BEARING IT ALL by Vonnie Davis — book excerpt

Bearing It All_Cover

Bearing It All Highlander’s Beloved #3

By: Vonnie Davis

Releasing October 27, 2015


A Scottish hunter and a French secret agent find themselves on a collision course with danger—and irresistible desire—in Vonnie Davis’s new bear-shifting Highlander novel, perfect for fans of Jennifer Ashley and Shelly Laurenston. In the pine-dense mountains of the Scottish Highlands, shape-shifter Ronan Matheson is running free when a desperate woman parachutes out of the sky, directly onto his furry, powerful chest. Instead of clawing her to death, Ronan’s inner bear longs to keep her safe. Once he’s back in human form, Ronan is amused by the mysterious beauty’s fearless attitude—and tempted by her expertly toned physique. But what could she possibly be doing in this isolated stretch of the Highlands? French intelligence agent Anisa Brosseau never imagined she’d be on the CIA’s bad side—until she’s framed for treason and forced to flee in a stolen drone. Hiding out in a remote cabin, Anisa just needs some time to clear her name. What she doesn’t need is a brooding, muscle-bound Scot in a skimpy kilt to drive her crazy with lust. But when Anisa’s enemies come knocking on his door, Ronan calls on a secret weapon to protect his turf and the bonny lass he’s come to love.

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Now what was he supposed to do? “Bloody hell! Not only am I stuck with a woman, but a feisty, hardheaded one, at that.”

“Take your Scottish skirt, your hairy muscular legs, and go back inside. Leave. Me. Alone.”

Look, she likes yer legs. She’s not wimpy. I like her spirit.

“Yer opinion has nay bearing in this matter.”

“Does too,” she mumbled and shifted away from the rock’s roughest edge.

Bloody hell, she thought he was talking to her. Ronan stooped so he could examine her; at least her hearing was still good. She’d taken quite a tumble over that boulder he’d tried digging out on several occasions, but that was just too damn big to remove by himself. The deeper he shoveled, the larger the feckin’ thing became. “Are ye hurt, lassie?” He ran his hands over her, searching for broken bones.

She rolled and, before he knew what she was about, wrapped her thighs around his legs, slipped her arms under his armpits and flipped him over her head. He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and his Scottish temper rose like the mist over the bogs.

Oh yeah, I like her. Shift, so I can play tumble, too.

“Ye are a fool if ye think ye’re playing tumble with her.”

The woman slowly stood and weaved for a bit. “What in the hell are you talking about? I wasn’t playing tumble. I was getting your grubby hands off me.” She pressed two fingertips to the part of her forehead exposed by the helmet. “Why do I feel as if I’m having a three-way conversation?”

“I wasna making improper advances. I know how nasty that blasted boulder is. I was merely searching fer any injuries ye may have suffered.” Ronan backflipped into a stand. “Ye look exhausted, even though ye still have enough vinegar in yer system to knock me on me arse. I apologize for me boorish actions earlier. Of course ye’re welcome to spend the night in me warm cabin, fed and undisturbed.”

“After all I’ve been through this past week, I don’t trust you any more than a rabid dog or a raging bear.” She planted her hands on her rounded hips. “Frankly, your change in attitude is too quick to be believed. Even so, my French politeness demands I apologize.” She glanced away fer a beat as if the apology was going to cost her a fine fortune.

Then her gaze connected with his and part of him, his soul, his heart—he had nay clue—did a strange, slow roll, taking his breath with it. “Sir, you are much too kind. As dirty as I am, I’d only mess up your house. I’ll just keep moving on.” She bent to retrieve her flashlight. “Thank you. I’m sorry for my attitude. I know I was being bitchy.” She gave an audible sigh and shook her head a time or two. “That remark about your skirt was also uncalled for. I hope you’ll forgive me for my thoughtlessness.”

Her heartfelt request fer forgiveness softened his mood. “Outsiders dinna understand the strong pride we have fer our plaid, our kilts, our traditions. Come inside. I’ll heat ye some soup.”

