Goodreads Book Giveaway
All the Wrong Places
by Rebecca Fisher
Giveaway ends February 27, 2015.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Monday, January 19, 2015
Thursday, September 11, 2014
New Cover for All the Wrong Places
I would like to thank so many people for contributing to this cover...Jeff Fisher, Bailey Stock, Danny Maimone, Ricky Udave, Justine Haeussler, Dee Boudreaux, Linda English, Garrett Cates, Brian Shmucker, Renee Cure, Halen Cure and Hippo. You helped my vision become a reality. Thank you!
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Book Tour - Meet Casey Wheeler
What is the name of
your main character? Is he or she fictional or a historic person?
Casey Wheeler is a fictional character
telling a story of hope that very closely resembles my own.
2. When and where is
the story set?
Casey weaves through the suburbs of San
Francisco, trying to find a place to land with her daughter, Maddy, having just
left an abusive and unfaithful husband with nothing but the clothes they’re
wearing and the cash in her pocket.
3. What should we know
about her?
While her willingness to stay so long in an unfaithful marriage seems
questionable, Casey’s motives stem from her maternal instinct to provide
security and consistency for Maddy. These
same instincts force her into the unknown, with nowhere to go, in order to
protect them both from her husband’s blatant infidelity and increasing abuse.
Casey is willing to walk away from all she’s ever known to provide Maddy with
a life she never had - one filled with love, security and the freedom to be a
child. Her isolated, loveless and controlling marriage closely resembles the
overbearing, unloving and critical childhood she experienced with her father, a
retired, decorated military man who has had much success as a litigating
attorney. He is short on compassion and high on expectations and criticism.
Casey’s unplanned pregnancy and disagreeable marriage left her without the
option of turning to her parents. Her father’s only offers of help always
came with the unthinkable demand that she rid of Maddy, a stain on his perfect
life, one way or another. Her mother uses alcohol to cope, and her fear of her
husband’s wrath prevents her from helping Casey in any significant or
meaningful way. With no one to turn to, Casey cries out a prayer for help in
desperation. The answer she receives is nothing she could have ever expected,
and is the beginning of a life-changing dialogue she never knew possible.
4. What is the main
conflict? What messes up her life?
Casey’s most urgent and immediate conflict is
her lack of shelter, money or a job that could provide the possibility of
either. Accepting the role as
unquestioning housewife has left her without options. Independence is something Casey has never
experienced and she is ready and determined to get it, never returning to the life
she’s left behind. Having cried out for help, to a God she’s only heard about
indirectly or casually, the answer comes faster than she expects as she loses
control of her car, crashing onto a hillside off of a dark highway in the
pouring rain. The building at the top of the hill provides the answers she’s
been looking for, but what lies inside threatens to change her entire
perspective on life...and death, forever.
5. What is her
personal goal?
While Casey strives to establish independence
and a safe, loving environment for Maddy, she stumbles onto much deeper
personal transformation, finding a new and growing faith, the real meaning of
family and the possibility of new love, all in the unlikeliest of places – a
funeral home.
All the Wrong Places is available in
print and ebook format at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks/iTunes
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Starting Over – Ways to Make Change that Lasts
By Rebecca Fisher
The clean slate. It’s appealing to all of us. There’s not one of us who doesn’t wish for a do over in some area of our lives. But how many times do we resolve to make a change, only to find ourselves right back where we started? We make it a few weeks into the New Year or good intention and then we stumble, lose hope, give up.
I’ve had my fair share of haunting habits and ruinous relationships, and have attempted, blindly, to do it differently this time…or maybe this time. I’ve been blessed to have people in my life who are willing to be honest with me, who sincerely want to see me succeed in life rather than continue to stumble over the same pitfalls again and again. These friends in the trenches have taught me valuable lessons when it comes to really making change in my life and when I put those lessons into practice, they actually work.
One of my go-to, and most futile, coping mechanisms when facing any difficult situation, be it a relationship, a job or even a seemingly insurmountable challenge, is to flee. I run. As fast and as far as I can. Seems logical, right? Remove yourself from the problem and the problem is solved. I thought so, too, until one of my loving but brutally honest friends pointed out that there seemed to be a common denominator in all of my problems. Me. They uttered six simple words that changed my perspective on life forever.
