Soundless by Richelle Mead-- Are The Deaf Disabled?

Although I've never read this author before, when I read in the description that YA fantasy Soundless by Richelle Mead deals with a deaf community, I knew I had to read it.  I have an ongoing interest in deaf topics which is also a focus of Book Babe.  In addition, Fei is a strong female protagonist.  Those are the reasons why I am posting this review here.

                                   

For most of this book, I thought it was absolutely brilliant.   It showed the competence of deaf people in their occupations, and their determination in surviving under extremely difficult circumstances.     The vicious prejudice and exploitation that they face represent emotional disabilities of the non-deaf population.

Protagonist Fei is a painter.  In most social contexts art would be considered a luxury that people who are struggling to survive can't afford.   In this village, art is communication.   In a low tech society like this one, non-deaf people would have a town crier who would provide an oral account of important events.   Deaf people need their news in a visual medium.  Fei was one of the painters who was assigned to observe and record what was happening in the village.    She would then create a written account illustrated by paintings which would be displayed in the center of the village.  She learned to paint swiftly so that her people would have the news on a daily basis.  She was essentially taking the role of a journalist.  Like the best reporters she had the courage to take tremendous risks to find out the truth about what was being done to them by those who had power over them.

The end of this book seemed unworthy of the rest of the narrative.  It was a magical  deus ex machina ending.   I found this dictionary definition of deus ex machina  from Merriam Webster .  It's "a character or thing that suddenly enters the story in a novel, play, movie, etc., and solves a problem that had previously seemed impossible to solve."  I admit that there was some foreshadowing, so the ending didn't come out of nowhere, but it was still a letdown for me.  I wanted it to be as interesting and imaginative as the rest of the novel.   



                                   

Something Deaf People Really Need...

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles via
FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I don't think anyone listens to me. I don't know if the "right" people will read this post, the people who can do something about the situation. But I figure the more people who know, mention it, talk about it, the more likely someone in the situation of doing it will be to hear it...my plea.

Last weekend I went to my first opera. I saw Madame Butterfly. It wasn't really my kind of story. I sat there thinking, "Boy, they sure take a long time to say what they want to say...and all this ado over a man? A douchebag man? Come on, Madame Butterfly, it's been three years. Ask for a hall pass. He's so not worth this."

But I'm going again in March. Despite the fact there were only four bathroom stalls for hundreds of women. Despite the fact the stories aren't really my thing.

Can you guess why?

They have captions!!! Right there above the stage! On a digital screen! So for once, I'm on the same level as everyone else. Nobody there understood Italian. They had to read the captions, same as me.

But it was so easy to caption this thing. The captioning screen was so visible yet at the same time discreet. You don't have to look at it if you don't want to.

So why can't they do this to musicals and plays? There are tons of plays and musicals I would LOVE to see and enjoy: Chicago, It's Good Work if You Can Get It, 9 to 5, Bluestockings. But I don't bother going 'cause it's just lovely sounding blah blah blah blah to me.

So here's my plea. If there's anyone out there who can make this happen, I know I'm not the only deaf person in the world who is missing out on lots of cool things due to lack of captioning. We finally have open-caption night at the movie theaters. Let's bring captions to the stages too. PLEASE. And don't even get me started on comedy clubs...

Does anyone have any suggestions as to how I can possibly get something started? Should I make a petition? Who would I send it to? Comments welcome.

Talking Back: The Battle to be Listened to . . . Properly, A Guest Post from Donna McDonald

Please welcome Australian author and fellow deaf woman, Donna McDonald. I must say in advance, this is a powerful and very true guest post. I've had these frustrated thoughts myself, but she puts it into better words. Feel free to leave comments. I'm pleased to share details of her latest book, The Art of Being Deaf, below.

Recently, I went to see a movie with a new Date. We’d had dinner together the previous week and he understood that I am deaf.  The movie was great (as befits its title “The Great Beauty”) . . . the date not so much.

I am fifty-nine years old. I was born deaf and belong to the 1950s generation of “oral deaf” children. This means that although I am deaf (“moderate-severe, sloping to profound” according to my most recent audiology assessment), I have sufficient residual hearing that allows me to speak rather well. Not perfectly, but not bad: the missed sibilants and the occasional monotonous tone in my speech patterns reveal my deafness. I work hard to keep my speech patterns rhythmically inflected.

Image courtesy of Ambro/ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I also work hard to listen, read people’s lips, stay focused on their faces and body language, and follow the flight of their words. I do all this listening and attending work because I want to be connected to what they are saying. Connection begets connection; it is the origin of understanding others, which in turn evolves into empathy, compassion, and a reciprocal sharing of our humanity.

Which brings me back to my Date. He mumbled. Not once; not twice; but thrice. Three times I asked him to speak more clearly; three times he denied my request and continued to channel Marlon Brando’s performance as “The Godfather” as if he owned that role. Remember: we’d already had that dinner the week before. I’d already exhausted myself over a glass of wine (just the one glass; I was trying to do “Dry February”) by peering at his clenched lips and trying to find meaning in his stiff, expressionless face.

It was late; I was tired; I spat the dummy. In the foyer of the cinema. In public, and in full hearing view of all and sundry. “Look”, I cried out, “if we are going to get along, you really must speak up and speak clearly. Why can’t you do this one simple thing for me?” The Date looked stunned. He mumbled, “I’m sorry.” And then (you’re going to love this!), he said, “I don’t know much about deaf people. I don’t know how to talk to them.” I snapped back, “I am not going to do Deaf Studies 101 for you now. Just speak clearly. That’s all.”