“Thanks, but no. An intelligent woman would not go into a strange man’s cabin alone.” She made two steps and he picked her up by the waist and tossed her over his shoulder. She wrapped one arm around his neck, inhaled his woodsy scent as she clasped that wrist with her other one, shifted over a tad, and kneed him in the balls.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he breathed as he dropped to his knees, released his grasp on her, and rolled onto his side, holding his privates. “Bloody fokin’ hell. What did I do to deserve


Anisa leaned over him. “Feeling a little sick to your stomach, are you?”

“Ye are a demon. A ball-crushing demon.” He held his crotch, his knees bent and his kilt showing he wore nothing beneath it.

She shuffled from one foot to the other as she stared at his Scottish bagpipe. Bet he could hit a lot of high notes with that thing. “You . . . you startled me when you grabbed me like that.”

“Well, ye needna be afraid now. I couldna molest ya, even if I wanted to, which I dinna. I’m

betting foreplay with ye would be like grabbing hold of an electrical wire while sitting in a tub of water.” He groaned and cussed some more. “Hell, I bet yer vagina is lined with shark’s teeth.” His continued gasping still indicated he was fighting for enough breath to talk.

She leaned over and shook a finger at him. “Just keep that image in your mind, buster, and we’ll get along fine.”


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Author Info

Vonnie Davis, who studied English at Penn State, likens herself to a croissant: crusty, wrinkled, flaky—and best served with strong coffee. After a career as a technical writer, she’s spending her retirement playing fairy godmother to her characters, giving them their happily-ever-afters. Six fantastic, talented kids call her “Grandma” and brighten her world in so many ways. She lives in Southern Virginia with her husband, author Calvin Davis.

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My TESStimony by Contessa T. Walker-Jackson — Book Blitz


Each of us has a journey to go through in life. For some, that path seems easy, and everything in the lives of these blessed ones seems to fall into place effortlessly. For others, the path to a happy, successful life is paved with struggle and hardship.

I am one of those who have had to struggle. I wrote this book not simply to gain your sympathy or to draw attention to my pain, but to encourage others who’ve had to walk the same difficult roads in their lives. God, our Creator, did not design us to suffer through lives of pain and hurt, but has a much more joyful and important purpose for each of us. Discovering this fact helped me turn the path of my life around 180 degrees!

With this book, I intend to motivate and inspire those who look like me. I want to help my readers realize that no matter what life throws at you, you can overcome with your personal TESStimony! Use this book as a therapeutic tool to help you restore your life, heal your spirit, and redeem your soul.

Through reading along with my personal journey, I want others to discover the pursuit of hope. We can all use hope in our lives.


Our incompetence to be satisfied with what we have stems from living in marketing societies that insist we need to keep purchasing more in order to be fulfilled. Trying to keep up with the “Joneses” by acquiring more money, bigger houses, better cars, and lovelier spouses will leave you unhappy and dissatisfied. Instead of wanting what we don’t have, it can be a pure revelation to turn around and want what we already have. Everything we do nowadays has been inspired from television.


8Contessa Jackson lives by the mantras “can’t give up now” and “there’s nothing too hard for God.” The CEO & owner of Huntsville, Alabama-based Exclusively By Tess, LLC, which provides event planning on every level, Jackson is also an entrepreneur, team builder, civic leader, mentor, product specialist, and educator. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Elementary Education, a Master of Arts in Educational Administration and Supervision, and a Masters of Arts in Early Childhood Education.

In 2008, she founded Teacher’s P.E.T.S. Academy, a non-profit organization that provides guidance and encouragement to children and teens. Her dream is to open a tuition-free school that houses a 1,500-seat theater for the performing arts and community events.

Tess continues to fuel her passions and ambition as the published author of My TESStimony, through which she portrays her journey as a business-woman, wife, mother, and lover of life.

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Twitter (@mytesstimony)

Girl of Myth and Legend by Giselle Simlett: Author Interview


Genre: Fantasy / Romance

What inspired your latest work?

