You can vote for a crazy lady here ——> http://questionpro.com/t/AJhWsZRXWf (LaRae L Parry)
Why I Write – My Writing Journey
Writing saved me from a world that suddenly went black due to a doctor who was careless. Writing saves me from a dark life with a disability that was no fault of my own—but because a doctor forget to evaluate me. I write to escape my world of being connected to supplemental oxygen to be anything or go anywhere I want. Writing takes me out of my home and into the fun world where my brain lives.
I write to get myself out of bed in the morning. I write because the stories in my head won’t stop bugging me until I help them come alive. I write to remind myself that my greedy surgeon couldn’t take everything away from me. I write because after five years of therapy, study, and hard work, I learned to read again. I write because the umbilical urge to create won’t go away.
I write to heal myself. I write to communicate to readers the concept of healing with humor. That it works. No kidding. My writing has been compared to the tradition of authors Erma Bombeck and Dave Barry. It is said to be quirky, offbeat, kooky, and even a little crazy.
In 2005, I suffered a major medical ordeal, which landed me on life-support. I was not only in respiratory failure, but multiple organ failure. Because the trauma was so severe, my brain crashed—sort of how a computer crashes. And it needed to be rebooted.
Before the medical nightmare, I was an author of 13 books. I lost years worth of painting skills, years of spelling expertise, editing skills, grammar, not to mention reading. While the Internet and social media were taking off, I was learning how to read again. It was through writing, that I learned to read once more.
I survived what doctors said was unsurvivable and I did it using humor and the will to live. Going against a premonition and instinct that I was too sick for surgery, I relinquished my own judgment to that of a surgeon who said, “Come in and I’ll evaluate you before surgery. I’ll see if you’re too sick for surgery. The surgery was performed and I ended up on life-support, not expected to live.
In my new release, Life-Support Dang Near Killed Me, I share my experiences in my memoir subtitled, Beware the Greedy Surgeon. I share the horrific story in hopes that readers can learn from my mistake . . . never surrender your own judgment for that of another’s.
The story is eerily close to what happened to Joan Rivers. The difference is, I lived to tell. I lived to tell how some doctors trample the Hippocratic oath while others honor it. I lived to tell people everywhere to trust their gut-feelings. I knew I was too sick for surgery, but I needed a doctor to confirm it. Why? Why do we give so much power to someone just because they have initials after their name?
Even though the events are tragic, I tried to tell the story with a sense of humor—something that helped me survive the unsurvivable. I had to have a sense of humor during the humiliating sponge baths. In the book, I reveal that a person in a coma can hear their loved ones. I reveal that angels outnumber medical staff in the ICU.
I tell how patients, even though we’re unable to communicate, learn to feel the energy of whomever enters a room. I heard firsthand, how doctors yell, “Stat.” “We’re losing her.” “I need 50 cc’s of—.” “Her temperature is 106°, ice her down.” “Her blood pressure is 70/50, straddle her—.”
In the book, I disclose how I had to learn to sit, stand, lift my legs up and down, walk, brush my hair, eat (I could have gone a few years without learning that skill), etc. I bring to light how absolutely awful bedpans are, especially when you don’t have one. I tell how it feels to be like a sack of potatoes, not being able to move or do or say anything.
I write about the feelings I had as I listened to the doctors’ talk about how I was going to die and what I did about it.
Readers of this book will be enlightened, worry, laugh, cry, and possibly cheer as I shine the light on the many things that can go wrong and go right while enduring trials and tribulations.
I wrote this book to help readers learn that they can survive anything using a little bit of humor. Life on life-support was one of my greatest challenges. It’s right up there with childbirth and raising teenagers. Laughter produces endorphins. Plenty of endorphins await release in all our bodies. My book will help.
When Life Support Dang Near Killed Me was released in June, I received many letters from people who had similar experiences as mine. I learned that there are many more stories out there. The public needs to be alerted as to the dangers of simple surgery. As a matter of fact, there is no such thing as routine or simple surgery. Dr. Kim, the doctor who saved my life in the ICU told me that. I am trying to share that news with as many people as I can.
I write because I want to my message. I write because at one point in my life, I thought I’d never be able to think a thought or read a word ever again. I write because I lived.
Repetition, Recognition, Referral, Reliance
These four R’s affect most of us every week when we buy products and services. As authors, we can apply the same branding philosophy in the marketing of our books.
(1) Repetition. Every brand of soda, detergent, television, car, and so on is constantly trying to get us to notice their name, logo, slogan, and image. We see it on television, on billboards, in magazines, and even on hats and t-shirts. The more we see it, the more we’re likely to remember it. This way, we remember brand names for products that we’ve never even tried.
You want people to remember your book and the name of the author – even if they haven’t read it yet. The more often people see your cover, read the title, hear your strapline, and see your author photo, the more likely they are to remember it. You can’t…
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The other day, I had an email from award-winning author and friend, Jackie Weger. She wanted to let me know she’s releasing a new book later this month and asked me to support her campaign on a site calledThunderclap. Of course, I clicked on the link she gave me right away, where Thunderclap has listed the details of her upcoming book, ‘No Perfect Secret”. It looked like she had set a target of a 100 people to share the news of her new book on their social media accounts, all at the same time, on the release date of September 24th. Jackie has already managed to get over 80 people to sign up. This means she stands a rather good chance of getting her message out on the big day in a rather booming voice. I was intrigued – what a genius idea! It’s like employing a…
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Are you lost in the cyberspace of the blogosphere? Most everybody knows what a Gravatar is, right? It’s that little image you inserted that tells people who you are. However, if you “like” something on my page, but you have not commented, I have no way to check out your site to see who you are. (BTW, if I have a lot of likes/comments on something, the notifications box has probably scrolled you away before I had time to check you out, especially if I wasn’t sitting by the computer.Checking archives can be a pain.)
