Sunday, August 30, 2015

PROMO Blitz: Approaching Twi-Night by @manzano0627 #excerpt and #giveaway



Literary Fiction / Sports Fiction
Date Published: February 2015

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An aging baseball player is given one final chance at professional and personal redemption in small town America as he struggles to come to grips with his past, his sense of self, and his career.

Journeyman relief pitcher Jonathan “Ditch” Klein was all set to be a replacement player during the 1994-1995 baseball strike…until the strike ended. Offered a contract in the minor leagues, playing at the same Upstate NY ballpark he once found success in high school, Ditch has one last chance to prove his worth. But to whom? A manager with an axe to grind, a father second-guessing his pitching decisions, a local sportswriter hailing him as a hometown hero, a decade older than his teammates and trying to resurrect an injury-ridden career…Ditch thinks he may have a possible back-up plan: become a sportswriter himself. The only question is whether he is a pitcher who aspires to be a writer, or the other way around…



EXCERPT

From his perch on the mound, Ditch shaded his eyes and watched the foul ball gently curve over the grandstand toward the parking lot. As he held his glove out for the new ball, he could hear his father's voice from a high school game: "Straighten that out, Johnny, just straighten it out!" And he could remember himself at the plate, thinking, "I can't, Dad. I can't hit it."
He gripped the dull white leather in his pitching hand, tucked the glove under his left arm and slowly circled the mound. Ditch's hands worked the leather, trying to deftly massage life into the ball. His fingernails found the seams and began to pull them up from the leather; Ditch had always wondered as a kid why pitchers on TV wasted so much time walking the infield grass, if "raised seams" actually did anything to curves like his father claimed, if pitchers who stared out at the crowd were actually looking for someone. He stopped on the first base side of the mound and glanced at the runners on first and second, not really to check on them, just let them know he knew they were there. The runners strayed a step or two from their bags, sauntering back and forth with hands on hips, kicking the bags a couple times impatiently. They knew Ditch wouldn't throw, he knew they wouldn't run, not on Holforth's arm.
Ditch tugged at his cap and deliberately ignored the anxious hometown crowd on "Opening Day Two." Absently he wondered if his family was in the stands somewhere, his father holding little Jennifer up on his shoulders, pointing, "There's John, there he is." He climbed back up to the pitching rubber, haphazardly pulling his short sleeves up and shrugging them down again. The murmurs changed to a soft buzz of rushing air in his ears as he dug in with his right foot and stared in at Holforth behind the plate. He squinted on purpose at the flashing fingers, set for the third pitch, and threw.
The batter fouled it off again, this time straight into the visiting team dugout, nearly hitting the coaches at the top of the steps. Ditch received the next new ball and began his ritual anew. The batter fidgeted, stepping out of the box with one foot and nervously swinging his bat a few times and changing his grip as if he were uncomfortable using wood instead of aluminum. Ditch looked at the wispy clouds overhead, the one-two count in the back of his mind, and decided to waste a pitch.

Holforth almost failed to block the errant pitch, but he managed to smother the forty-foot curve, hurriedly flipping his mask off and alertly checking the runners back to their bags. The catcher turned to ask for time, and Ditch turned his back on the plate. Holforth was bound to be angry. He knew Holforth hated it when his calls weren't taken seriously. He tugged his cap and kicked at his trench.
The catcher pulled the ball out of his mitt and placed it in Ditch's. Holforth darted a look at the vacant right field foul line bullpen, then back at Ditch. "You can let go now," Ditch said. "I've got it."
Holforth withdrew his hand from the glove. "Inside and high," he stated. "This guy's never used a wooden bat before." He turned back to the plate and pulled his face mask on over his hard hat. Neither have you, Ditch thought, already pacing at the back of the mound, massaging the ball. He found the soft spot, brown from the last pitch. The Majors spoiled their pitchers, he thought. They want a new ball, they get one. Even now, he knew, a batboy was rounding up the foul balls in the dugouts and along the foul line, ready to hand them over to the plate ump between half-innings. He randomly glanced at the rust-green electronic scoreboard with the Pepsi label slapped on it in left-center field. A two-run lead he was supposed to protect, for the last two innings. Collins had made that clear; Ditch was on his own. He felt the urge to spit, then changed his mind, then did it anyway. What the hell, he thought, pushing his sleeves up again.
He stepped up again and caught the signs. High and inside. At the hands. He checked the runners, reared, and threw at the batter's head. The kid ducked as the ball flew at the backstop. He could hear Holforth's muffled curse as the catcher futilely flung his glove hand back and followed it with his body. Ditch loped to the plate to cover, but the runners stopped at third and second as Holforth got the ball back in play. Someone in the crowd behind third base booed, but his neighbors quickly hushed him. Ditch cleared the dirt around the plate with the tip of his shoe and tugged again at the hat. He headed back to his incantations. The infielders hesitantly moved back to their positions, pounding their gloves and muttering nearly inaudible words of encouragement. A hit would tie the game. Ditch let his sleeves fall down as he mounted.