My inspiration was fairy tales. I loved fairy tales, but wanted something gritty. I didn’t want a princess who existed purely to show how brave the prince was. I didn’t really want a princess at all. I wanted a character who seemed real and who could mirror the reader. That’s when the main character, Leonie, kind of burst into my head and said, ‘FINALLY! Are you going to be the one to tell my story?’ I honestly had no choice but to write it then.
Another inspiration was the theme of immortality. It’s always been perceived as something exciting and wonderful, but what if yo spend your forever in a cage, obeying a master who thought you were nothing but dirt? That wouldn’t be so much fun, would it?
I also wanted to explore loss and grief, but also hope within it. Loss and grief are horrible but necessary feelings. You’re truly alive when you have known them. But one thing a lot of people forget is that in those feelings, you can find hope, you can find light, and I think this is the building blocks between the two main characters.

Tell us about this story.

A girl with a past she tries to forget, and a future she can’t even imagine.

Leonie Woodville wants to live an unremarkable life. She wants routine, she wants repetition, she wants predictability. So when she explodes in a blaze of light one morning on the way to her college, it’s enough to put a real crimp in her day.

And things only get weirder…

Leonie learns from her father that she is last of the Pulsar, a phenomenally powerful member of a magical species called the Chosen. It will be her sole duty to protect the Imperium, a governing hierarchy, from all enemies, and to exceed the reputation of the Pulsar before her. So – no pressure there, then.


Leonie is swept away from her rigorous normality and taken to a world of magic. There, she is forced into a ceremony to join her soul to a guardian, Korren, who is both incredibly handsome and intensely troubled, a relationship for which ‘it’s complicated’ just really doesn’t cut it.

But Leonie is soon to learn that this ancient world is no paradise. With violent dissidents intent to overthrow the Imperium, and dark entities with their own agenda, she and Korren find themselves caught in a war where they will have to overcome their differences if they are to survive.

What living person do you most admire?

I really admire Queen Elizabeth II. I know that may seem strange, but look at everything she has done! She puts her country before anything else, and she is a symbol for women across the world. Long live the Queen!

What is your most prized possession?

I won’t count my family in that (hah). My freaking USB that has my entire life on it. I’ve lost it more times than you know but I always manage to find it. It has my stories on it, too!

Who is your favorite fictional character of all time?

Tough choice. I’d say Lyra from His Dark Materials. She is one of a kind. There is so much passion and love in her heart that it fills the whole trilogy. I will never forget her.

Who’s the favorite character that you created?

Leonie, the main character of GIRL OF MYTH AND LEGEND. She is by far the most inspirational person to me. She can be annoying, rude, and such a teenager, but she has a rare kindness and a rare hope that things will get better. She may not be strong physically, but she has a stronger heart than any other characters I’ve known.

What’s your idea of perfect happiness?

Laughing, crying, making pancakes, getting angry at stupid things, getting excited at stupid things … basically, living is the great happiness. Experiencing all kinds of emotions, even bad ones. Fully living!

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

My reluctance to accept myself. I have many self-confidence issues, especially regarding my personality. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know myself, and sometimes I feel like I do. But I have these moments when I hate who I am and want to change, but you know what? I don’t have to change, not unless I’m some evil jerk trying to destroy the world. Like a lot of people, the journey to loving who you are is a long and stressful one, but I figure, just shrug your shoulders. You don’t need to love yourself. Just be yourself.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

The complete and utter loss of hope. When you had hope, held it in your hand like a star cradled in your palm, and then had it ripped away from you forever. When there is no reaching hand to pull you out of the darkness.

On that happy note, thanks for having me here!

Giselle Simlett was born and raised in England. She has studied Creative Writing at both Gloucestershire University and the Open University. She has a diploma in Creative Writing, Language and Literature and will soon complete her BA Hons Open Degree.

She does not as yet have a degree in the power and responsible use of magic, but she does have a young son, which amounts to the same thing. She currently lives in Australia with her husband and son.


Developing Minds: An American Ghost Story by Jonathan LaPoma — Book Excerpt

Rise of the Sidenah by C.M. Story — book excerpt and author interview


Author: C.M. Story

Genre: YA Fantasy

Adrienna Vedica longs to build the creatures living in her imagination. One day, she hopes to sculpt them out of stone, creating great statues like those that guard the Celany village.

She doesn’t understand why everyone seems to disapprove.