We’ll draw a veil over the next couple of hours. Suffice to say, there will be no third outing. However, my anger and frustration with the Date is not the point of my story. Stay with me.

A couple of nights later, I recounted my story to a life-long and close friend. We have known each other since we were teenagers, and we have shared much with each other. The good, bad and ugly.  My friend is kind and wise; I anticipated that she would sympathise with me. I thought she might say something like, “What a boorish man!” Actually, I would have settled for a simple “oh dear” sigh of empathy.

Instead, what I got was a reminder of how the hearing world persistently walks out of step with me. And I am deliberate in my syntax here.

I have spent the better part of my 59 years learning how to walk in step with the hearing world; how to speak clearly, avoid being too expressive, keep my hands still, don’t look wounded when others laugh because I’ve misunderstood what they have said, remain stoic in the face of others’ criticism when I ask them to repeat what they’ve just said—“Oh for God’s sake, I’m not going to say it again. Why can’t you just listen properly? It doesn’t matter anyway; it wasn’t that important.” (Why say it in the first place then? Why indulge in drivel?)

And yet, when I voiced a complaint to my friend, her first and immediate response was to say “Don’t be offended, but you need to see the situation from his point of view.”

Really? From his point of view? What happened to the authority and legitimacy of my point of view? If I was a Jew complaining to my friend about anti-Semitic behavior, would my friend have admonished me, “You need to see it from the Gentile’s point of view”. Or if I were an Aboriginal Australian complaining about being excluded from a job opportunity, would my friend have said “You need to see it from the white employer’s point of view.” Or what about if I was a young woman who had been raped by her uncle? Would my friend have clucked at me and said “Oh, but you need to understand your uncle’s needs.” Of course not.

So why is my perspective as a deaf woman, holding my own in a dominant (and dominating) hearing world of so little value? First with the obtuse Date, and second with my life long friend. Where is their effort to connect with me in these exchanges? To walk in my shoes? Because let me tell you, I am damned footsore from walking in the shoes of hearing people.

I don’t know the answer. Do you?

CREDITS: Published as “Footsore on Valentine’s Day” at:

http://socialworksocialwork.com/2014/02/14/footsore-on-valentines-day/

Blurb:

We all take our sense of connectedness from where we can best find it. For some deaf people, it is within their own Deaf community. For others such as Donna McDonald—those oral-deaf people, in the “shadow-lands”, scattered across the hearing world—such a sense of connectedness can be buried or lost.

In writing her memoir of deafness and being deaf, Donna McDonald found that learning about the heritage of other deaf people’s memoirs, biographies, and life narratives was enormously helpful to her. She writes “the hand of mentoring reached down to me across the span of history”.

Donna’s memoir “The Art of Being Deaf” is, however, much more than a personal examination of her life as a deaf woman. It is a story of reconciliation, the search for romantic love, and the quest for answers about what it means to live an authentic life.

***

Dr Donna McDonald is Senior Lecturer and convenor of policy and disability studies in the School of Human Services and Social Work at Griffith University. Over a span of 30 years Donna has been at the forefront of developing social policy as a social worker and has established extensive policy networks in Australia and England. She has provided policy advice to Federal, State and Local Governments nationally and internationally.  She is also a published writer with two books, several book chapters, journal articles and essays. Her publications include her memoir of grief following her infant son’s sudden death in 1987 "Jack's Story", and essays such as "I Hear with my Eyes" (Griffith Review 2006), "The Reluctant Memoirist" (Griffith Review 2011) and "When Time Stops: The Courage for Joy" (Stories of Complicated Grief: a critical anthology 2014).  Her latest book is The Art of Being Deaf: a memoir (Gallaudet University Press: Washington DC. March 2014).

FOOTFALLS ON CRISP SNOW AND OTHER LOST SOUNDS by Linda Root

  

In 1992, Sir Ian Mc Kellen brought his famous portrayal of Richard III to a limited engagement the Royce Theater at UCLA. As soon as I knew he was coming, I bought tickets that were so pricey that my family was sitting two rows in front of Tony Dalton. My ten and seventeen-year-old sons and my adult daughter told me that the performance was beyond excellent. I had not heard a word of it. That was when I realized how much my hearing had deteriorated and that without intervention, renting the movie with subtitles was as good as it was going to get. That was the beginning of my misadventures as a person who is hearing impaired. At the time I traipsed out of Royce two steps behind James Bond in a green silk shirt, I had no idea that I was about to join the ranks of the disenfranchised, ignored and often scorned. 

In 1992, I was a trial prosecutor with ten years experience and was handling major crimes. I was assigned to a courthouse that did not have a Superior Court until 1991, which meant I had tried my felonies out of a carpet bag. By 1992 when I finally scheduled an examination with an ENT and testing by an Audiologist, I had been trying my cases in my home court in the Morongo Basin, which had expanded to add two Superior Court departments staffed with excellent judges. But a major cocaine processing case popped up on the Barstow calendar at a time when there was no experienced narcotics attorney available to try it. While I was not excited about going to Barstow to try a drug case when I had homicides pending, it was one of my favorite courts, the one where Erin Brockovich made her mark. The defendants had waived jury because they thought the street value of the drugs would prejudice just about anyone who heard the number, so there were probably less than a dozen spectators in the courtroom when the judge peeked around the door to his chambers and announced:

“My bailiff has just informed me that Mrs. Root has AIDS.”