Holforth was standing right in front of him. Ditch betrayed no surprise. "You're making me look bad, man," the catcher said tersely. He rubbed the sweat dripping down his chin onto a sleeve. "We can't do that again, so I want you to throw the pitch."
He shook his head and dug at the trench. Holforth called it "the pitch," as if it were a secret weapon of some kind; he wanted the awkward slider he made Ditch work on in the bullpen, the one he could throw with the bent finger underneath. He hated it. He hated using a trick pitch.
"I'm telling you, do it," Holforth repeated. "Cut the crap and get this guy." He turned abruptly and trotted back to the plate. Ditch placed his right foot behind the rubber and looked up. The other ump had moved to behind third base. Only two umpires in this league, Ditch remembered with a chagrin. He looked in at the plate and jerked his head back to third as he faked a throw. The runner froze, then looked embarrassed, realizing that the third baseman wasn't anywhere near the bag for a pick-off throw. Ditch smiled to himself and tugged at his cap with his ball hand. The third baseman edged towards the bag, pulling the runner closer. Ditch paid the two no mind.
He looked back in. Holforth signaled for the pitch. Ditch shook his head. Holforth signed for it again. Again, Ditch shook it off. Exasperated, Holforth audibly slapped his thigh. He angrily flipped down a single finger. Ditch laughed out loud. The batter called time. Ditch stepped off and put his head down. He could hear the plate ump say, "Let's go gentlemen." Gentlemen, he thought. Yeah. He watched the batter take a few more swings, adjust his helmet without adjusting it at all, and then step back in. The crowd noise briefly interrupted then seemed to recede.
He looked in and he saw Holforth stand up and adjust his cup before squatting again. Ditch turned his head to peer at the runners momentarily, then turned back and got the expected signal. He didn't respond. The signal came again, insistent. He lowered his head, and stood, hands ready at his belt. He could sense Holforth settling back, the ump crouching behind with a hand on Holforth's shoulder. The bent third underneath and two forefingers on the seams, he withdrew his hand from the glove. His wrist snapped out and down, and the ball spun towards the batter's waist. It seemed to rise and curve left, directly into the batter's wheelhouse, but suddenly it dropped to the right at knee-level. The batter swung.
Ditch looked over his shoulder as the second baseman scooped up the ball and lazily tossed it to first for the third out. He was out of it. He tugged his cap, maybe to acknowledge the smattering of applause, and walked to the dugout. He was vaguely aware of the fielders passing him, some smacking him on the back, some not, as Holforth appeared at his left elbow. "Told you," was all he said, then found his place on the bench. He passed his manager on the steps. Collins pretended to be absorbed in pitching charts. Whatever, Ditch thought. He found his jacket and shoved his right arm into the sleeve. The end of eight. Maybe he would get through this after all.

One of the starting pitchers approached from the left side of his peripheral vision: the tallish Hansen, the deposed starter of the day. Hansen looked tired, but not beat. He held a cup of water, and nodded towards the bench. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked. Ditch shrugged, watching a Wildcat batter, the first baseman Reynalds, take a hefty cut at an eye-level pitch. After Reynalds would come a second-string outfielder, Williams or something, batting as designated hitter in the pitcher's place. He was glad he didn't have to bat, the only good thing about the minors.
The kid sat down with a contented sigh and took a sip from his Gatorade cup. "Hey, you want any water?" he asked.
Ditch shook his head. "Nah."
 "Lemme get you one." The teenager was up and at the cooler before he could say anything else. He opened his mouth and shut it after a moment. Why not, he thought. Doesn't really matter. Reynalds swung mightily at a pathetic curve and topped it back to the pitcher. Just one more run, he thought, no, make that two, or three. He moved forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he pulled his cap off and worked the rim.