It’s only when Tishaan, a powerful man in the high council, agrees to help her sculpt that Adrienna is finally able to pursue her passion. She dives into her work, but creates with such energy she collapses from exhaustion before seeing the final results, giving Tishaan time to hide her masterpieces away.

Her mentor, Sreng—the man she secretly loves—tries to convince her that Tishaan is using her, but she can’t abandon her art. Only when people start showing up dead does she think again. There’s something off about Tishaan…and then Sreng shows her one of her early works.

But something is wrong.

It’s alive. And it’s digging a grave.


Excerpt from Chapter 7, “Sacred Grounds” 

The rain woke her up. Small drops blew onto her cheeks and ran down her neck. Overhead, the network of branches shielded her from the bulk of it, but the wind blew the moisture in from the side.

Reluctant to leave, she clung to the stone and looked on the image of her father’s face. Having familiarized herself again with his features, the representation disappointed her. Too still, too stern, the eyes too vacant. This was nothing more than someone’s idea of her father. Looking at it now, she realized it was entirely inadequate. If she had the chance, she would do it over, carve it in a way that would reveal her father’s true spirit.

The rain streamed over the sculpture, pushing dirt trails past the ears, over the cheeks and down the chin. With the edge of her shirt, Adrienna wiped the face clean and then hurried across the grounds and ducked under the largest tree near the center. For a time she crouched there, undisturbed, but then something snapped off to the left. She jumped, senses alert.

The Tucadorr. It could have heard her screams. How could she have been so stupid?

She held her breath, but when the animal emerged, it was much smaller than the beast that haunted her dreams. Like an overweight river rodent it waddled through the bushes, making its way toward her. She guessed it to be about four hands high, its elbows on the ground, paws drawn up under its chin. Powerful back legs sprung forward in hops, after which it would wait, look around, and clack its long nails together.

It had no tail. Gray, wiry hair lay matted with clumps of mud, streams of dirty water pouring off its belly and onto the ground. Strings of drool escaped the side of its mouth. It drew its lips wide, uncovering pointed teeth, and then puckered them forward again. Thick eyes bulged from the side of its head, each eyeball moving independently of the other.

Adrienna stared. The creature was unlike any she had seen before, but still something felt familiar about it. Afraid to move lest she draw its attention, she remained by the tree while it shuffled forward, intent on its path. At one point she worried it was coming toward her, but then it passed by, neither eye seeming to take notice of her. On it went, heading east, stopping after every three hops. Ahead, she saw a dark shadow in its path, rectangular shaped, a shallow depression in the ground. Was this where it sought shelter in the storms?

The animal hurried forward now, no longer hopping but wobbling back and forth at an ungainly pace. The tongue slung about, elbows working like paws over the ground. At the hole it gazed hungrily for a moment and then tore into the dirt, claws slicing, hips protruding into the air. Sloppy mud slung wide behind it, some landing with a slap on other markers. On and on it worked, hopping about now and then to send the dirt another direction. Adrienna watched in horrid fascination. In the time it would take her to bathe, the creature had dug a deep, square hole.

A grave.


What living person do you most admire?

My mother, by far. She is one of the bravest and strongest people I know. She ended up in difficult situation when my older brother and I were very young, and she had the strength to get us all out of it so we could start over in a new location. For a long time she raised us as a single mom, and after the man I know as my father adopted us, she continued to be someone that I wanted to emulate. I consider myself very lucky to have her as such an important person in my life.
What is your most prized possession?

My health. I’m a health writer by day, which means that I’m continuously reminded of how difficult life can be when you’re unwell. I really feel for people who are struggling with disease and chronic conditions, and am grateful for each day that I feel strong and healthy.
Why do you write?

I’ve always enjoyed writing as a form of expression, I think because I was a shy child who was a little frightened by the world and the people in it, and felt that the page was the only really safe place to “share” my feelings. As someone who was always drawn to music (I started piano lessons in first grade, French horn lessons in fifth), I also liked the musicality of language, and enjoyed playing with words so that they created a certain wave or rhythm.

