Category Archives: Roller derby

Miss Chick Lit Pageant & Gift Card Giveaway

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MissChickLit2015

Miss Chick Lit Pageant & Gift Card Giveaway

Hi, I’m Rhonda Hamilton, representing the great County of Orange in California in this pageant! Yeah, California is so big, they only let me represent a county, not the whole state. (If those stubborn bloggers who still think I plagiarized my own book had anything to say about it, I’d only get to represent Acorn Street, Anaheim, where I grew up.) But hey, I’m 35 and writing full-time!—my third novel in my Science Blows Bigtime Series. I love fast food, men with big noses (well, one in particular), and Frisbee-catching dogs. And I love beating Dad at hearts—which is rare. Old codger is a sly dog. My dream is one day to find the perfect roller derby knee pads that will bounce me back to a balanced standing position on impact. A girl can dream, can’t she?

Rhonda’s Swimsuit for the Competition

MIAMI,  FL - MARCH 22: Derek E. Miller (L) and Alexis Krauss of Sleigh Bells perform at the Ultra Music Festival on March 22, 2013 in Miami, Florida. (Photo by Tim Mosenfelder/Getty Images)

(Photo by Tim Mosenfelder/Getty Images)

Um, about that swimsuit. See, girly swimsuits? Who needs them? They’re totally archaic and require all that painful shaving. Ugh. Besides, when you’re built like a derby girl, let’s just say shorts and tank tops are a kinder option for both wearer and viewer. So after sweaty bouts, we rollergirls all head over to Hippo’s condo and dive into her community pool in our derby practice wear. One time, Cathy dove in with her skates on. LOL. Made swimming really hard. Then we all soak our sore, tattooed butts in the Jacuzzi with a brew in hand–a good brew, like a Fat Tire or a Sam Adams. Gotta admit we have good taste in beer. Of course, when I go swimming with my man at the new house, swimming suits are pretty much optional … but that’s another story.

Rhonda’s Talent Competition

Does interpretive roller skating count as a talent? Or I could show off my mean J-check. I am a gifted blocker, they say. And the derby girls and I do a corral move that will literally knock your socks off. Actually, if pressed to show a solitary talent, I could do 30 pull-ups in a row. Then a few dozen pushups and 200 sit-ups. Yeah, I know. Stellar, huh? Pretty sure I’m gonna win this thing.

Interview Question

Interviewer: So, Rhonda, if you were stopped by a police office for speeding, what excuse would you give for the rush?

Rhonda: You’re kidding, right? Me? Stopped by the cops? Never! I mean N-E-V-E-R! I am a totally law-abiding citizen. Now, Harley gets stopped every time we go out together. She’s collected a list of the traffic cops in the area. She knows them by name and knows just how to charm each one to let her off the hook, mostly. It *may* involve Starbucks and Krispy Kreme gift cards. Or not.

Interviewer: But if you were stopped … Surely, it happened once.

Rhonda: Oh, you mean that incident. Um. Well, my guy had gotten a bit drunk. Okay, snockered. So I was driving, and suddenly, he was all over me. And that nose—well, I guess I’m a sucker for attention to certain parts of my anatomy. In all the passion resulting, my foot got a bit heavy, and … Let’s just say the—er—cop that stopped me got a view of more skin than everybody saw at the Halloween Derby Fundraiser before the brawl. You’ll have to read about it. Um, I’m done now. Bye.

Interviewer: You’re blushing!

Rhonda: I am not.

Interviewer: Are too.

Rhonda: Shut up or I will punch you.