Hansen walked over and handed him a paper cup with rosin-stained fingers. The chalk clung to the green cup as Ditch mumbled a thanks and took a small sip. Hansen sat down again with a thump and said nothing for a moment. The DH was at the plate, wildly swinging at anything near the strike zone. Ditch sighed, thinking that maybe he should be allowed to bat for himself.
Hansen finally spoke. "Thanks for getting me out of that jam."
Ditch was silent. What jam? Oh, yeah, he remembered, he had inherited the first runner. He turned to Hansen. "Sure thing. I didn't help myself with that walk, but...yeah, sure."
"Hey, you're saving my game for me, right?" Hansen paused to finish his water and toss the cup aside. "I owe you one."
"You don't owe me anything," Ditch mumbled. "It's my job."
Hansen was quiet. The DH finally connected — luck, Ditch thought — and hit a worm-burner past the shortstop for a hit. Now one of the outfielders was up, somebody, he didn't know his name. All he hoped for now was that the batters took a few pitches and gave him a little more time to sit. The next batter swung at the first pitch and popped it straight up to the catcher. Ditch hung his head and spit at his feet as the third baseman Corrales took his turn batting.
Hansen coughed into a fist and shifted on the bench. The batter was taking his time. Ditch hoped so. Corrales was their "star player," according to friend Grant. In the on deck circle, Holforth was taking his practice swings with his chest protector and shin-guards on. Ditch sat back and pulled his glove on, half-heartedly to head back to the mound. "Hey, Ditch," Hansen began. Ditch didn't take his eyes off the field. "Uh...some of the guys were thinking of, you know, hanging out after the game," Hansen continued. He shoved his hands into his pitching jacket and banged his cleated feet against the concrete floor of the dugout. He had knocked the dirt from his cleats the previous inning, Ditch noted. Hansen cleared his throat. "You know, like go out to a movie or something. You wanna, I mean, if you want to come with..."

Hansen let a breath out slowly and stopped kicking. Ditch finally looked over at him. Jesus, he thought, the kid was actually nervous just talking to him. "Yeah, okay, sure," he said. Hansen looked at him, then lowered his head and resumed banging his shoes. "Maybe we could hit a bar or something first, you guys don't mind.
The sharp crack of the bat cut off Hansen's reply. They both looked up to see the ball soaring straight up, a routine infield fly. The opposing team's shortstop didn't have to move as he gloved it.
"Well," Ditch said, dropping his jacket behind him, "back to work." He heard Hansen's voice say "...one, two, three..." as he bounded out of the dugout. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Hansen get to his feet and show signs of pacing. Ditch reached the mound and, stooping to pick up the ball, immediately dug at the seams with dirty fingernails. He mopped off a sudden downpour of forehead sweat and looked back to the dugout. Hansen was sitting again, his face buried in a hand towel.
Ditch waited until the first batter of the ninth slowly stepped in and paused to dramatically spit and flutter his bat menacingly. The crowd murmur rose and fell in waves as he readied for the signs. He wanted this game, he realized suddenly. A fine time to get sentimental, but he wanted to win.
Well, then, he thought, rearing back for the pitch. Here goes nothing.



About the Author


Originally from Troy, New York, M. Thomas Apple spent part of his childhood in the hamlet of Berne, in the Helderberg escarpment, and his teenage years in the village of Warrensburg, in the Adirondack Mountains. He studied languages and literature as an undergraduate student at Bard College, creative writing in the University of Notre Dame Creative Writing MFA Program, and language education in a Temple University interdisciplinary doctoral program. He now teaches global issues and English as a second language at Ritsumeikan University in Kyoto, Japan. Approaching Twi-Night is his first novel. A non-fiction book of essays about parenting and childcare (Taking Leave: An American on Paternity Leave in Japan, Perceptia Press), is scheduled for publication in late 2015, followed by a collection of short fiction and poetry (Notes from the Nineties) in early 2016. The lead editor of the bestselling Language Learning Motivation in Japan (Multilingual Matters, 2013), he is currently co-editing a non-fiction educational research book, writing a science fiction novel, and outlining a baseball story set in the Japanese corporate leagues.


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Saturday, August 29, 2015

PROMO Blitz: Casting Lots by @Casting_Lots #excerpt and #giveaway




Historical Fiction
Date Published: January 14

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Casting Lots is the tale of how a Greek slave, Lucinius, becomes an influential religious leader and literary figure in the First Century A.D.  His spiritual awakening is prompted by an unlikely mentor, a Centurion, who was at the crucifixion. 

Lucinius is ordered by his master to assemble the stories told by eye-witnesses to the life and death of Jesus Christ.  Cornelius was the Centurion at the Crucifixion. Cornelius is hated by the Jews and the Romans.  He is haunted by the Crucifixion because he won the shroud worn by Christ in a game of dice.  He takes Lucinius on a journey throughout the Empire and tells him what seem to be fantastic stories about famous Romans during the era of the Republic, some 100 years ago.  These stories contain elements which Cornelius could not possibly know, unless he is making them up or unless there is some other explanation.