That was the moment when I realized that my smart practical wedge hair-style had to go. The devices I was wearing were humongous clunkers, they did not respond well to microphones, and if I was the least bit animated in my arguments, they were apt to go coruscating to the floor and into the forbidden area called ‘the well’. Obviously my hearing loss was not the sort of disability that was considered off limits like facial disfigurement or the loss of a limb, the physically apparent injuries that about which my mother had scolded me: “Don’t stare, Linda Alice!”

Everyone knew that the judge’s comment was a joke, and that he only made the remark because he and I had good rapport. He would have been shocked to learn that I went to my hotel room and cried. I got over it when the judge found the defendants guilty, but I did not forget it. As soon as I could afford them, I spent more than eight thousand dollars on a pair of little color-coded ‘in the ear canal’ devices so small they looked like misshaped jelly beans. They did help my hearing but were incredibly fragile and in the shop for repairs within days of the expiration of their warranty. It did not help that the repair facility I used was in Texas. Sending them away became a regular event whenever I had a murder case on calendar. But I did have my court-appropriate hairstyle back. And while I did not Sign, I got pretty good at lip-reading.

Then I got promoted and my hearing issues became acute. I stopped trying cases when I was promoted to Supervising Deputy D. A. That did not relieve me from nearly daily court appearances, and it added additional duties that may me acutely aware of my disability, even if others were not. The year 1997 was before Blue Tooth compatible hearing aids and telephones hit the market, and a supervising prosecutor spends a lot of time conferencing by telephone. I was also expected to attend functions to represent our office in the community. I have been told that there was more than one keynote speech in which I was the only person in the room who did not have veins throbbing in the temples before the speaker sat down. Being insulated from the inane or patently offensive was the upside. The downside was that I missed a lot of comments that warranted a response. As to my own public appearances, I did fine in front of mike banks, since all reporters shout their questions and do not generally comment on the answers as long as they get a sound bite. I also did some crime-network syndicated television, and the shows went well because of the level of expertise of the assistant directors and interviewers. Somebody who liked me must have edited my several requests ’Could you repeat the question?’ out of the final cut.

In watching the Director’s Cut of Arrest and Trial I discovered that a hearing impaired professional should never say, “Can you repeat the question?” which makes the impaired person sound rude, stupid or inattentive. It occurred to me later that the alternative request, ‘Could you rephrase that?" when accompanied by a raised eyebrow or a frown tossed the Frisbee back to the interviewer. But I could only fake so much.

There were situations when my loss was interfering with my job performance as I saw it, even if others never noticed. For example, our chief deputy had a habit of lowering his head and staring at his shoelaces when he was being critical, which meant that half of the time I did not know what I had done that had caused him to drive from Victorville on a back road only traveled by Harley choppers and hay trucks. Those conversations usually ended with him looking up with a smile and telling me that overall I was doing an excellent job, so I continued doing what I had always done, until the next time.

However, it was different when I was meeting in my office with members of a homicide detail out of San Bernardino. In that situation, I needed to hear what they had to say, and I had to be humble enough to tell them that I needed them to repeat certain bits of information because my hearing aids were not working properly, Actually, my loss was advancing faster than the technology. That was when I decided to retire. I was fortunate because I left the job I loved while I was at the top of my game, and no one had to tell me to either retire or go downtown to the Appellate Department where the written word was the tour de force.

The beard.

Since then, I have spent another three thousand for the pair of Siemens I bought on Ebay, and yes, they are over-the-ear clunkers, but I left my vanity in the courthouse. I am profoundly deaf in one year and approaching a similar degree of loss in the other. It does make me wonder why I cannot hear the telephone ring but I can hear my husband snore.

There are personal as well as professional issues that have caused me pain. My daughter and granddaughters do not like to go to restaurants with me because I tend to talk too loud. I have a hideous vision of the four of us in Applebee’s text messaging one another. For years I could not understand my brother-in-law’s speech because he is a professional Santa. It is nigh impossible to talk to a Santa Claus whose lips are hidden in a snowy beard.  

It is also impossible to do business on the telephone, especially with the decreasing number of customer service personnel who speak English as their first language. Most of them are patient and polite, and probably take a leave of absence as soon as the struggle with me is over. And while I can usually manage through a social event when I am in a circle of men because my hearing loss is at the upper, upper middle and very low ranges, I have much more difficulty hearing women in the typically higher range of female speakers, even if they are shouting at me for monopolizing their men.

I did go to an all female house party recently where the guest of honor Dr. Gilda Carle had a wonderful sonorous voice and the facial expressions that reminded me of what beautiful women looked like before Botox. I doubt that I missed a word. It was a lucky day for me, and those are becoming rare. Like most people who are hearing impaired, I tend to be reclusive at a time of my life when reaching out to others is vital. Ask AARP.

I have solved the issue of isolation in a way that may not be all that mentally or physically healthy, but it is better than looking out the window at a world full of sounds I cannot hear. I have a whole new group of friends whose every word is within my range, a world of symphonies and chorals and violins and even hip hop. I have become a creator of speech and sound, and in a small way, I know how Beethoven must have felt. I cannot hear Joshua Bell other than in my memory, but I can create someone like him and I can give my creation the talent of a Joshua Bell, and even hand him a red violin. Sometimes I play the CD A Tramp Shining and pretend to listen to Richard Harris sing James Webb’s enigmatic MacArthur Park. And then I go to my laptop and I write a living, breathing, sexy brawling Irishman with pathos and I give him song, and I bring my personal Richard Harris back to life.

As a writer of fiction, I am able to follow a crisp dialog because I am the one creating it. I can hear doors slam and coins drop. I can listen in on lovers’ whispered secrets. I hear footsteps on crisp new snow.