I didn’t start to get serious about writing stories, though, until I had graduated college with my degree in music education. I moved to a different state, which meant I couldn’t get a job until I took more classes to become certified in that state. I was a bit weary of college, so I chose to wait a bit. It was during this time I bought myself a word processor and started creating stories. I’ll never really know why the storytelling bug hit me right then, but I suspect it was because I hadn’t really found my “voice” in any other place, and something about the blank page called to me. Once I started indulging that longing, I felt a lot more like my true self, and that feeling hasn’t left.
Who’s your favorite writer?

I have a number of favorite writers—to list them all would be to take up far too much space on this blog—but some of my current favorites are Andre Dubus III, Margaret Atwood, Dennis Lehane, Neil Gaiman, Terry Goodkind, Gregory Maguire, and Kazuo Ishiguro.
Tell us about your creative process.
It’s messy! I usually start out with some image in my mind, and a main character, and just write. The first draft is a sort of unconscious spill. When things are going well, I often feel as if I’m just watching a movie in my head and recording the happenings on the page. I can get at some unique ideas this way, but it does mean that I have a lot of work to do in the second draft, as that’s when I have to clean it all up.

Thank you to Avenue Books for hosting me and Rise of the Sidenah!

Author Bio C M Story

M. Story has always been a fan of fantasy in all its many forms, including the kind she frequently indulged in during boring lectures in school. She didn’t try her hand at penning her own stories, however, until long after she’d gotten her Bachelor’s degree in music.

Once she sold her first short story, she got a writing job and never looked back. Today she runs a successful freelance writing and editing business out of her home in Idaho, and frequently travels to other inspiring places with her trusty laptop in tow. And yes, despite rumors to the contrary, “Story” is her real last name.

“Rise of the Sidenah” was inspired by gothic architecture, a tune by “The Calling,” and the idea that following the heart may cause pain, but is the only way to truly fulfill one’s purpose in life.

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Dead in a Park by B. L. Blair — Book Blitz

Mystery / Romance
Date Published: November 12, 2015

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When Leah Norwood finds the body of Donald Collins in the city park, she doesn’t know he is a distant relative. Young Donnie was a jewel thief and a career criminal. Hidden in the lining of his suit jacket was an exact replica of a ring that has been in Leah’s family for over a hundred years. After her home is burglarized, the sexy chief of police is convinced the ruby ring has something to do with the murder.
Leah wants to find out what happened to Donnie, but why would someone kill for a hundred year old ring? She discovers a connection between Donnie and the drug-dealing Cantono family, between the Cantono family and a jewelry appraiser, and between the jewelry appraiser and one of her own employees. Chief Griggs might be onto something. All clues lead back to the family ring.
Leah loves a good mystery. Can she find the killer before the killer strikes again?
“You didn’t know the victim?” Griggs asked when he returned his attention to me.
“I don’t think so, but I didn’t really see his face.” I paused and then asked, “Who was he?”
“We don’t know,” he replied. “He didn’t have any identification, no wallet, no keys, nothing.”
“How did he get here?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious,” I said innocently.
Griggs’ eyes were full of amusement as he looked at me, and Reddish laughed. They both know all about my curiosity. I love a good mystery. I read a lot of detective novels and try to solve the mystery along with the protagonist. Movies that feature a mystery are my favorite. If a crime makes the news, I take notes and follow along. I fancy myself a sideline detective. That trait may have been what got me almost killed just before Christmas.
“We don’t know,” Reddish answered my question. “The uniforms didn’t find any unaccounted for vehicle.”
David Reddish is a hard man to read. He has been a police officer for over thirty years and a detective for the Reed Hill Police Department for eight having moved to town from Dallas. He is a large man, attractive, with broad shoulders and flat stomach. He has skin the color of coffee with a dash cream, but it is his eyes that tell you he’s not someone you want to cross. They are hard and calculating.
“Was he murdered?” I asked softly.
“Oh, yes. It was murder,” Griggs replied.
The last time I found a body it had never occurred to me that the police would consider me a suspect. As a law-abiding citizen, I had just assumed that people knew I was innocent. My experience with the police showed me I was wrong. I looked at both Griggs and Reddish.
“Please tell me you don’t think I killed him.”
Griggs snorted. “No, we don’t think you killed him. He was taller than you, and his neck was broken. No way could you have done that.”
“It was fast and neat,” Reddish added and then turned to Griggs. “Probably someone with military or combat training.”
“Someone who knows how to kill with their hands,” Griggs said softly.
I swallowed. Candace had shot and killed two people in December and tried to kill me twice. She had been crazy, her behavior unexpected and unpredictable, which had made the situation scary. This sounded worse. A person who was calm and rational murdering someone with their bare hands was chilling. And I couldn’t forget about the weird shoe thing.
“Did you find his shoes?”
“No,” Griggs replied turning toward me.
“Why would someone want his shoes?”
“Who knows? There wasn’t much of a struggle although there were multiple sets of footprints. But all appeared to be made by people wearing shoes.” He turned away from me and back toward Reddish. “Between Leah and her dog stomping around, I doubt we’ll get any viable footprints.”
“Hey,” I said indignantly. Both men ignored me.
“Let’s keep the area secure anyway,” Griggs continued. “Send a team out to see if they can find anything. Maybe the shoes will show up somewhere else in the park.”
“Got it,” Reddish replied as he started to walk away. “See you around, Leah.”
“Bye, David,” I said reluctantly. I didn’t want to be alone with Griggs. It was awkward and unpleasant. I’m not exactly sure why he had kissed me and then disappeared from my life, but I wasn’t going to ask. I hadn’t thought he would be interested in me in the first place. Although not traditionally handsome, Griggs is an extremely attractive and sexy man. After waiting weeks for him to call or come by, I finally chalked it up to a gaffe on his part. Instead of telling me he wasn’t interested, he simply disappeared. If I hadn’t found this body, I probably would have never seen him again except in passing.
We stood there in silence for a few moments before Griggs said, “You can leave now. Thank you for your patience.”
He sounded so formal and polite. I didn’t like it. I gathered Harry’s leash, pulled him up, and started to walk away. “Well, I guess…I guess I’ll see you around.”
Griggs stepped back and let me pass. I hadn’t gotten very far before I heard him call my name. When I turned around, he was standing in the same spot with an odd look on his face. He rubbed his hand across his head and then gave me a slight smile. “It was good to see you, Leah.”
“Uh, yeah, you too,” I stuttered before we both turned and walked away.
About the Author