The book answers the question of who wrote the Gospel of Luke and why he wrote it.  The book answers the question of who is Cornelius and why he said Jesus was an innocent man at his Crucifixion.   Thus, it is a tale of the two men's spiritual journeys.

Excerpt

I walked to his home again. The streets were crowded and the world’s smells washed over me: the sweat of the men, the perfumes of the women, the urine of the animals, bread baking, cloth just cut, fruit drying on the stands, gutters of the streets, leather being tanned. Sweet, pungent, acrid, acidic, salty, bitter, biting smells grabbed my nostrils as if I smelled these for the first time. The smells were counterpoint to the sounds of the city. The hammer of the artist cracking tiles, rocks, and glass to make mosaics, bleating of sheep and lowing of cows as they awaited slaughter, the rumble of wagons carrying bolts of cloth, or carcasses of meat and exotic goods along the cobblestone streets, the tramp of soldiers’ caligae, their hob-nails clicking on stone, as they marched, crying babies needing to be nursed, yelling mothers trying to find lost children, heralds blaring out the whereabouts of some legion killing some barbarians somewhere on some frontier, tax collectors demanding payment of tax, while the taxpayer screamed insults or begged for mercy, and the sound of my heart pounding so hard that it might burst, blended together in a discordant cacophony of life. If the smells did not grab your attention, or if the sounds did not demand your notice, then the play of light would surely command your consideration. The light side-by-side with the dark was sharp, stark, defined, and distinct, as where the land ends and the seas begin. You walked most of the time in the shadow of the tall insulae, the apartment buildings, fearing that from the darkness above would flow that most unsavory of liquids. Then the sunlight blaring from a blue crystal-clear sky dazzled your eyes, when you walked across some broad street. The brilliant sun radiated off the temples’ gold-leaf veneers. You were in the presence of the Gods. All the while, I thought about how I could approach him. An offer of money, I thought, would only insult and repel him. The quest of my master disgusted and dismayed him. Before I had decided what to do and how to do it, I was there at his door. “Damno ad averno!” (“Damn it to hell!”) Cornelius spat as spoke these words as if the spitting added to the curse. “I will wait until you tell me.” I stood resolutely. “What?” “I will wait until you tell me.” I sat down and smiled slightly. “Get underfoot, eh?” “If necessary.” “All day and all night?” he asked. “If necessary.” He turned into the darkness of his home. I waited. Time passed. Then I saw him coming back, his vitis rudis, that is his vine hand. No true centurion was ever without the symbol of his authority, his vitis rudis, gnarled and worn. “Do you think a man who has wielded this,” he gestured with his vitis rudis, “will ever break?” “Do you think that a slave who has been beaten all of his life will fear one more beating?” “Well, that is the first thing you have said that makes any sense at all!” He smiled.




About the Author


William D. McEachern is a graduate of Duke University with a bachelor of arts in religion and psychology. His focus at Duke was on early Christianity. His fascination with Rome grew out of his Latin and Greek classes at St. Paul's School in New York in the early 1960s. Reading Caesar fueled his love of Rome and ancient history, which he has studied for half a century. A practicing tax attorney for more than thirty-five years, he has written numerous articles and several law treatises about estate planning, estate and gift taxation, and the use of trusts. In this his first novel, Mr. McEachern's unique voice blends law, religion, and history.

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Friday, August 28, 2015

PROMO Blitz: To Be Honest by @BoothTammi #excerpt




Young Adult Contemporary Romance
Date Published: July 21, 2015

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T.C. Booth’s latest novel, To Be Honest, is a heart-warming young adult contemporary romance that focuses on cyberbullying, diversity and the struggles of living with a handicap, from the point of view of a teenage girl.

The book features Starla Emerson, a girl whose self-esteem vanished almost overnight when a freak accident left her with a deformed hand. When her family moves and she can no longer rely on her best friend and boyfriend for moral support, she finds herself all alone one hundred and twenty miles away home.

Starla tries not to stand out at her new school, but when a stranger posts pictures of her on the internet, this puts her in the spotlight against her wishes. And when the cyberbullying threatens to destroy her relationship, things take a turn for the worse.

To Be Honest has received glowing reviews on Amazon.


 EXCERPT

 I left one shelf bare for my memory boxes. I stacked the shoe-sized cardboard boxes so their labels showed. Freshman Year, Sophomore Year, Junior Year. The first two boxes were filled with memories that I collected to keep safe. My Junior Year box felt empty. I removed its lid and took out the orchard ticket stub, the pictures of the guys wrestling in the dark, and a dried purple rose. Jared handed me the rose at school the morning of Sweetest Day. I could only guess what might fill my box the rest of the year. Will I even make any new friends? How would people react when they saw my hand? They’d probably think I’m the creepy new girl and be grossed out by my claw. I took a deep breath and put the box back.
A piece of paper stuck out from between the pages of one of my books. I tugged it free and unfolded it. It was a note Jared wrote to me about two months after we started going out.