But even a writer suffers from being hearing impaired. Seminars and writers groups are out of the question for me. What good is a book launching when my personal interaction with prospective readers would be a ‘Say, what?’ I would be happy to do a reading for a book club, but I could not respond to questions from the audience unless they were written on note cards.

So, like Tara, I do not launch. I blog! Thank you for letting me share this.

Linda's BLOG. 

Follow her on Facebook.

Twitter: @LindaRoot1

Don't Let Your Disability Stand in Your Way: A Story of Survival and Determination from Pernitha Tinsley

I met a woman on Facebook recently. I'm so very glad I kept that page open and running, or this wouldn't have happened. Pernitha approached me, and we talked, and I was so amazed by her story, I asked her to come here and share it with you. Life gave her lemons more than once. She didn't just make lemonade. She decided to make lemonade and share it with the world.

Please welcome Pernitha Tinsley, an incredibly strong and talented deaf woman who is working on her first book and will soon have a line of  Cancer Survivor T-shirts available for the masses.

"In 1994, I was diagnosed with a profound hearing loss in my right ear and a “slight” hearing loss in my left ear. I knew that something was going on with my hearing; because my high school friends would tell me that I was always ignoring them, when I wasn’t….I could not hear them.

I was 19, and ready to go off to college. I had received several band scholarships for universities in different parts of the world. I chose Liberty University in Virginia. I wanted to be as far away from California as possible. Right before I was due to leave for college my aunt approached me about getting a hearing exam. She mentioned that I kept my television up too loud. I agreed to the exam. I did not think anything of it.

“I’m sorry; you have a profound hearing loss in your right ear and a slight hearing loss in your left ear.” The doctor told me. He apologized, yet there was not an ounce of remorse in his tone. “If you continue in band, you will be completely deaf by the age of 30.”

I cried. I probably shed more tears than rain during a storm. The band scholarship was my ticket to college. Without the scholarship I would remain a victim of the ghetto. I did not care about being in band. I wanted an education with band being my free ride to college. I wanted out of poverty. I had to forfeit the scholarship.

My aunt enrolled me into West Los Angeles Community College, where I majored in Criminal Justice Administration. I was overly happy. My hearing loss was no longer a factor. I would wear the hearing aids and move forward. I was in college working towards becoming a Sheriff, at least that is what I thought.

Hearing aids failed me. I could not hear with them. I had to remove the hearing aids in order to understand my instructor. I quickly realized that the hearing aids were making it impossible for me to hear. When I was out conducting business, I could not hear the person that I was talking to. I tossed the hearing aids for good.

At times, I had a difficult time understanding my instructors. If the students were whispering while the instructor was talking, I could not hear the instructor clearly. I would sit there frustrated. I shifted in my seat. I would lean forward, trying to block out the students, while fighting to understand the instructor. This is how I learned to read lips. I could not hear him, so I would “read” him.

One day, I said to myself, enough is enough. I stood and stopped all conversations in class.

“I have a hearing disability. All of the whispering and laughing around me is preventing me from understanding the instructor. If you are going to talk over him, go outside. Otherwise, be quiet.”

All chatter ended from that day forward. And if the students happened to forget my speech, the instructor reminded them.

Over the years, my hearing has gotten worse. But I cannot say that without mentioning, that at times, I can hear clearly. The doctors are baffled by my hearing loss. Their test results show that I am deaf, however I am not deaf. One would not know that I had a hearing loss if I did not tell them. I used to shy away from the phone, not anymore. If I cannot hear a person clearly, I ask them to repeat themselves.

In 2005, I received a Fingerprint Classification Certificate from West Los Angeles Community College. In 2006, I received a BS in Criminal Justice Administration from California State University Los Angeles. I made the National Deans List every year that I attended the university. In 2012, I received a Mobile Application Certificate from West Los Angeles College. This fall, 2013, I will start the Los Angeles Film School. I am working towards an AA in film. I have been considering a BA in movie production.

I was not able to do anything with the Criminal Justice Degree. I passed all law enforcement exams with a 95% or higher, but I did not pass the hearing exams. There reason for not hiring me? “If a suspect is sneaking up on you, you will not be able to hear them.” Once again, my hearing tried to stand in my way. Well, I did not let it.

I prayed for answers. I asked God to help me. I prayed for Him to show me my purpose in life. I leaned heavily on His word.

One morning, God woke me from my dreams and told me to get in front of my laptop and type. He did not tell me what I would type, He just told me to type. For two months I sat in front of my laptop typing. I allowed my heart to guide my story. Two months later, KARMA was born.

I searched through a book that I had read, Dollar Bill by Joylynn Jossel. I took down her email address and contacted her. I did not know if she would respond. My mind was actually set on no response. I was wrong. Joylynn Jossel responded to my email the very next day, and the rest is history.

Joylynn Jossel became my agent. She provided me with the tools needed to form my own publishing company, Yellow Canary Publishing Group. I self-published KARMA and co-authored a book under the pen name REDD. Years later, I dropped the name REDD, and started writing under my real name, Pernitha A. Tinsley

My first novel, written under my real name is, A Mansion in the Hills of Heaven. It is the first of a children’s series and is dedicated to the children in the hospitals, who are suffering from life-threatening illnesses.

How do you tell a child that their soul will soon return to God? There is no easy way to tell them, is there?