B. L. Blair writes simple and sweet romance and mystery/romance stories. Like most authors, she has been writing most of her life and has dozens of books started. She just needs the time to finish them.
She is the author of the Holton Romance Series and the Leah Norwood Mysteries. She enjoys reading books, writing books, and traveling wherever and as often as time and money allows. She is currently working on her latest book set in Texas, where she lives with her family.
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The Bipolar Millionaire and the Operation by John E. Wade II: Author Interview and Book Excerpt

bipolarmillionaireJohn E. Wade II, retired CPA, author, investor, television producer, and philanthropist, reveals in his memoir, The Bipolar Millionaire and the Operation, his personal struggle with bipolar disorder and his experience being the focus of an all-encompassing and benevolent entity he calls the Operation.
Wade takes the reader through his family experiences, political aspirations and beliefs, spiritual journey, relationship trials and errors, and battle with mental illness, as well as writes about how he feels he has been cured of the detrimental aspects of bipolar disorder.
With the help of a unique and powerful network he calls the Operation, and through religious beliefs, personal perseverance, and the help of friends, family, and his mental health professionals, Wade lives an active, creative, and successful life.
His memoir doesn’t end with contentment at achieving a balance in his life, however. Instead, Wade expresses a determined vision for the future, aiming to assist humanity in what he describes as achieving heaven on earth through his writing, political and spiritual endeavors, as well as through being the focus of the ever-pervasive Operation.


I was struggling and dropped into a walk from the jog required of fourth classmen. It was an autumn day in 1963, just a month after I’d had a near-fatal attack of meningitis, and I was still fighting to regain my strength. Panting for breath, I was confronted by a first classman. He asked very directly why I wasn’t jogging. I quickly replied that I had a medical excuse, knowing full well that the excuse had expired. He ordered me to produce the excuse, which I did. Noting its date, he nonetheless allowed me to proceed.