Star,
Please don’t be mad at me for the whole TBH thing. I just didn’t know what to say to Jan. I shouldn’t have said anything. I like you a lot! You are my girl. I don’t want anyone else.
Love, Jared

A sigh escaped me. I never got the whole TBH—to be honest—thing. You opened yourself up for drama if you posted a picture with the letters TBH online. A girl named Jan did that and Jared took the bait. He had to honestly say something about her, so he commented under the picture that she was cute. My phone blew up with text messages telling me about it. I cried and sent Jared a text telling him I wanted to break up. I felt so stupid. The entire student body of Cedar High knew Jared told another girl she was cute. He slipped me the note during Algebra class the next day. I forgave him.




About the Author


TC Booth was born and raised in a small town in Northeast Ohio where she currently teaches. She lives with her husband and four children ranging in ages from 13-23. Her pets include one dog named Sammy, and two cats- Sheldon and Sasha.

TC Booth views books as the best form of entertainment and her escape for life’s stresses. She prefers reading a book over watching a movie, and writing over almost any other way to spend her time.

When not attending her children’s sporting events and running them around, you’ll see her writing on her laptop, iPad, and even jotting ideas down on her phone apps.

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Twitter:@BoothTammi



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Thursday, August 27, 2015

PROMO Blitz: Inside a String by @tommaclear #excerpt and #giveaway



Poetry / Short Stories / Essays
Date Published: June 2014

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Inside a String is a collection of Poems, Essays, and Lyrics of one man's take on the human element of America from the Beat movement of the 50's to the Counter Culture of the 60's thru the 'X' and 'I' generations, “Delivered in Spoken Word, Prose and Transcendental and Spiritual Abstract.”

MacLear, along with his singing partner, Heather Waters won Best Country Song 2014 by the Hollywood Music In Media Awards for last summer’s U.S. Country Radio Favorite: ‘SOMEDAY.’



EXCERPT

Mediterranean Calls
Yellow_ teasing_
broken_ alabaster_
Basted blue in a closed pewter pot
Cut the hands of the blade
pour slow the anger
And mind the pages when they’re hot
Slow_ are the mindless minutes after the
‘sorrow’s flight’
…The light’s fine in here, so’s the beer
Yesterday is just a melted muse of lectures_
leering at the multitudes_
_draped ‘long side an overcoat
she wore in another time





About the Author


Award winning songwriter, producer, entertainer and poet Tom MacLear has captured a span of life from the east to the west in his new book, Inside a String. Those familiar with Hemingway, Kerouac, Ferlinghetti, Dylan and Ginsberg will enjoy the “Beat” flavor of the poetry in this book as well as some of the more simple, straightforward attacks on our hearts and our senses. These poems speak to the reader and take us on that wonderful journey from the depths of city life in NYC to the beautiful coastlines of California and everywhere in between, wherever our minds choose to travel as we take a magical ride with poet, Tom MacLear.

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Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Blog Tour: The Modern Mughal Mentality by @afshanhashmi #review #giveaway





Non Fiction / Business
Date Published: June 22, 2015


The Modern Mughal Mentality  transforms hardships and difficulties into success stories by introducing the Jugaad Management Principle Business Model, which can be applied to any business, anywhere.
For the purpose of this book, the term Jugaad will be defined as “obtaining your objectives by maximizing resources through thinking out of the box.” 
Following this new business model will inspire all types of companies around the world, no matter how big or small, to create innovative mentalities, products, and strategies. The Modern Mughal Mentality  reveals ways in which companies everywhere can benefit from this new business model. 
It also reveals ways in which western companies can learn to be successful in India.  Executives of multi-national corporations, government officials, and even American and global small business owners who have no plans to do business in India will benefit from the innovative and revolutionary approach to maximizing resources that The Modern Mughal Mentality delivers.
Multi-sector success stories illustrate the various components of the Jugaad Management Principle Business Model. Specific questions in the “Modern Mughal Mentality Exercises” at the end will guide the reader through putting the Jugaad Management Principle Business Model to work for their business.
Implementing the model can lead to increased profit, maximized resources, and a more efficient way of dealing with today’s turbulent economy. The Modern Mughal Mentalityalso identifies international opportunities in various industries – providing practical solutions to take the guesswork out of the equation.
The Modern Mughal Mentality’s  four chapters reveal how the same mentality, which has enabled India to enjoy economic success in today’s turbulent times can radically transform any business. The Jugaad Management Principle Business Model can be used to maximize resources and increase profitability in many sectors.  Success stories, important lessons to remember, and opportunities for growth in both India and around the world are given. The “Modern Mughal Mentality Exercises” at the end leads the reader to think creatively and use The Modern Mughal Mentality  to create innovative and cost-effective solutions to problems on their own. Regardless of where the reader lives, or what type of business they run, they will be able to improve their bottom line by implementing these changes.