Make it easy for me! We might could become good friends and have a nifty online relationship…if I can find you.
So help me out, if you have not done this already! I would love to check out your stuff, chances are, if you “liked” mine, I would “like” yours, too.
- Go to…
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I was reading a post on D.G. Kaye’s blog where she was explaining that “when we post links to our books on Amazon and people from different countries of the world click on them, you may be losing potential readers because many countries have their own country code in the URL and believe it or not, if they land on Amazon.com and aren’t tech savvy to navigate to their own country page, it results in a potentially lost sale.”
That’s when it occurred to me; I’m friends with Ryan Shepherd of GeoRiot fame, so why not ask him for a guest post on the subject? Here is what he has to say.
How To Sell More Books Through Your Amazon Links
In today’s break-neck, 24-hour news cycle culture, most people find it hard to decide what to pay attention to. So when someone elects to browse books online instead of…
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My mother-in-law was a woman who exuded dignity, respect, and honor. A special kind of reverence washed over me every time I was in her presence. She was noble; full of integrity—a no-nonsense type of woman, which is why I was so baffled at how much she enjoyed hearing, “LaRae Stories.”
I amused her, I suppose. Never before had she known someone as clueless as me. Coming from her, I always took that as a compliment.
Case in point: When my MIL was in the hospital recovering from surgery on her stomach, Hubby and I went to visit her. Two of her daughters were there (my sisters-in-law), . . . aww, they are such good children, always there to see to her needs, talk to her, listen to her, and egg me on.
Her room was full of family. I felt lucky they let me in through marriage. My MIL’s stomach, of course, was sore and tender. She could hardly breathe without discomfort, let alone laugh. I was alerted, beforehand, by her son who I happened to be married to, to not make her laugh. To ‘try to avoid my Doofus behavior.’
Me: “What’re you talking about?”
Hubby: “You know what I mean.”
Me: “You think I’m dumb on purpose?”
Hubby: “No one can be that dumb and function like you can.”
Me: “Is that a compliment?”
Hubby: “Um, yah?”
Me: “Thank you. I thought I was gonna have to be mad at you for a minute. I’ll be on my best behavior. As usual.”
Hubby: “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Me: “What did you say?”
Hubby: “Um, I said, ‘My mother, I’m worried about.’”
I shook my head. That actually made sense.
All was going well until SIL, June looked at my tomato red face and asked, “How’d your face get so sunburned?”
Me: “I spent a few hours outside yesterday watching the Thunderbirds practice.”
SIL: “The Thunderbirds? I didn’t know they were in town.”
Hubby: “They’re not. I found LaRae outside lounging on her chair with her head tilted straight up towards the sky. She’s not supposed to be in the sun, you know. She’s sort of allergic.”
Me: “I was watching the Thunderbirds.”
Hubby: (Turned to his sister) “She was watching a bunch of seagulls flying around.”
Me: “Yah, but they looked like the Thunderbirds until you ruined it for me.”
SIL: “How’d he ruin it for you?”
Me: “He told me I was watching a bunch of seagulls. I was quite impressed with the flight patterns until I found out I was watching seagulls.”
The room erupted in laughter.
My MIL lightly held her stomach and said, “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry,” I said.
SIL: “Let’s change the subject.”
SIL: “Did you hear about Aunt Maggie’s eye falling out onto the table at the Founder’s Banquet the other day?”
Other SIL: Giggled. “There was a bunch of dignitaries seated at her table. She was talking, then all of a sudden her eyeball fell out.”
My husband and sisters laughed. I didn’t think it was funny. How horrible. I couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to suddenly have your eyeball fall out.
Me: “A few years ago, a friend of mine was asked to substitute teach a preschool. One of the little boys there was blind. And . . . I think maybe deaf. I can’t remember.
Hubby: “You’re thinking of Helen Keller.”
Me: “Oh, right. This little boy was just blind. My friend had all the little kids sitting on a row of chairs when all of a sudden, the blind boy—his name was Trey—took out one of his eyes and put it on his lap.
My friend screamed. She didn’t know what to do, so she put a piece of paper over his eye so the other kids wouldn’t look at it . . . but, his eye was fake. It was a glass eye.”
Dead silence filled the room. June, Jane, Hubby, and MIL exchanged knowing glances. Their mouths gaped wide open too.
SIL: “Do you mean you think Aunt Maggie’s real eyeball just fell out onto the table?”
Gut busting roars pierced my ears. My MIL folded over, holding her stomach. “Stop it. Stop it. It hurts. Don’t make me laugh.”
“What?” I asked innocently.
SIL: “Aunt Maggie has a glass eye. She’s had one for years.” She fell off her chair, onto her knees.
MIL: (Laughed/Moaned) “I can’t laugh. It’s killing me. My stitches.”
Hubby: “LaRae and I will go now.” Hubby helped me out of my chair and quickly escorted me out of the hospital room before I even knew what had happened.
Me: “I didn’t even get a chance to say, ‘good-bye.’”
Hubby: “I know. Trust me. It’s for the best.”
On the way out of the hospital, over the intercom we heard a lady asking for a surgeon to go to the very room we left—my mother-in-law’s room. “I wonder what that’s all about. Maybe we should go back.”
Hubby calmly replied, “I’m sure it’s just to repair a few sutures.”
Me: “How do you know that?”
Hubby: “Trust me. I know.”
“Hmmppff.” I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t say anything rude. Sometimes my husband thinks he knows more than he does. It bothers me. It really does.