Wherever you go, there you are. I know, it seems ridiculously simple, but it blew my mind. It didn’t matter how far I ran, I would always be there and the problem would inevitably resurface. Sure, it would come in a different form, but it was always the same. At this point, I was terrified of running anywhere that would leave me alone with myself.
When I was able to wrap my meager brain around that one, they made a suggestion.
Put down the magnifying lens and pick up a mirror. My grandmother used to tell me that when I pointed my finger, which she couldn’t stand, I had three more pointing back at me. When I was little, I was like, no duh! I can count! But as I matured, however slightly, I started to understand. My part in all of my troubles is likely three times greater than that of the person I am blaming. We are told to deal with the log in our own eye before pointing out the speck in our fellow’s. Believe me, this one alone will keep me busy…forever.
While looking into that proverbial mirror, which is akin to hearing your own voice on a recording for the first time, they suggested I do something very important, albeit excruciating.
Take an inventory. All successful businesses take stock. They keep what is profitable and they get rid of, without a second thought, what holds the business back. I had plenty of character flaws, warped beliefs, knee-jerk reactions and poor choices to put down in the bad column, but surprisingly enough, the more difficult task was writing down my assets. It was these assets that I was going to need in order to really make a change in my life. I had to keep an eye out for those pesky defects, but with an asset like unrelenting determination on my side I stood a good chance.
The next suggestion seemed unbearable, impossible even. With my list in hand, it was suggested I share everything from that bad column with someone else. You know, the column that contained the most sordid parts of my past? I wasn’t convinced of that one so easily. Not until someone explained.
We are only as sick as our secrets. Part of what held me back from real change, especially in the relationship realm, was the gnawing sense that I wasn’t worth what was on the other side. It was the mother of all lies that tripped me up more than anything. It threatened to keep me trapped in perpetual agony and failure. Fleeing from an abusive marriage right into the next one wasn’t an option I was willing to accept, so, I did it. I shared every dirty detail. Of course, I shared it with someone I trusted, someone I was sure had a list ten times the size of mine.
Some final words of wisdom… not mine, of course. Mine are all borrowed.
Don’t go it alone. We weren’t made to do life alone. There’s a reason solitary confinement is considered severe punishment and limited in duration. Find people who will lovingly hold you accountable. Yes-men are worthless. And if you have faith, lean on it…heavily. It saved my life and gave me the chance at a much better one.
Whether you’ve resolved to quit a nasty habit, or move on from unhealthy relationships, make sure you approach it with all the tools you can muster. And forget about the New Year. Start right now.
The clean slate. It’s appealing to all of us. There’s not one of us who doesn’t wish for a do over in some area of our lives. But how many times do we resolve to make a change, only to find ourselves right back where we started? We make it a few weeks into the New Year or good intention and then we stumble, lose hope, give up.
I’ve had my fair share of haunting habits and ruinous relationships, and have attempted, blindly, to do it differently this time…or maybe this time. I’ve been blessed to have people in my life who are willing to be honest with me, who sincerely want to see me succeed in life rather than continue to stumble over the same pitfalls again and again. These friends in the trenches have taught me valuable lessons when it comes to really making change in my life and when I put those lessons into practice, they actually work.
One of my go-to, and most futile, coping mechanisms when facing any difficult situation, be it a relationship, a job or even a seemingly insurmountable challenge, is to flee. I run. As fast and as far as I can. Seems logical, right? Remove yourself from the problem and the problem is solved. I thought so, too, until one of my loving but brutally honest friends pointed out that there seemed to be a common denominator in all of my problems. Me. They uttered six simple words that changed my perspective on life forever.
Wherever you go, there you are. I know, it seems ridiculously simple, but it blew my mind. It didn’t matter how far I ran, I would always be there and the problem would inevitably resurface. Sure, it would come in a different form, but it was always the same. At this point, I was terrified of running anywhere that would leave me alone with myself.