Photo galleries of magical moments that led to the birth of The Modern Mughal Mentality give the readers of my book
an opportunity to see some of my special moments and provide them another unique way to connect to this book.




Review

I really enjoy reading about practices and things I am not familiar with. Dr. Afshan Naheed Hashmi has written a self help type novel that is easy to follow and understand. There are 7 principles that she highlights and I enjoyed getting the insight on each and every one. Being not familiar with the Indian government, I found this very enlightening.


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Dr. Afshan Naheed Hashmi
Dr. Afshan Naheed Hashmi was born in India and educated both in India and USA. She now lives in Rockville, Maryland, USA.
Dr. Hashmi is an author, award-winning entrepreneur, speaker, educator, and a book, movie, make-up and beauty products reviewer, film critic and Radio and TV show host, a successful regulatory and business development and scientific professional with more than a decade of experience.
She specializes in making innovative and value creation market entry strategies for companies looking to enter India. She also lectures and delivers seminars on “Doing Business in India,” including culture training. An awardwinning entrepreneur, Dr. Hashmi has coordinated meetings and accommodations for U.S. business delegations in India. She has facilitated the introduction of U.S. businesses to potential U.S. and international partners, and viceversa. Dr. Hashmi maintains an extensive professional network that is required to launch initiatives especially in the U.S., India, Qatar, UAE and Bahrain.
Currently every month she delivers lectures on India's various aspects to a very large audience. Dr. Afshan Naheed Hashmi has an amazingly diverse career with extensive media experience. She is very popular in India, and many newspapers in India in English, Hindi, and Urdu having written about her including, "The Hindu", "Hindustan Times", and "The Indian Express" to name a few ( (drafshanhashmi.com/id16.html ).She has also appeared on major television channels in India and on TV Asia in the USA.

 Dr.Hashmi has had a total reach of over one billion people worldwide via print, TV, and online. Dr. Hashmi is the author of two blogs,”India Business Innovations”
indiabusinessinnovations.wordpress.com/ ) and “Connecting with the Dignitaries”
She has authored numerous scientific reports, and has also written and presented various papers on the subject of biochemistry and molecular biology.
With years of experience as a business development, regulatory, and scientific professional, Dr. Hashmi’s  wide experience base enables her to offer strategically sound advice in many business sectors. While working with clients on improving profitability, Dr. Hashmi was able to experience the powerful impact that the new business model revealed in The Modern Mughal Mentality  firsthand. She has written articles and or comments for The Huffington Post, Elle India, Elle, Glamour, Forbes India, Harvard Business Review, Elle UK,  Harper's Bazaar, Vogue, The Chew Show website, TNW Blog
Dr. Hashmi’s popular lectures range in topics and include everything from improving profitability in the international business to international cuisine and culture. She is passionate about sharing her knowledge with others.
Dr. Hashmi had founded Global Regulatory and Business Solutions, LLC as President, and has provided operations management, business development, market entry strategies for India and Qatar, and regulatory affairs expertise.
Prior to opening her own business, she was the primary company liaison to companies located in Asia and U.S. as the consulting liaison for ToxLogic LLC, and supported companies’ business development activities by communicating orally and in writing with potential clients and providing regulatory strategic planning and advice. She has traveled internationally to support business development and to give oral presentations to diverse audiences. She has been invited as a guest faculty by a very prestigious university in India to introduce and teach U.S. Regulatory Affairs and its relation to the business of Biotechnology via online classes. Dr. Hashmi is currently working on the curriculum for this online class. Dr. Hashmi successfully collaborated with a client to gather information to support filing of a Patent Cooperation Treaty (PCT) application to allow the client to file for a patent in multiple countries simultaneously. Reviewed scientific portion of application used this information to then help client develop licensing agreement to distribute a new technology. She has also provided entrepreneurship training.            
Dr. Hashmi earned a PhD Biochemistry from Aligarh Muslim University in Aligarh(UP) India, 1991,  M.Phil Biochemistry,(a prePhD requirement), 1988, M.Sc. Biochemistry,1985 and a B.S. (Honors) Chemistry,1983. She was also educated at Johns Hopkins University in Regulatory Affairs in the Zanvyl Krieger School of Arts and Sciences, Advanced Academic Programs, Department of Biotechnology. Coursework: Regulatory Processes for Domestic and Global Biotechnology Products and University of Maryland (Baltimore), School of Medicine, Department of Medical and Research Technology Categorical Course in Clinical Chemistry, 1997.
Dr.Hashmi earned a certification from American Society for Clinical Pathology (ASCP)  Technologist in Chemistry. She is also Regulatory Affairs Certified (RAC) US and has extensive experience with scientific research and publication as well as an indepth knowledge of regulatory requirements of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA).
Dr. Hashmi has evaluated outsourcing opportunities for clinical trials and manufacturing, conducted scientific literature reviews, and analyzed research data, and prepared press releases and other marketing materials. Dr. Hashmi worked also as Research Associate at Human Genome Sciences, Inc., Rockville, Maryland; Medical Technologist in Rapid Response Laboratory at University of Maryland Medical Center, Baltimore, MD; Public Health Scientist at Maryland State Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, Laboratories Administration, Baltimore, MD; Postdoctoral Fellow, Division of Physiology, Department of Environmental Health Sciences, School of Hygiene and Public Health, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, MD; and as Research Assistant, University of Maryland Cancer Center, Baltimore, MD. She is also a member of The American Society for Clinical Pathology(ASCP); member of Regulatory Affairs Professionals Society( RAPS) and member of Maryland Writers' Association(MWA).