In A Mansion in the Hills of Heaven, I paint a beautiful picture of heaven. There is the Town of Samaria where Mr. Doyle, the Magician lives in an Oreo Cookie house. Toy soldiers march past the swing set and tree house. Flying fish leap in and out of a pond that sits in front of the Oreo Cookie house. There is a baseball field in the backyard of the mansion. Every summer, the children fly to the Garden of Eden and setup camp. If they are not flying around the mansion playing tag, the children are running around the mansion playing hide and seek.

A Mansion in the Hills of Heaven is sure to take the fear of passing out of the hearts of the children whose souls will return to God. Their parents will not have to search their hearts for the right words to say, when explaining that mommy and daddy will see them in heaven. I will be doing book readings at local hospitals in my area.

I am also bringing awareness to breast cancer through my Color Me Cancer Free tees. My goal is to connect with breast cancer organizations and to make the tees available within their organizations. A large percentage of the proceeds will be donated to the American Cancer Society. Both the Color Me Cancer Free tees and all of my novels will soon be available through my website www.PernithaTinsley.com."

Follow her on twitter

@ConqHerCancer

@YellowCanaryKid

PernithaA.Tinsley@facebook.com

www.PernithaTinsley.com (coming soon)

Ten Questions from Tara: An Interview with Erik Schubach. Bullying, Dating, & Strong Women

I love meeting new authors. I especially love meeting authors whom I have something in common with. Every now and then I'll spot a book that grabs my attention...I'll email the author of the book. Sometimes I'm ignored. Sometimes the author replies, promises to get with  me again at such and such a time or send a post, and I never hear from them again. But sometimes, they turn out to be some real nice, down-to-earth, awesome people, and this leads to some great correspondence and new friendships. And this how I came to meet Erik. Please give Erik a warm welcome. He has some really important things to say from bullying to discrimination to one of his coolest-ever dates.

Tara: You came to my attention because you have a deaf heroine in your book, Music of the Soul. Tell me about the research you did on this, the things you learned from hard of hearing/deaf people.

Erik: Most of my experience was back in the mid to late 1980's. Being the curious person I am, back then I had asked my deaf friends how they experienced music. Also about and how they overcame bullying, which I witnessed frequently and was grouped into since I was bullied all through my young adult life. We all sort of stood up for each other. I think Amber, one of my hearing impaired friends, handled it better than I did. I seriously believe that young people can be much meaner than adults.

We had gone to movies at times and I was curious how much of the dialog she was able to pick up on by reading lips. She let me know that what she didn't get, she picked up on by the progression of the scenes.

I thank God that the hearing impaired people I had dealings with could read lips (Though there were some misunderstandings.) because I sucked at learning sign language, I tried and tried... I felt like a complete idiot since my other friends were learning it at a quick pace. Amber once said that teaching me was like like trying to teach a one-eyed raccoon how to sign.

I did try the sensory deprivation technique I describe in the book to experience some music and a sub-titled VHS movie at her house to try to gain some perspective after high school at Amber's house. It is a real eye-opener.

Tara: What do you feel hearing people could learn from your book?

Erik: That what they deem as different or as a handicap is really only a matter of perspective. Differences are what make us all amazing individuals and give us character. Nobody should be treated any differently or ostracized because they don't “hear” the world in the same way.

Tara: *nods head* Amen, Erick. Thanks for pointing that out. You bring up bullying. I understand what being on the receiving end of that is very well. I notice you also tackle the subject in book two. What message do you hope to get across to people by putting this topic in your novels?

Erik: Bullying is one of the worst things a person can subject another individual to. In many cases that bullying can damage someone almost beyond repair. More suicides are being attributed to bullying almost every day. People need to take a stand against it, and realize that “ignoring” bullying when they witness it is the same thing as saying that it is OK. It is very rare for a person to not be affected their entire lives by it, even if they don't show it externally.

I myself was bullied relentlessly in high school and beyond because I was a small gangly nerd (the term geek wasn't used widely back then yet). Always getting pressured into doing other people's homework just to be made fun of by those same people.

I think I turned out relatively OK, but to this day I hold a deep seated grudge against anyone I see bullying anyone and am the first to step in to diffuse it. I remember the names of each and every person that ever bullied me, even though I can't remember most of my other classmates from the time. That's my damage.

So I try to mention the subject in each and every book I write. I believe people need to be more educated about bullying, bigotry and discrimination.

Tara: A DEAFENING Whisper. I love that title. Does that feature a hard of hearing person too? If not, what significance does that choice of words have? 

Erik: It pertains to a poem one of my characters writes. A Deafening Whisper is something whispered between two people that is so profound that it alters their lives forever. Whether it is for the good or the bad. So regardless of how quietly it is whispered, the consequences boom louder than thunder. Like telling someone you love them for the first time.

None of the characters are deaf in that book, though one main character suffers from OCD and Tourette Syndrome and the other has a sickness she has not revealed to anyone. I like to write about strong characters that use their supposed weaknesses as their greatest strengths.

Tara:  That is truly beautiful. I like that. All your books are lesbian fiction, which is awesome, but as a man, how did you end writing that? Did someone suggest you write one? Did the characters just pop in your head and refuse to quit nagging you until you put them on the page?

Erik: Well, there are a few reasons. My nieces are both lesbian and I think it is awesome how strong they are. One has even asked me to base a character on her struggles in an upcoming book. Also, I have always enjoyed strong female characters in media. In the past, I don't think that they have had their fair share in the spotlight (though recently that has been turning around).

The ideas just come to me and I have to write them down. The first book, Music of the Soul, was written in one weekend because the idea popped into my head and I just had to write the story down. My style and grammar my not be the most professional (It sucks) but, it is the story I want to share.