When I was able to wrap my meager brain around that one, they made a suggestion.
Put down the magnifying lens and pick up a mirror. My grandmother used to tell me that when I pointed my finger, which she couldn’t stand, I had three more pointing back at me. When I was little, I was like, no duh! I can count! But as I matured, however slightly, I started to understand. My part in all of my troubles is likely three times greater than that of the person I am blaming. We are told to deal with the log in our own eye before pointing out the speck in our fellow’s. Believe me, this one alone will keep me busy…forever.
While looking into that proverbial mirror, which is akin to hearing your own voice on a recording for the first time, they suggested I do something very important, albeit excruciating.
Take an inventory. All successful businesses take stock. They keep what is profitable and they get rid of, without a second thought, what holds the business back. I had plenty of character flaws, warped beliefs, knee-jerk reactions and poor choices to put down in the bad column, but surprisingly enough, the more difficult task was writing down my assets. It was these assets that I was going to need in order to really make a change in my life. I had to keep an eye out for those pesky defects, but with an asset like unrelenting determination on my side I stood a good chance.
The next suggestion seemed unbearable, impossible even. With my list in hand, it was suggested I share everything from that bad column with someone else. You know, the column that contained the most sordid parts of my past? I wasn’t convinced of that one so easily. Not until someone explained.
We are only as sick as our secrets. Part of what held me back from real change, especially in the relationship realm, was the gnawing sense that I wasn’t worth what was on the other side. It was the mother of all lies that tripped me up more than anything. It threatened to keep me trapped in perpetual agony and failure. Fleeing from an abusive marriage right into the next one wasn’t an option I was willing to accept, so, I did it. I shared every dirty detail. Of course, I shared it with someone I trusted, someone I was sure had a list ten times the size of mine.
Some final words of wisdom… not mine, of course. Mine are all borrowed.
Don’t go it alone. We weren’t made to do life alone. There’s a reason solitary confinement is considered severe punishment and limited in duration. Find people who will lovingly hold you accountable. Yes-men are worthless. And if you have faith, lean on it…heavily. It saved my life and gave me the chance at a much better one.
Whether you’ve resolved to quit a nasty habit, or move on from unhealthy relationships, make sure you approach it with all the tools you can muster. And forget about the New Year. Start right now.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Surviving a Single-Parent Christmas
By Rebecca Fisher
Christmas time is that magical time of the year when everything seems possible, and it’s no different for the twenty-seven percent of America’s children living in single-parent homes. But it is a little less magical for the precarious budgets of those single parents.
Every day I wondered if I would have enough money for gas or groceries. Every month I worried I might not be able to pay the utilities, car payment or the credit card that helped us get by when there just wasn’t enough money to go around. And every year, around the middle of November, the slow churn of anxiety began over the obligatory Christmas gifts. I knew I wouldn’t be able to give my daughter everything she hoped for, which wasn’t much when she was younger, but our holiday culture demands every last penny be spent on gifts, and when our pennies run out, there’s the plastic card that makes it all possible.
Like most parents, I cherished Christmas mornings, when my daughter would spring from her bed, waking me with the sky still dark, and behold the wonder of Santa Claus. I wanted it to be perfect, which seemed impossible on my bare budget.
To combat the anxiety and guilt over the impossible, I focused on what I could control. The following are ideas and suggestions made to me by other single-parents that helped make Christmas our favorite holiday of the year without the anxiety, guilt and insurmountable debt.
1. Keep Christmas. The best antidote to the consumerism Christmas we’re all bombarded with is Christmas itself. Every year my family celebrates the greatest gift of all, Jesus - a gift of selfless sacrifice full of love and hope. We read, sing and watch His story together. The only literal gifts involved come from the magi, who offer all they have in thanksgiving and praise. When filled by that story, an iPod seems pretty petty.
But, alas, we are human, and part of our Christmas culture is the gifts. So unless I was going to cut that out entirely, I had to get creative. And I did, by sharing.