Read more about Rhonda Hamilton in Roll with the Punches at http://amzn.com/B00V5B3W12

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You too can be a derby queen, representing your own street in the pageant with a $100 gift card! The Grand Prize for this international drawing will be:

US/Canada winner – $100 gift card to Sephora

UK winner – £65 gift card to Lush Cosmetics

Australia winner – $125AUD to Mecca

$100

 Participating blogs:

Cait Reynolds – http://wp.me/p4jZS8-b5

Gina Henning – http://www.ginahenning.com/blog/2015/5/3/miss-chick-lit-pageant

Tracie Banister – http://traciebanister.blogspot.com/2015/05/miss-chick-lit-2015-chicklitmay.html

Amy Gettinger – http://wp.me/p4080t-25

Glynis Astie – http://blog.glynisastie.com/2015/05/miss-chick-lit-2015.html

Tracy Krimmer – http://www.tracykrimmer.com/misschicklit/

Maggie Le Page – http://hellopreciousbliss.com/

Kathryn Biel – http://kathrynbiel.blogspot.com/2015/05/miss-chick-lit.html

Laura Chapman – http://www.change-the-word.com/2015/05/chicklitmay-miss-chick-lit-2015.html

Contest Instructions: Answer the question below in my comments section in order to be entered in the giveaway. Be sure to include your email address with your answer so we can get in touch with you if you win! You can enter at each of the 19 blogs listed above, giving you 19 chances to WIN! A winner will be chosen via Random.org on Monday, May 18th.

Interviewer: So, blog visitor, if you were stopped by a police office for speeding, what excuse would you give for the rush? Don’t forget to include your email address in the reply.

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Book Excerpt: Roll with the Punches

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Here’s an excerpt of Roll with the Punches:

I was just getting ready to call Marian’s copyright lawyer, Jack Pruitt, at lunchtime when my cell phone rang.

“Rhonda? Is that you?” said an older female voice.

“Yep. This is my cell phone.”

“It’s Arlene, honey. You don’t happen to know where your dad is, do you?”

Alarm bell. “No. He should be in Anaheim, at home.”

Polite Arlene minced words. “Well, Corliss Greene was with him this morning, but your father, well, maybe … kind of yelled at her or something. Your mother told her to make cereal for his breakfast, but Harold insisted on making eggs and bacon. I think it may have ended in kind of a … well, a food fight. Then he wanted to go see your mother right away, but Corliss was still cleaning up the kitchen. He got real impatient, I believe he swore some, and he took off, she thought for a walk. That was about 9:30 or so. She called me at my job an hour later when she realized he’d taken the car. She said she couldn’t work for a man with a mouth like that. She quit.”

Stomach sinking, I said, “So did he go see my mother?”

“He never showed up there. Nobody knows where he went. I got some neighbors to look in the neighborhood, but no luck. Your mother told me not to bother you, but it’s been almost three hours, and I’m really worried.”

Oh boy. Orange County was a giant place, and Dad was loose in it.

“I’m coming. Try the local donut shops, okay?”

Stooped, gray Marla in her stout librarian’s shoes was deeply unhappy at my leaving work early on a Friday, but I finally got a hall pass and flew back to Anaheim in my little Honda, like Boudicca in her chariot, ready to save her royal ancestor. On the way, I stopped at my condo for some fresh ice packs.

The Santa Ana winds had intensified overnight to produce a hot, dry, hazy October day. During my drive, my head filled with a blast of acrid wood smoke blowing in from wild fires in the hills near Silverado and Modjeska Canyons. My eyes watered and my nose ran. It was the type of day we Southern Californians used as an excuse for arson, murder, and bad hair.

When I pulled up at the curb outside the folks’ house, I had already peeled off my green linen jacket. I ran inside. A quick tour of the suffocating house revealed no sign of Music Man, not even the old blue Chevy in its normal mooring place. In the middle of the family room, I slammed my bag on the brown shag carpet, shed all my clothes except my underwear, and screamed loudly. Then I flipped on the cranky old air conditioning, crouched low under the kitchen window and Arlene’s visual radar, and slapped together a peanut butter sandwich at the kitchen countertop, all the while trying to read Dad’s mind.

Where are you, you old coot?

But my sports bra and underpants were soaked with sweat. So I popped them in the microwave and found a chunk of ice to rub on my stomach and chest and stood in front of the family room air vent feeling quite free in an odd sort of way. The hall mirror showed me a slightly rounded Roman statue of Pomona, goddess of fruit, come to life. Me. Au naturel. I posed a second for the glass. Not bad, except for the dorky sandals.