        Dr. Hashmi is a recipient of the Ibn Sina Public Health Award  in recognition of her contributions in the field of Public Health Science and Entrepreneurship from the AIDS Cell of the Ibn Sînâ Academy of Medieval Medicine & Sciences, Aligarh, (UP),India. She also received an Award of Excellence by AMU Ladies Club, Aligarh, (UP), India.
On April 14, 2008, her company, Global Regulatory and Business Solutions, LLC, was awarded the Certificate of Appreciation by the County Executive,The Honorable Isiah Leggett of Montgomery County in recognition and appreciation for being one of Montgomery County’s outstanding companies chosen for visits during Business Appreciation Week. Also on April 14, 2008 another Certificate of Appreciation was presented to Dr. Afshan Naheed Hashmi’s company, Global Regulatory and Business Solutions, LLC, by the Mayor of the City of Rockville, The Honorable Susan Hoffmann and Executive Director of Rockville Economic Development, Inc., Sally Sternbach in recognition of company’s contributions to Rockville’s economy and participation in Rockville Business Appreciation Week, April 1418, 2008.
She was awarded a Certificate of Appreciation on March 10, 2008 by the County Executive of Montgomery County, Maryland, The Honorable Isiah Leggett, for serving as a member of Montgomery County’s November 2007 business mission to India. 
She was also awarded Junior and Senior Research Fellowships by the Indian Council of Medical Research, May 1987 to November 1991. Dr. Hashmi was awarded an Aligarh Muslim University Medal for earning the First Position in the M.Sc. Biochemistry Program as well as the Science Merit Scholarship as a result of a written competitive test for the academic session 19831985. A scholarship was given for the pursuit of a twoyear M.Sc. biochemistry program.
            
Dr. Hashmi loves to promote authors and artists, and through videoconferencing she interviews authors and artists and then shares these interviews on various social media platforms. She runs a book club on Goodreads and Twitter called Afshan Hashmi's Online Book Club, which takes its members on an innovative, inspiring, and intellectual journey. The book club is also called Afshan's Stylish and Glam Reading Corner, launched on 20 April 2014. In the book club she also reviews books. She has also created Hashtag #drafshanglambookclub to have a very stimulating and interactive discussion in her book club. Dr. Hashmi reviews books, movies, beauty, and make-up products on Amazon and Goodreads (books only) websites. Also she reviews books, movies, beauty, and make-up products via audio and video podcasts on her  Youtube channel, internet radio and TV shows. A hashtag has been created #The Modern Mughal Mentality  as well as a  blog by this name, to have interactive discussions about the The Modern Mughal Mentality book online. Various other hashtags have been created to have stimulating discussions. These hashtags are #askdrafshan,  #americaindiaexpert and # AMUtalk.


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PROMO Blitz: The Color of Life #excerpt and #giveaway




Women's Fiction / Coming of Age
Date Published: June 21, 2015

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When 23-year-old Claire Soublet arrives in New York City to begin her new life, she has no idea that after only four days a situation will arise forcing her to return to New Orleans. Growing up mired in years of hardship and being abandoned by family through death and disinterest, she manages to scratch and claw her way out of that life. And in the process, get a college education. Back in New Orleans and not ready to succumb to her old life, she enlists the help of her high school friend. They devise a plan to, once again, get Claire out of her hometown. With their new-found relationship, they return to New York together.


