Fantasy author Ty Johnston’s blog tour 2011 is running from November 1 through November 30. His novels include City of Rogues, Bayne’s Climb and More than Kin, all of which are available for the Kindle, the Nook and online at Smashwords. His latest novel, Ghosts of the Asylum, will be available for e-books on November 21.
To find out more, follow him at his blog tyjohnston.blogspot.com. He offers all kinds of links and experiences with e-publishing, along with wonderful concise reviews of books he has read - including many lost classics rediscovered via public domain e-format.
Though this month I’m traveling from blog to blog while promoting my new epic fantasy novel, Ghosts of the Asylum, today I’d like to talk about something more personal, but relative.
When I was ten years old, my mother became a victim of violence. She almost died. Her neck was almost broken. She was left with two cracked discs in her neck and enough pain to cause her to scream.
It was I who found her. It was I who had to call the ambulance and ride to the hospital. It was I who had to sit by her bed for days that turned into weeks.
Growing up in a single-parent household, I had no one to turn to. My father lived a long distance away, and though he helped as much as he could, he was not able to do anything immediately.
Once my mother was free of the hospital, she returned to work and we went on with our lives.
When I was 16, one night at work my mom was pushing a cart and something else cracked in her neck. She was able to drive home, but once there all she could do was lay in bed and scream from the pain. I was older now, and once again I called for the ambulance and rode to the hospital.
In many ways, I grew up in hospitals. For nearly 30 years my mother worked in a hospital, and since she was a single parent when I was young, it seemed I was always hanging out in the hospital waiting for her to get off work. It didn’t bother me emotionally, at least not until I was spending all my time at the hospital watching her slowly heal.
As I mentioned above, I had no one to turn to.
But then I did. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. His name is Terry Brooks.
Though this month I’m traveling from blog to blog while promoting my new epic fantasy novel, Ghosts of the Asylum, today I’d like to talk about something more personal, but relative.
When I was ten years old, my mother became a victim of violence. She almost died. Her neck was almost broken. She was left with two cracked discs in her neck and enough pain to cause her to scream.
It was I who found her. It was I who had to call the ambulance and ride to the hospital. It was I who had to sit by her bed for days that turned into weeks.
Growing up in a single-parent household, I had no one to turn to. My father lived a long distance away, and though he helped as much as he could, he was not able to do anything immediately.
Once my mother was free of the hospital, she returned to work and we went on with our lives.
When I was 16, one night at work my mom was pushing a cart and something else cracked in her neck. She was able to drive home, but once there all she could do was lay in bed and scream from the pain. I was older now, and once again I called for the ambulance and rode to the hospital.
In many ways, I grew up in hospitals. For nearly 30 years my mother worked in a hospital, and since she was a single parent when I was young, it seemed I was always hanging out in the hospital waiting for her to get off work. It didn’t bother me emotionally, at least not until I was spending all my time at the hospital watching her slowly heal.
As I mentioned above, I had no one to turn to.
But then I did. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. His name is Terry Brooks.