Then, just like my karate-loving brothers at age five, running around with weenies flapping at bath time, my lack of clothes freed the real Pomona inside me. I stretched like a cat, working out muscle stiffness, and danced a swirly, twirly dance around the room. As I did, my goddess energy shifted more toward Athena in battle, throwing air punches at the mirror and striking defensive stances. I snatched a pot lid for my shield and lashed out with a stirring spoon, my spear, then whirled and stuck the butcher knife deep into my imaginary opponent’s invisible heart. A high kick at his compadres with my magic sandal finished the job.

Which was when Dal walked in the garage door and got a comprehensive view of everything I had to offer. Faster than a speeding bullet, I was down the hall, leaving the spoon and butcher knife suspended in mid-air like in Tom and Jerry cartoons. Then silence. For long minutes.

“Could you throw me my bra? It’s in the microwave,” I finally yelled.

Pause. It sailed down the hall.

I waited. “And my underwear?”

It came after another pause, with elastic now as limp as old celery.

“You nuke elastic?” he said.

“Never,” I yelled. “Clothes?”

“Why?” He laughed.

When I came out in Mom’s robe, he was rooting in the fridge. “This house has unexpected and wondrous views.” he murmured to the lettuce.

“Mm-hmm,” I agreed, appreciating my view of a tightly muscled rear end and some long, sleek, brown legs disguised in old cut-offs and Nikes. Not bad. “Forget what you saw or you die.” I bit into my sandwich.

He closed the fridge and turned, imperious with all that startling nose. A smile quirked his lips. “Not sure it’s possible,” he said, then laughed.

*           *           *

After I’d changed, I found him out on the driveway, unloading his over-stuffed silver Toyota. “Have you seen my dad?” I asked, holding a cold Coke to my forehead. It was still mercilessly hot out.

He was arranging an armload of long metal pipes, two-by-fours, saws, and other tools, including some evil-looking axes, on and around the workbench in the garage, ponytail wagging as he bent and lifted.

“No, I just got here. Your car was here and the garage door was open. So I …” He stacked a giant plastic bin full of scrap metal on top of a pile next to the workbench.

I said, “Listen, Music Man took off in the car three hours ago. No one knows where he is.” A little frantic note crept into my voice.

He stopped and looked at me. “Music Man?”

“Dad. Harold Hamilton, Harold Hill. He was in the school play.”

“He’s not at the hospital?”

“Never went there. He’s been gone for hours.”

“And your little naked dance in there was aimed at getting him home fast?” He frowned.

“I was nuking my underwear. I couldn’t call the police naked.” I pulled out my phone and dialed the police as I spoke, and got put on hold.

“Why not? People do it all the time.”

“Not me.”

He gave me a measuring look. “You seem relieved.”

“Huh?”

He shrugged. “He’s wandered off. Pardon my bluntness, but isn’t that a perfect excuse to put him in assisted living and not have to deal with him anymore?”

“What the—! Who asked you? See, I work for a living. I can’t be here every minute. And I didn’t lose him. He took off.” The police operator finally picked up, and I barked out all the pertinent information into my phone, including Dad’s driver’s license and license plate number. I’d memorized them long ago.

Dal’s eyes were unreadable. “Was he alone this morning?”

Hanging up, I turned on him, blood in my eye. “You mean did I leave him alone just to give him the chance to wander off so I’d have an excuse to commit him? Boy, are you a snake.” I stomped into the house to get my purse and an apple.

He was waiting in the yard, an eyebrow raised, when I got back outside.

I burst out, “Look, everyone says he’s fine. The doctor said he should stay home, and he agrees. So we’re trying that. He doesn’t want a keeper, but he takes off when he’s left alone. At least in one of those assisted living places, we could locate him. But why am I talking to you? According to you, whatever I do with him is wrong.” I got in my car and slammed the door. My butt bruises screamed. I’d forgotten to bring an ice pack.

He stood impassive in the yard, arms crossed.

I wrestled with my seat belt, still grumbling. “He was so obnoxious that his companion left today. But I’m the one to blame! The doctor assured me—” The seat belt would not unroll. “—all Dad needed was a normal life.” Tug. “At home to get past the stress—” Tug. “—of Mom’s surgery and my sister’s moving.” I looked up and he was gone. I fought the damn thing for several minutes and got as manic as my sister on prom day.