I do want to point out that none of my books contain erotic material. A lot of people seem to jump to that conclusion. But I leave those moments to people's imaginations. I may lead up to it but never delve into details. My stories are about the love and romance two people share, not the sex.

Tara: I commend you for that. Sex is all over the place nowadays. It's nice to meet an author just giving a solid story. Do you think you’ll ever write m/m or m/f?

Erik: I'm open to writing about anything. It doesn't matter which two individuals fall in love... it is the love that matters, and romance is romance. The only reason my first four books are F/F is because they are in the same story arc world. Other romance books in different settings may be a different dynamic.

I am currently finishing the manuscript for the fifth book in the Music of the Soul arc and will be turning to science fiction for a book or two. There are two ideas just screaming at me to write down.

Tara: Your Amazon bio says you have always been drawn to strong female characters in books. That totally rocks. Can you tell me some of your favorite book heroines?

Erik: I could seriously go on forever with this list :) but the top three main ones are as follows...

Honor Harrington from the Honorverse books by David Weber (my personal favorite). Not only is she a kick butt admiral in the royal space navy, but she also has a husband AND a wife later on in the series. She is known by the enemy as the Salamander, she always shows up where impossible battles rage the hottest, and somehow always walks away victorious.

Killashandra Ree from the Crystal Singer books by Anne McCaffrey. She gave up her life to mine crystals and be with the man she loved even though she knew that same crystal mining would eventually strip her of her memory and curse her to an extraordinarily long life without those memories.

Magiere from the Nobel Dead books by Barb and J.C. Hendee. Not quite vampire and not quite human, she travels the continent hunting the vampires and other creatures that prey on the weak. She has to fight not just the undead, but her own rising blood-lust.

Tara: An Amazon reviewer recently reviewed book three of your series, The Dating Game. She says, “Enticing book with excellent dating tips ;)”. Okay. Now I must know more. Give us a dating tip, please.

Erik: Since my two previous books were so deeply emotional I attempted to lighten up the mood on this third book, Dating Game, before dipping back into the heavily emotional fourth book. To mixed reviews... apparently you either love the book or hate the book.

The dates are fun though. I would say that nothing beats a picnic if you share it in a location that means something personal in your life. Share that information and your impressions then and now. Nothing is more intimate than letting someone into your life like that. Communication is sexy.

Tara: Tell us about a date of your own. Did it make it in the book? Was it horrible, funny, boring?

Erik: I have lived in the Pacific Northwest most of my life. At one point I had asked a girl in Spokane, WA out for some “adventure”. I had brought her to a bridge where an Anubis hieroglyph graffiti was tagged with a triangle. We drove the direction of the point of the triangle. The next bridge had the same graffiti.

This continued through some scenic views of the city, I made sure to give her time to look at the city and mountains from these unique vantage points before moving on to the next. Soon we wound up at a plaque overlooking a portion of the Spokane River that described a whirlpool that used to exist at that point caused by the meeting of two forks of the river.

There just happened to be a picnic lunch set up there (what a coincidence). I shared with her the first time I had discovered that “secret” Anubis breadcrumb trail years ago and how I had never shared it with anyone. After letting me know I was a goofball, she admitted that she hadn't had that much fun in a long time.

Digger

Tara: Thank you for sharing that. Really. That's cool. This is always the tenth question...As a dog mom, I must know. Do you have pets? If so, what are they and their names?

Baby

Erik: I happen to share my home with three dogs. Tucker Magoo, who is the coolest, big black Flat Coat Retriever mix... ever... period. Digger Doo, who is a Basset Hound, Labrador Retriever mix (imagine a black lab cut off at the knees). Then there is Baby, a Papillon who thinks she owns the world.

Tucker

Then there's the seven cats, three finches, two hamsters, three mini-goats and thirteen chickens. Help, I think I live in a zoo!

Tara: I want to thank Erik for taking the time to come on here. Erik, it's been a pleasure. I wish you all the best in your writing career and I hope to maintain our email correspondence. Those of you wanting to connect further with Erik, check out his blog and like him on his FB page. 

A Healing Love Released #ContemporaryRomance With #DeafHeroine

You didn't really think I'd stop with just Love Request, did you? I'd like to talk a bit today about my latest full length conrom, featuring a hard-of-hearing heroine. You know how special those are to me.


I'd like you all to meet Kimberly, an Iraqi Freedom war vet healing wounds in her heart as well as her body. In a town called Cripple Creek, she struggles with her new disabilities: hearing loss and vision impairment...but they're only disabilities if you let them be. With the help of a handsome doctor, can she realize this?

Blurb:

Kimberly Rogers vowed to fight a tragic past the only way she knew how: she joined the Army and became strong. No man would hurt her again. But a war wound sends her to her brother's in Cripple Creek, WY, with vision and hearing impairments.

Whereas glasses can help her see and hearing aids can help her hear, nothing can force her to talk again. Is she really unable to speak, or is she hiding behind her disability to protect herself, her pride, and her heart? Regulated to the most menial of jobs, her world in shambles, Kimberly is finally convinced to seek medical assistance.

Carlos Medina is Jackson Hole's best therapist. If anyone can make Kimberly speak again, it's him. But Kimberly has to meet him halfway, and Carlos has his own past tragedy that the young, mute woman threatens to force him to conquer.

They both have wounds…and sometimes wounds must be reopened before they can heal. Can they open up to each other? Can Kimberly find her voice again and open her heart? Can love heal them both?