2. Share the list. I am blessed to have a large family and wonderful friends who love my daughter and help me raise her up. They are my village and they often ask what my daughter wants for Christmas. This is when I pull out the list and tell them exactly what she wants. Her grandparents often ask to buy the more expensive items. Of course, I agree. I have no interest in taking all of the credit. Most of it goes to Santa anyway.
3. Communicate with the other parent. While some ex-spouses are still busy trying to throw a wrench into every wheel of your life, some are more cooperative. With the latter, discuss what gifts your child wants, who will buy them and how they will be presented to your child. Why buy two of the same thing? Your child doesn’t need it and no one can really afford it. Work together. It will make for a much merrier Christmas.
4. Be honest. The older my daughter gets the more honest and realistic I can be with her when it comes to money. While we don’t need to burden them with all of our financial woes, it’s important to teach them the limits of money. We came up with a budget and she would prioritize. Did she want one large gift or multiple small ones? She gets to decide what she really, really wants and I get to give it to her, though she still thanks Santa…out loud, sitting right next to me with a big smile.
The older my daughter gets, the more she focuses on giving gifts rather than receiving them. I watch her experience the joy of giving and making someone’s day a little brighter. It’s a beautiful thing. Christmas became an opportunity to show her what’s really important about the day and to focus more on it myself.
Rebecca Fisher graduated with a B.A. in English and an M.S. in Education, and teaches high school English. Her own experiences living in a mortuary in Northern California and raising her daughter on her own serve as the inspiration for the many macabre and eccentric encounters in her novel. She lives in California with her husband and two daughters.
All the Wrong Places is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble online, and the Rebecca’s website (www.RebeccaFisherBooks.com) in both paperback and e-book format.
Christmas time is that magical time of the year when everything seems possible, and it’s no different for the twenty-seven percent of America’s children living in single-parent homes. But it is a little less magical for the precarious budgets of those single parents.
Every day I wondered if I would have enough money for gas or groceries. Every month I worried I might not be able to pay the utilities, car payment or the credit card that helped us get by when there just wasn’t enough money to go around. And every year, around the middle of November, the slow churn of anxiety began over the obligatory Christmas gifts. I knew I wouldn’t be able to give my daughter everything she hoped for, which wasn’t much when she was younger, but our holiday culture demands every last penny be spent on gifts, and when our pennies run out, there’s the plastic card that makes it all possible.
Like most parents, I cherished Christmas mornings, when my daughter would spring from her bed, waking me with the sky still dark, and behold the wonder of Santa Claus. I wanted it to be perfect, which seemed impossible on my bare budget.
To combat the anxiety and guilt over the impossible, I focused on what I could control. The following are ideas and suggestions made to me by other single-parents that helped make Christmas our favorite holiday of the year without the anxiety, guilt and insurmountable debt.
1. Keep Christmas. The best antidote to the consumerism Christmas we’re all bombarded with is Christmas itself. Every year my family celebrates the greatest gift of all, Jesus - a gift of selfless sacrifice full of love and hope. We read, sing and watch His story together. The only literal gifts involved come from the magi, who offer all they have in thanksgiving and praise. When filled by that story, an iPod seems pretty petty.
But, alas, we are human, and part of our Christmas culture is the gifts. So unless I was going to cut that out entirely, I had to get creative. And I did, by sharing.
2. Share the list. I am blessed to have a large family and wonderful friends who love my daughter and help me raise her up. They are my village and they often ask what my daughter wants for Christmas. This is when I pull out the list and tell them exactly what she wants. Her grandparents often ask to buy the more expensive items. Of course, I agree. I have no interest in taking all of the credit. Most of it goes to Santa anyway.
3. Communicate with the other parent. While some ex-spouses are still busy trying to throw a wrench into every wheel of your life, some are more cooperative. With the latter, discuss what gifts your child wants, who will buy them and how they will be presented to your child. Why buy two of the same thing? Your child doesn’t need it and no one can really afford it. Work together. It will make for a much merrier Christmas.