EXCERPT

Chapter One

The 1878 yellow fever epidemic in New Orleans claimed my mother Cecile when she was
only twenty-five leaving behind four children - my older sister Aurelia was nine, I was five, Philomene was three, and my brother Augustin wasn’t yet two - and if the two babies born between Aurelia and I had lived, there would have been six of us left motherless.

Sanité, my father’s mother, took care of us until she died three years later. My grandmother was a very kind and gentle person. She was a Choctaw Indian who never sat in a chair or slept in a bed. She spent most of her time sitting, squatting, or sleeping on the floor. The only time I saw her standing was when she was cooking, cleaning, or leaving the house to go to the market.

Even after the “Tignon Law” was abolished in 1843, Sanité still wore the madras kerchief to cover her head. She taught our mother how to wrap it to cover her hair and told her how the law came about as Aurelia and I watched and listened. The law was passed in 1786, she told us, and it forced free women of color to cover their heads with the same type of kerchiefs the slave women wore. The Governor was determined to tighten control over the non-Whites in the city to please the White women who felt threatened by the beautiful, free women of color who had relationships with White men.

Before the undertaker came to pick up my grandmother’s body, my father removed the tignon; her waist-length, coal black hair came tumbling out. He wept as he tied a shoestring at the top of her long thick plait. He cut it off, touched it to his lips, then wrapped it with the kerchief in a pillowcase and tucked it away in a drawer. “There,” he said as he pulled her now shoulder-length hair from behind her ears and gently combed through it with his fingers, “you will not be buried with your head covered.” My father threw his body across his mother’s and sobbed without shame. Aurelia, Philomene and I fell on top of him and cried just as hard.

I could not fully understand why my father showed how much he cared about his mother in death when he’d never treated her kindly when she was alive; I was left confused. I’d heard him tell her how ashamed he was of her – of her being Choctaw. He hated having inherited her tan skin and shiny black hair. His blue eyes came from his French father, Etienne Menard.

I think only Aurelia was old enough to appreciate that our grandmother was finally free from the hardship and prejudice she’d had to endure. She told me even though my father was crying because his mother was dead, he was also happy she was finally at peace. I, too, came to understand this many years later when I looked back on it.

My grandfather, a hunter and a trapper, spent most of his time in the swamps and the bayous. He often traded with the Indian tribes who lived where he hunted. He found Sanité among the Choctaw and brought her to New Orleans to live with him. She was already twenty-four and none of the men of her tribe wanted her for a wife. She was shunned and considered taboo by the men and the women because she had been born with a dime-size black mole in the center of her forehead. Only the children and the very old treated her with kindness.

New Orleans laws forbade Etienne to legally marry Sanité, but Father Guillard secretly heard their vows in the rectory at St. Louis Cathedral.

Etienne bought a small house in the Tremé section and had two children with Sanité. When Pauline was thirteen and my father Christophe ten, Etienne disappeared. Sanité and her children didn’t know if he’d been killed or if he’d returned to France without telling them. Without a legal marriage, who could Sanité go to for help? For years they waited for him to come home, but they never heard from him again.
Etienne Menard did two decent things before he vanished. He legally left the house to his children and he taught them, as well as Sanité, to sew. He was a tailor in France before coming to America. He taught them how to make a man’s suit from the collar to the hem of the pant legs. And this skill was their saving grace.

Pauline, who was blond and blue-eyed, became a passablanc. She was tall for her age and looked much older than her fifteen years. It took several weeks of walking around uptown in the business section of the city to find a place that was willing to trust her with piecework she could do at home. Stern Brothers, a men’s store on Dryades Street, though reluctant, gave her a few trial pieces. When she returned the half dozen sets of coat sleeves, Mr. Stern was so impressed with the quality of the sewing that he gave her steady work. Pauline brought the pieces home and Sanité and Christophe helped her sew them together. At first they worked on only suit coats, then suit trousers, and eventually they were making whole suits. They survived more than four years on what they made from the piecework and from what Sanité made at the French Market selling the herbs she grew in her garden.




About the Author


Claudette Carrida Jeffrey, a native New Orleanian, is a retired teacher who lives in Northern California. The Color of Life is her second book of four in the Claire Soublet Series. A Brown Paper Bag and A Fine Tooth Comb (2012) begins the coming of age story of Claire Soublet, a young Creole of Color, growing up in 1940s and 50s New Orleans.

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