Soon, I was in the academy hospital, lying flat on my back in an almost catatonic state, unable to cope with my mental torment. Although this severe depression, the first in my life, was not diagnosed at the time, it must have been my first bipolar episode, possibly having been triggered by the recent attack of meningitis.

My mother and Carol, my then-girlfriend, came to try to revive me, but I don’t remember responding. Years later, Carol told me that I asked her to help me kill myself, but I have absolutely no memory of making such a request.

Until this illness I had been a model cadet. I had prepared physically according to academy guidelines, so the transition to basic cadet summer was rigorous but easier than it would have been without vigorous training.

One other thing that helped me during basic cadet summer was the stream of daily letters from Carol. My fellow cadets were jealous, partly because of the letters, but also because of the picture of her I had in my room. Even though it was black and white, it was clear that she had blond hair, a sweet smile, and a pleasing, pretty face. That face helped me get through the rest of what we all had to endure to complete our training.

Each week we were given certain “knowledge” to learn, such as types of aircraft or chains of command. I always spent part of Sunday afternoon memorizing the information so that I could recite it during Monday’s meals. The upperclassmen pointedly asked several questions of each basic cadet, which kept us from finishing our entire meal. The first classmen took turns performing the interrogation, but as the questions were considerably shorter than the answers, they always had plenty of time to eat. I always felt I was short-changed because I was the only one who knew the trivia from the first day it was due, and yet I didn’t get a chance to eat more than the other basic cadets.

At the end of basic cadet summer, all the cadets were subjected to a physical fitness test, and I scored the highest in my squadron. At about the same time, we also went on a survival exercise in the mountains for which we were organized into small groups with twenty-four hours’ worth of food and about a week’s time to find our way back to the academy. The experience was particularly taxing for me. I became so obsessed with saving my food that I still had some left when we got back to the academy.

After the final tests, those of us who successfully completed basic cadet summer became fourth classmen. My personal excitement was not long lasting, however. Although I had scored high marks on the physical tests, I was disappointed with my first academic grades, which included some Bs, as I was used to all As in high school. When I asked a first classman for his opinion, he said I did just fine considering that I came from a weak high school.

Basic cadet summer had ended—then the meningitis hit. I’ve since read that physical illness can trigger the onset of bipolar disorder, and although the diagnosis was not made at that time, I believe that is what had happened. My father eventually was diagnosed as having bipolar disorder also, so it appears that I was genetically predisposed to the condition, as is often the case.

I had entered the academy in June 1963, and I received an honorable medical discharge that December; whether I was right or wrong, I considered the situation a great disgrace. It was definitely a life-defining event for me, and I was overcome with depression.

But, there was another aspect to my failure at the Air Force Academy that I didn’t disclose to anyone else until years later: part of the reason I attended the academy was that I had presidential ambitions, which I knew would be shattered by the stigma of mental illness. I internalized and brooded over that stigma for the next forty years.

To make matters even worse, when I finally got home I also lost my girlfriend.

It was quite a shock to me and had a negative effect on my confidence with the women I would date for most of the rest of my life.

I have often wondered what would have happened had I not had the meningitis and bipolar episode. What aspects of my life would have been altered? It’s a haunting possibility to consider.

Still, even though the realization of some of my dreams has eluded me, I have had and am having an interesting, fulfilling life in spite of bipolar disorder, and I invite you to understand its role as I work toward what I believe is my destiny.


Tell us about this story.  

It is a deep, honest and interesting true story of my life to date.  It’s an unusual life from 1963 on—when I had my first episode of bipolar disorder.  I struggled for about eight years before I even got a correct diagnosis and lithium, the first at least partially effective drug for the illness.  I had had a few hospitalizations prior to then.  But I’m very proud that I never gave up and was the first in my accounting class at the University of Georgia, president of the accounting honor society, earning both my BBA and MA followed by passing the CPA the first time.

I had two marriages that succeeded beautifully for a while and then failed, the first producing my daughter with whom I’m extremely proud along with my son-in-law and two grandchildren.

Jobs, good jobs came and went, sometimes my bipolar disorder interfered, sometimes not.