4. Be honest. The older my daughter gets the more honest and realistic I can be with her when it comes to money. While we don’t need to burden them with all of our financial woes, it’s important to teach them the limits of money. We came up with a budget and she would prioritize. Did she want one large gift or multiple small ones? She gets to decide what she really, really wants and I get to give it to her, though she still thanks Santa…out loud, sitting right next to me with a big smile.
The older my daughter gets, the more she focuses on giving gifts rather than receiving them. I watch her experience the joy of giving and making someone’s day a little brighter. It’s a beautiful thing. Christmas became an opportunity to show her what’s really important about the day and to focus more on it myself.
Rebecca Fisher graduated with a B.A. in English and an M.S. in Education, and teaches high school English. Her own experiences living in a mortuary in Northern California and raising her daughter on her own serve as the inspiration for the many macabre and eccentric encounters in her novel. She lives in California with her husband and two daughters.
All the Wrong Places is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble online, and the Rebecca’s website (www.RebeccaFisherBooks.com) in both paperback and e-book format.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Keeping Christmas
By Rebecca Fisher
Full from the evening’s feast - a non-traditional potluck of spaghetti, garlic bread and salad - we gather around and grow quiet as he opens his bible and thumbs carefully through the pages, searching for the passage we hear every Christmas Eve. We fill in every inch of space on the sofa, love seat and wooden chairs carried in from each of our hotel rooms, gathered here from every corner of California.
There are twenty-five of us on average, each one with our eyes now on the patriarch. At ninety-one, his hearing is nearly gone, but his intent and determination unwavering. He reads, voice straining, of the highly favored Mary and obedient Joseph. My heart aches as the story unfolds…no room for our king, born in a stable…come in the most vulnerable of forms and into the humblest of circumstances…sought after by a merciless and cowardly ruler…soon to be mocked, scourged and crucified…sent to save us all by carrying the weight and curse of our sins. Through tears I rejoice with the heavenly host… “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and good will toward men.” He closes with a word of prayer and a reminder of the love of story-telling handed down to us all by my grandmother, who passed in 1999. He fights back a tear or two, thanking God for His son and our salvation. We wipe the tears from our eyes and prepare for the main event of the evening.
A stage is set, taking up the remaining part of the living room and the very humble kitchen. The scripts are passed to each of us according to our part in the play. It’s A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, adapted into its current form nearly fifty years ago by my grandmother. This play, born in a small California living room to seven children and their parents, is a tradition that has persevered through four generations and many different locales. We each take our role with anticipation and speak the words of Dickens who beautifully emphasizes family, thanksgiving, compassion and charity as the true spirit of Christmas, our true purpose here on Earth. Newcomers, whether new spouses or otherwise, are initiated with the role of the dead body of Ebenezer Scrooge. They resist the idea briefly, but eventually serve out their sentence, mercifully hidden beneath a make-shift shroud. We sing Christmas Carols as the scenes transition and the narrator unfolds the changing heart of Ebenezer…Silent Night, Joy to the World and finally, We Wish You a Merry Christmas with great emphasis on the figgy pudding.
Despite our lack of props, costumes and stage space, the story told year after year brings joy to everyone involved, mostly my grandfather, a retired Naval Captain, who has heard the story countless times, enjoying it no less tonight. He sits back and smiles, likely reminiscing of years gone by, years with his wife and children in that living room many moons ago.
The evening concludes with my grandfather dressed as Santa Claus (never breaking character, I might add), and passing out gifts to the family, helped of course by the youngest in the room who serve as his elves. Gifts range from homemade fudge and cookies to handcrafted book marks, scarves and jewelry. They mean so much more coming from the heart, much like the Magi who offered their praise with all they had. The day is a frenzy of preparation for this evening with food cooking, gift wrapping and multiple trips to the store across the street.
When Christmas morning arrives and after presents are opened and the customary waffles consumed in the third floor hotel room, we pack our bags, load the car and head back home, grateful for family, traditions and the gift of Jesus. Back home, while the world continues to water down the true meaning of Christmas with big red bows and holiday trees, we remember. We remember because every year we gather together and hear the true story of the holy infant and because we count on the promises He brings. And every day following, we count down to the next Christmas Eve celebration and wait with anticipation for our role in the play.
