. I ran down stairs and opened the door. I screamed bloody hell when I saw a robot or a man in a silver spacesuit with two red blinking lights on his helmet walking toward me. I wanted to get away but it was too late. He raised his right arm and I was sucked toward him instantly. In a second, we arrived at the rushing river where my handsome Ray and lovely Sam were lying motionless. Ten men in space suits stood by the river staring at the two bodies in the river. A giant spaceship parked next to the river emitting bright white light. I was stoned. I was beyond surprised. Yet I still tried to run toward my two beloved family members who looked pale and dreamy like paper-thin straw dolls floating on the surface of the river. Someone touched my forehead. My world went black.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bbbbbb; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Publication News from Fantasy Island Book Publishing:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Fantasy Island Book Publishing will publish my book “Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square”. I have handed in my whole manuscript and my nephew, a graphic artist, Jake RIggle is working on a cover.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The following books have been published by Fantasy Island Book Publishing and are available at Amazon.com:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=J.Darroll+Hall&x=0&y=0<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Terps by Elaine Gannon<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">HarBinGer by Anabell Martin<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Rose Tower by Connie J. Jasperson<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Don't Feed the Fairies by Eileen Gormley<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">After Ilium by S. M. Swartz<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Heather's Heart by Douglas A. Sanburn<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Whatever Became of the Squishies by Claire Chilton<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Children Of The Elementi by Ceri Clark<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Emeline and the Muntant by Rachel Tsoumbakos<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Miranda Warning by Marilyn Rucker Norrod<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Sofia’s Story, The Shattered Seeds by Clu Gallagher<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Brother, Betrayed by Danielle Raver<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Ednor Scardens by Kathleen Barker<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Land Of Nod, The Artifact by Gary Hoover<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Losing Beauty by Johanna Garth<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The King Of Egypt by J. J. Makins<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Last Good Knight by Connie J. Jasperson<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Night Watchman Express by Alison DeLuca<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Black Numbers by Dean Frank Lappi<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 19px;">Beloved by Patty Sarro</span></span>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-81426794055713955902011-08-10T08:12:00.000-07:002011-08-15T09:12:44.602-07:00Impeachment, Debt Ceiling Debate and The Apple Empire<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Should President Obama take the risk of being impeached for the good of our country? Absolutely! Mr. President, I have been your staunch supporter ever since the last election. I voted for you during the election whole-heartedly. When you made the controversial decision on the Afghanistan War, I supported you. When you passed the much-debated Health Care Reform bill, I supported you. I thought passing such a bill was quite triumphant considering how hard it was, even Bill and Hilary Clinton couldn't get one close to be passed. I admired your compromising skills in order to get a bill passed. I also knew you were smart and always had a good understanding of issues, so I trusted you to do the right thing for us and for our country. During the Debt Ceiling debate, things really turned nasty. It was a display of Theatrical Absurdity. The whole world was watching us and laughing at us. How can we promote our political system ever again? At this moment, I really wish you, our President, would stand up to these incompetent Washington politicians and say, "Enough is enough! I'm the boss. I will use the 14th Amendment to raise the debt ceiling unconditionally!" Of course, your lawyers and advisors will tell you that you are running the risk of being impeached. So, how can you sacrifice your presidency for the good of our country, for the good of the world economy and to save us from yet another deep recession? Because we, the people, have suffered enough!</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">On a lighter note, Apple Computer is supposed to have more cash than the United States government! Are we, as the iPhone users, the MAC users and iPod users the citizens of the Apple Empire? Absolutely. In a recent episode of Motley Fool Money Podcast, someone said that after he lost his iPhone, he felt like he lost a family member and he would trade his citizenship for a new iPhone! As an iPhone owner, I can understand. I carry my iPhone everywhere and use it for everything. It is like a dear pet of mine. If not now, we will eventually become a member of the Apple Empire, whether we like it or not.