Then suddenly he appeared at the driver’s side window and shoved three more cold Cokes at me. “Move over. I’ll drive.”

“This is my car, and someone needs to be at the house in case he comes home.”

“The neighbor’s right next door, and you’re too mad to drive.”

“A minute ago you blamed me for leaving him alone,” I complained, scooting over painfully. I hated women who always handed over the steering wheel whenever a Y chromosome entered a car. But I was too hot and frustrated for more protest.

The seat belt worked like silk for him, and he swung the car into the street. “Is there somewhere we should check, some favorite place where he might spend three hours?”

I held a Coke to my rib cage, then took a swig.

He said, “Some restaurant? A library? A bar? The beach?”

“That’s it!” I said. “The beach. He loves the beach. There are only a few thousand miles of that to search.”

 

Spotlight on Amy Gettinger – Author of “Roll With The Punches”

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Look what my good friend and great admirer Paul De Lancey (Captain of Paul’s Fighting Flying Squirrel Squadron) did! He highlighted my book on his blog! Check it out for a fun excerpt from Roll With The Punches!!

Spotlight on Amy Gettinger – Author of “Roll With The Punches”.

I’m getting book reviews, good ones!

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On March 24, I published my first novel, Roll With The Punches. It took 10 years to write and rewrite and rewrite and slice back and reconfigure and rewrite. Finally, this month, I got the courage to release it to the wild, sort of like those red-tailed hawks and Cooper’s hawks and kestrels and barn owls and great horned owls we released back into the wild after months of rehab with the OC Bird of Prey Center this week. Then I got crazy and released my second book, Alice in Monologue Land. It had taken 12 years to accomplish to my satisfaction. Twelve years of writing–learning to write, getting the words just so, so they tell the story I want and flow and are funny. Problem with my books is they have never flown before like those raptors, and I now feel like a true Helicopter Mom, trying to get them to fly and then teach them how to stay aloft.

I got a wonderful book review right out of the gate from my long-time best friend, Lenore, who had read the book a while back and enjoyed it. Then many dry days went by until my sister read the book and wrote quite a glowing review, which I really had not expected. (Thank you, Mary!) Yay! 2 great reviews! I was happy. But according to the Powers Of Book Promotion, 2 is not enough. I must find more, many more. All wonderful, all valid reviews. So I’ve begged and pleaded for days for more reviews. I’ve walked the streets of Orange County, hawking books and begging tourists and passing fat men for reviews. (LOL, no. I’ve learned to tweet and pimp out the book something outrageous on Facebook–which is just as bad. And I must say tweeting is for the birds and liking for like’s sake is just weird.)

So yesterday, I checked my FB as usual, which is now taking all day long, with all the writers’ sites I’ve joined. I had requested a review from a top-500 Amazon reviewer, Dianne at Tome Tender Blog. And there it was!! My review!! My big, fat, awesome book review!!! I was thrilled! I am thrilled! Here is a link to my big, fat awesome book review

http://tometender.blogspot.com/2015/04/roll-with-punches-story-of-roller-derby.html?zx=cd2c7253e6ccc176

 

for my big, fat awesome book!!

http://www.amazon.com/Roll-Punches-Roller-Alzheimers-Plagiarism-ebook/dp/B00V5B3W12

I’M PUBLISHED!!!! ROLL WITH THE PUNCHES IS ON AMAZON!

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In 2005, my dad died of Alzheimer’s. It had been a long 4 years with him, or the guy masquerading as him, using his body, moving from place to place. No place seemed just right for him.

Later that year, still processing this huge issue, I sat down and started writing this book. In the book, I wanted romance and adventure and a mystery and a light feel. I got that, but Dad showed up in the book too, but not really Dad. A much larger, more expansive, more fun version of Dad, one I think he would approve of. Orange County showed up in the book too, in very large, distinctive, rather earth-moving ways.

I hope you like the book. Its title is Roll With The Punches, and I’ve been working on it for 10 years.

http://www.amazon.com/Roll-Punches-Roller-Alzheimers-Plagiarism-ebook/dp/B00V5B3W12

This is so exciting!!!!!