Excerpt:

Carlos had been expecting a badly scarred, burly woman, not the petite, slender girl from the coffee shop in Cripple Creek. Only, she wasn’t really a girl. Her curves attested to that. He had to remind himself she was twenty-three, as there was something extremely young and vulnerable about her. Only the angry red mark on her throat—not covered by a scarf as it had been when he’d seen her before—marred her beauty…and that didn’t bother him.

She stepped forward, her gaze on his. She looked just as surprised at the sight of him as he was at the sight of her. Had she been expecting an old man with gray hair? He fought the urge not to smile at the idea. Most people expected someone with his reputation to be much older than his twenty-eight years…and not a biker they’d met in a coffee shop who rambled about senoritas and antibiotics. After all, obtaining a PhD was time-consuming. But he’d been lucky, and unlike many other students, had not had to work his way through college, and thus, had been able to focus solely on his studies. He knew he was blessed. A supportive family and a scholarship had seen him through.

Carlos jolted himself from his musings and managed to tear his gaze away from his patient—patient, best not to forget that—and looked for her brother, expecting him to be right behind her. There was no one there; she was alone.

“Hi.” He rose from his chair and reached a hand out to her for her to shake. “You must be Kimberly Rogers. Is your brother with you?” Her hand felt soft and delicate in his own. He was careful not to give it the firm squeeze he normally was prone to giving, careful to keep his expression neutral and not reveal his surprise or pleasure.

She nodded and pointed to the door, in the direction of the waiting room.

He mentally flipped a switch in his mind, from Casual Carlos to Doctor Carlos. Carlos decided the fact she had brought her brother, but not allowed him to escort her into the office itself was a positive sign. She wanted to do this on her own, obviously. She wasn’t weakened to the point she needed someone to hold her hand at all moments. His task may not be as difficult as he’d originally thought. Then again, too much pride could also hinder a patient’s healing. But at least she was willing and comfortable enough to face a therapist on her own. The woman had drive. It was visible in the way she held herself in front of him, back straight, shoulders back, chin up. And though he knew from her records she was wearing contacts, her eyes had a determined glint the lenses couldn’t hide. The removal of the scarf was a positive step as well. She was no longer ashamed of her wound.

“Have a seat.” Carlos gestured to the chair across from his desk, and then, instead of taking his own, he walked around to take the seat a short distance from hers, turning it slightly as he sat so he would be facing her. When she appeared comfortable, despite the fact she was gripping the armrests, he smiled warmly at her. “I’m Carlos Medina. Your brother told me some of your past history and current problems, but I would like the full story from you. Now, I realize you cannot speak; that’s why you’re here, so is there a particular way you wish to communicate with me right now? You want to write? Would you rather fill out a form and then talk to me on the computer until we progress?” He waited, clearing his throat nervously, for her to answer, and shocked himself with his own internal thought. Please, say no.

Yea, he was going to crumple and throw that desensitization, talk via computer crap out the window…if she let him. He couldn’t explain why—some therapist he was—but he didn’t want to this woman to talk to him online. He wanted to talk to her in person. The little switch was slipping back down to Casual Carlos pretty fast. There must be a short in my circuit, because I don’t want or need a woman in my life like that—especially not a patient. It’s not worth my career…or my heart.

Carlos visualized the switch in his mind as he watched the young woman and pictured the little button moving back up to Doctor Carlos.



* * * *



Kimberly stared at the handsome doctor in front of her. Talking online would be easier and more convenient, but she didn’t need that kind of treatment. It wasn’t like she was afraid of going out in public. Plus, she’d lucked out as far as doctors went. The doctors at Walter Reed had been older, gray, and paunchy. Heck, her audiologist wasn’t a young thing, either. But this man…whoa.

He’d been in the back of her mind ever since her failed second job. Meeting him had been the first time she’d felt feelings of attraction or interest in the opposite sex in ages.

This time, the atmosphere was quieter, calmer, and she wasn’t flustered or busy and could take the time to really look at him. He was tall, with olive skin and warm milk chocolate eyes. His face was clean-shaven, his hair ink-black and wavy despite its short length. He sported a very nice suit, a drastic difference from the biker attire she’d seen him in before. An expensive-looking watch was his only jeweled adornment. She’d checked.

He cleared his throat, bringing her back to earth. Kimberly realized he’d been waiting for her to respond. Her face heated with embarrassment. He was looking at her expectantly. What had he asked? Oh yeah, the online thing. No…

Flustered, she merely shook her head at him and reached into her back pocket. She had come prepared. She pulled out her trusty pad, welcoming an excuse to stop staring at him. Her notes were slightly damp from the sweat of her body, and she was reluctant to hand them over, but it was her story, the words she’d written for George. She could sit here all day and scribble in front of him or hand him this.

Deciding she’d rather he be staring at her notes than watching her write them, she handed them over. This way, she would watch him.

He took the notes, and his hand lightly brushed against hers in the process. Kimberly was surprised by the current that traveled up her arm, all the way to her shoulder, on that little contact.

I’m so glad I got contacts.

“Is this what happened to you?” His voice was soft, yet at the same time clear and masculine.

She nodded, very aware of his gaze on her until finally, he looked down at the papers he was holding. A small rush of air escaped her, and she allowed herself to relax. She’d been so conscious of what she must look like; hair tucked behind her aids, the red mark on her throat. It was unnerving having such a handsome man staring at her.

Now, she sat back and stared at him as he read, noting the crease that appeared between his brows, the cleanliness of his fingers turning the pages, the rugged line of his jaw.