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="color: #bbbbbb; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Publication News from Fantasy Island Book Publishing:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Fantasy Island Book Publishing will publish my book “Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square”. I have handed in my whole manuscript and will start working on a cover.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The following books have been published by Fantasy Island Book Publishing and are available at Amazon.com:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=J.Darroll+Hall&x=0&y=0<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Terps by Elaine Gannon<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">HarBinGer by Anabell Martin<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Rose Tower by Connie J. Jasperson<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Don't Feed the Fairies by Eileen Gormley<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">After Ilium by S. M. Swartz<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Heather's Heart by Douglas A. Sanburn<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Whatever Became of the Squishies by Claire Chilton<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Children Of The Elementi by Ceri Clark<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Emeline and the Muntant by Rachel Tsoumbakos<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Miranda Warning by Marilyn Rucker Norrod<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Sofia’s Story, The Shattered Seeds by Clu Gallagher<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Brother, Betrayed by Danielle Raver<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Ednor Scardens by Kathleen Barker<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Land Of Nod, The Artifact by Gary Hoover<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Losing Beauty by Johanna Garth <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The King Of Egypt by J. J. Makins<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Last Good Knight by Connie J. Jasperson<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">The Night Watchman Express by Alison DeLuca<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt;">Black Numbers by Dean Frank Lappi<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #adadad; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Beloved by Patty Sarro</span> </span>Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883705872707694436.post-37600314697324119692011-07-21T21:20:00.000-07:002011-12-13T21:01:15.699-08:00My trip to Sedona<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4ASz5uwy3hNpCLT9_vmaeqb7zfVTE_fvg98oL2OBbTEVhlYnh_wFYlxYdWvfjSqCDpQUDbq5vmsyjayNQwBPr0bDceqClzg7JbZz4dS7ewkEIXg2PJPYJBU1A5xI9XMGlFmh3sh2RD0/s1600/Lisa+in+Sedona+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4ASz5uwy3hNpCLT9_vmaeqb7zfVTE_fvg98oL2OBbTEVhlYnh_wFYlxYdWvfjSqCDpQUDbq5vmsyjayNQwBPr0bDceqClzg7JbZz4dS7ewkEIXg2PJPYJBU1A5xI9XMGlFmh3sh2RD0/s320/Lisa+in+Sedona+1.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzS53yW7pGLJFPM4U5GmeTLpaGpsZt-llCYn1hdZpiOiosIgdgOj5Mf_79Il7NqJAjXBjToD7NvdMTn-adQP3UGgxi5JIQ4o2GeQsazn8UUwgXxHlPv5p42AoYKAWKk6d6QAR2350B-Y/s1600/270412_10150244715999614_549834613_7056434_4659338_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzS53yW7pGLJFPM4U5GmeTLpaGpsZt-llCYn1hdZpiOiosIgdgOj5Mf_79Il7NqJAjXBjToD7NvdMTn-adQP3UGgxi5JIQ4o2GeQsazn8UUwgXxHlPv5p42AoYKAWKk6d6QAR2350B-Y/s320/270412_10150244715999614_549834613_7056434_4659338_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>From July 3rd to July 10th, my husband and I spent a week in Sedona, Arizona. "Going to Arizona in July, you must be crazy. It would be 120 degrees and you will love it", one of my friends said. In actuality, she was wrong. During the first night when we were having dinner on the balcony under the moonlight with the red Cathodral rock in the distance, I was a little cold. It was 70 degree F. I told my husband that I wished I had brought cloths other than the tank tops. The next day, we decided to do a short but strenuous hike to the top of the Cathodral rocks and it was fantastic. Every time when we had a water break, a cool breeze swept through us so nice that made me want to cry out loud, "I'm in heaven!" Surrounded by red rocks in many intricate shapes, it was not hard to think that way. Sedona is the most beautiful place I have ever hiked. It would be a tie comparing with hikes we did in the Autria Alps last summer. The deal I got for renting my condo at the Sedona Summit Resort is really hard to beat. I hope we will go and visit Sedona soon.<br />
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Big news is: My novel "Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" will be published by Fantasy Island Book Publishing (FIBP)<br />
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More posts about travel, my novel and books by FIBP authors will be forthcoming.Lisa Zhang Whartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02311524159455718136noreply@blogger.com10