Rebecca Fisher graduated with a B.A. in English and an M.S. in Education, and teaches high school English. Her own experiences living in a mortuary in Northern California and raising her daughter on her own serve as the inspiration for the many macabre and eccentric encounters in her novel. She lives in California with her husband and two daughters.
All the Wrong Places is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble online, and the Rebecca’s website (www.RebeccaFisherBooks.com) in both paperback and e-book format.
Full from the evening’s feast - a non-traditional potluck of spaghetti, garlic bread and salad - we gather around and grow quiet as he opens his bible and thumbs carefully through the pages, searching for the passage we hear every Christmas Eve. We fill in every inch of space on the sofa, love seat and wooden chairs carried in from each of our hotel rooms, gathered here from every corner of California.
There are twenty-five of us on average, each one with our eyes now on the patriarch. At ninety-one, his hearing is nearly gone, but his intent and determination unwavering. He reads, voice straining, of the highly favored Mary and obedient Joseph. My heart aches as the story unfolds…no room for our king, born in a stable…come in the most vulnerable of forms and into the humblest of circumstances…sought after by a merciless and cowardly ruler…soon to be mocked, scourged and crucified…sent to save us all by carrying the weight and curse of our sins. Through tears I rejoice with the heavenly host… “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and good will toward men.” He closes with a word of prayer and a reminder of the love of story-telling handed down to us all by my grandmother, who passed in 1999. He fights back a tear or two, thanking God for His son and our salvation. We wipe the tears from our eyes and prepare for the main event of the evening.
A stage is set, taking up the remaining part of the living room and the very humble kitchen. The scripts are passed to each of us according to our part in the play. It’s A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, adapted into its current form nearly fifty years ago by my grandmother. This play, born in a small California living room to seven children and their parents, is a tradition that has persevered through four generations and many different locales. We each take our role with anticipation and speak the words of Dickens who beautifully emphasizes family, thanksgiving, compassion and charity as the true spirit of Christmas, our true purpose here on Earth. Newcomers, whether new spouses or otherwise, are initiated with the role of the dead body of Ebenezer Scrooge. They resist the idea briefly, but eventually serve out their sentence, mercifully hidden beneath a make-shift shroud. We sing Christmas Carols as the scenes transition and the narrator unfolds the changing heart of Ebenezer…Silent Night, Joy to the World and finally, We Wish You a Merry Christmas with great emphasis on the figgy pudding.
Despite our lack of props, costumes and stage space, the story told year after year brings joy to everyone involved, mostly my grandfather, a retired Naval Captain, who has heard the story countless times, enjoying it no less tonight. He sits back and smiles, likely reminiscing of years gone by, years with his wife and children in that living room many moons ago.
The evening concludes with my grandfather dressed as Santa Claus (never breaking character, I might add), and passing out gifts to the family, helped of course by the youngest in the room who serve as his elves. Gifts range from homemade fudge and cookies to handcrafted book marks, scarves and jewelry. They mean so much more coming from the heart, much like the Magi who offered their praise with all they had. The day is a frenzy of preparation for this evening with food cooking, gift wrapping and multiple trips to the store across the street.
When Christmas morning arrives and after presents are opened and the customary waffles consumed in the third floor hotel room, we pack our bags, load the car and head back home, grateful for family, traditions and the gift of Jesus. Back home, while the world continues to water down the true meaning of Christmas with big red bows and holiday trees, we remember. We remember because every year we gather together and hear the true story of the holy infant and because we count on the promises He brings. And every day following, we count down to the next Christmas Eve celebration and wait with anticipation for our role in the play.
Rebecca Fisher graduated with a B.A. in English and an M.S. in Education, and teaches high school English. Her own experiences living in a mortuary in Northern California and raising her daughter on her own serve as the inspiration for the many macabre and eccentric encounters in her novel. She lives in California with her husband and two daughters.
All the Wrong Places is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble online, and the Rebecca’s website (www.RebeccaFisherBooks.com) in both paperback and e-book format.
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