Suddenly therapy didn’t seem so bad.

Buy on Amazon, All Romance, Amazon, and Secret Cravings.

My Visit to the Kansas Deaf Cultural Center

Two weeks ago I was on vacation. Yes, I know. You had no clue. Thank Blogger for allowing me to schedule posts in advance. There wasn't a single boring day on Book Babe...at least I hope not.

Well, I went to Missouri and while there, my wonderful stepmother agreed to drive me to a town called Olathe in Kansas. That's where the Kansas School for the Deaf is and also, the Cultural Center.

I met author Shanna Groves there. She's the author of Confessions of a Lip Reading Mom and like me, she's hard of hearing. First of all, I was overwhelmed to the point I almost cried--in a good way. I discovered I'm not alone.

Now, I've always known there are others like me out there. I talk to them online. I've read their books...but to meet someone in person who understands what I go through, who goes through it herself, and even has some words of wisdom. It was a humbling experience and I feel I made a new friend.

We talked about our hearing husbands and the trials that come from this clash of hearing/deaf partnership. We talked about family and how some folks push us to go..."get fixed". We discussed her anti-bullying campaign and when she told me she wanted to use me as an example in a video she's making, I was flustered to the point I was nearly speechless. I'm really not sure what finally came out of my mouth. One of those moments, you know?

A very wonderful tour guide walked us through the museum.

I saw photos of the Deaf school students in the 1800s learning how to cook, run printing presses, playing sports. There's a fake apartment to show hearing people how we live: the gadgets we use, the light we need. There's a video that explains in a clear and yet touching manner the difference btw hard of hearing and deaf and the cultures. There's an area dedicated to a Deaf painter who went to school there and after a really bad accident caused him to be paralyzed, he didn't let that stop him...No. Deafness never stopped him and this wasn't going to stop him either. He painted with his mouth!

The thing that amazed me most of all though: I actually understood everyone. The tour guide, my stepmum, my new friend Shanna, the lady who ran the museum. I was in a group of people and understood every word.

You know why? They cared. I realize now that I don't have to be lost and confused. I don't have to let people (yes, this includes family members!) talk over my head as though I'm not there. They CAN make the effort if they want to.

Whether you have a hearing "impaired" member in your family or not, make it a practice to speak clearly and enunciate. It's really not that hard.

This post..it really has no point. I just wanted to share a bit of myself with you. This day, this experience, this new friendship...was just something so wonderful that happened to me.

Thank you, Chuck (the wonderful tour guide) and Shanna Groves for a memory that I will always cherish.

Special Post for My Hard of Hearing Friends (Or for those who also have hard of hearing friends)

I've totally come to terms with the fact that I can't hear, that I'm slightly different from everyone else, and I'm okay with that. But even though I say, "I can do everything you can do, except hear", I've had to admit there are some frustrations. One of them has always been the telephone.

Growing up, my mother would have to listen to my phone conversations on another line and cover the mouthpiece while she relayed what they were saying to me. Everyone was always asking me what that echo was... I was too ashamed to tell them the truth. It was just one more thing that made me different from everyone else...something else for them to make fun of.

As an adult, I used VCO (Voice Carry Over). The process went something like this: 

I called a 1-800 number, a relay operator. I would tell the relay operator what number I was calling. The operator dialed that person and connected us. The operator then proceeded to listen to our conversation and type out whatever the other person was saying. The words would appear on a screen. I would talk back. We had to remember to say "go ahead" every time we were done speaking so the operator would know to switch lines again.

The upside to this:

I could make my own phone calls without my mother having to drop everything and listen in.

The downside:

More often than not, folks would hang up on me. "I'm not buying anything. Sorry." Also, the process of explaining to everyone how it all worked and what they  needed to do...eh.

And I had a stranger listening to all the details of my personal life.

This was before text messaging.

Then text messaging came along and I thought I'd never need anything else...but you can't text the doctor and make an appointment. You can't text the groomer and get your dogs hooked up and so on...

So hubby became my secretary after a while. Poor guy.

But to make a long story short, there is now something for us. It's funny how this came about. I follow another deaf author named Dawn Colclasure. In her newsletter a few months ago, she mentioned yet another deaf author, Shanna Groves. Shanna and I connected and as I was heading her way (Kansas City), we agreed to meet in person. We met at the Deaf Cultural Center (more about that soon) and while there, my stepmum grabbed the latest edition of Hearing Loss Magazine.

In that magazine is an ad for CapTel with Sprint.

And tomorrow I am getting a new cell phone!!!!!!!!! That I will be able to talk on!!!! I will no longer have to text 15 messages to relay the latest drama in my life when crap goes down. I can just call my friend! Just like anyone else. And my hubby no longer has be my secretary.

How it works: You register with CapTel. *You must have an Android-powered cell phone, but this service is FREE. HOWEVER, there's also a home phone. I did not check into this though. I use the cell for everything.* Someone calls your CapTel number...and they just natter away and the program itself converts their words to text on your screen right before your very eyes. You natter back. And the program also works for voicemail!!!!

I'm very excited about this and as I learned from talking to Shanna last week, for some reason, people are not advertising that they have stuff for the hearing "impaired". You have to ask for it. And I'm not afraid to ask for it.

The people in the Sprint office hadn't even heard of this feature their own company is offering. It was a learning experience all the way around. I just want to share this...we need to spread the word about this awesome feature. I'm sure I'm not the only one who didn't know of it. I hope that this post reaches at least one Deaf/Hard of Hearing person who can utilize this feature.

Find out more about it here or here