In late 1998 the Operation—that’s what I call it—came into my life.  It is a highly secretive government and private entity that takes on big tasks like what it sought for me; curing the negative aspects of my bipolar disorder, guiding me spiritually and making me a force in the Republican Party.  A good part of the book explains how the Operation used transaction analysis to accomplish these lofty goals.

What is transactional analysis and how was it used on me?  The method was to use thousands of acts directed at me—intentionally overheard conversations, direct therapy and messages from other persons of all types, vehicles and all sorts of unusual and yet normal acts—signs to me, ordinary to others.

Why do you write?  

It has become a compulsion.  My mother was an English major and she was careful to teach her four children proper English, so I really say she taught me to write.  But I went through business school and worked as a CPA in public, private and governmental accounting.

But on January 2, 1998 I woke up and wrote the start of what was to become a complete unedited manuscript, Focus Investing.  Eventually the book was edited and completed with a publishing contract signed by me with John Wiley & Sons, but the deal fell through and the book was never published.  I continued writing with a book of essays which I self-published, Deep Within My Heart.  I conceived, financed and partially wrote How To Achieve a Heaven on Earth, Ronald Reagan’s Wisdom for the Twenty-First Century and A Glimpse of Heaven on Earth.  This book, The Bipolar Millionaire and the Operation is the first book that I have authored completely and has been published.  I have high hopes and prayers for it.

I have for years carried around in one of my back pockets a personal notebook, and I write many times as I dine alone.  Many of these writings are typed up by an assistant, go through an editor and are placed on my websites as blogs.  I also love to review worthwhile nonfiction books, going through them word for word the first time and then two to five times, writing my review on the last time through.

Where would you most like to live?  

Right where I do, in the Garden District in New Orleans.  I was blessed with inheritances that allowed me to purchase a comfortable home, renovate it and care for the wonderful grounds in the front and back as well as inside too.  Of course, New Orleans is such a unique place; the food, architecture, music, streetcars, World War II Museum, Audubon Park and City Park…on and on with so many festivals to celebrate.

What is your motto?  

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try and try again.

Who’s your favorite writer?  

Walter Isaacson. He gives great attention to details without becoming boring and also he writes about such interesting people.  I’ve read his biography of Albert Einstein and Steve Jobs and listened to his audio book biography of Benjamin Franklin.


Praise for The Bipolar Millionaire and the Operation by John E. Wade II:
“The book is 5 stars without a doubt.”- nursenancy26, Amazon Reviewer
” This is a must read book for any caring person.  What an interesting life story! John Wade writes an insightful memoir of his struggles with bipolar disorder while the “Operation” guides his existence and spiritual journey.
John Wade’s experiences with bipolar disorder and his “cure” should give heart to anyone with the disease and teach the importance of kindness, patience, and respect from those of us who know anyone with the disease.”- Rebecca A Morgan, Amazon Reviewer
” John Wade has learned to overcome his weaknesses and triumph over his disorder. Everyone who has loved ones with Bipolar Disorder or those who are struggling with it should read this well written book.”- E L  Davis, Amazon Reviewer
Praise for How To Achieve Heaven On Earth by John E. Wade II:
“These essays encourage readers to reflect on their own means of achieving peace in their lives, making a fine addition to any general lending library!”-Midwest Book Review
“A fascinating octopus of a book on global change, reaching in all directions at once.”-Library Journal
About John E. Wade II:
John E Wade II Bipolar millionaireBronze Medalist of the 2014 Living Book Award in the category of Social Activism/Charity, John E. Wade II, born in Decatur, Alabama and longtime New Orleans resident, is a philanthropist, an investor, and a retired accountant, who is an active member of his church.
Wade began writing in 1998 and has published many essays, blogs, and book reviews, as well as one book filled with his own essays, Deep Within My Heart, and three books that he has co-authored: How to Achieve a Heaven on Earth, Glimpses of Heaven on Earth, and Ronald Reagan’s Wisdom for the Twenty-First Century.
In his free time Wade likes to travel the world and learn about other cultures.  He also enjoys exploring his hometown of New Orleans, enjoying the unique food, architecture, and music.  Wade also regularly attends New Orleans Saints games as well as football games at Mississippi State University, where the Davis Wade Stadium was named after his father.