UNBRIDLED: A TALE OF A DIVORCE RANCH just became the Award Winner in the Fiction and Literature: Chick Lit/Women’s Lit category of the International Book Awards 2010!
Archive for the ‘General’ Category
UNBRIDLED: A TALE OF A DIVORCE RANCH has been named a Mainstream Fiction winner of the 17th Annual Writer’s Digest International Self-Published Book Awards 2010!
UNBRIDLED: A TALE OF A DIVORCE RANCH has been named the Award-Winner in the Fiction & Literature: Chick Lit/Women’s Lit category of the National Best Books 2009 Awards, sponsored by USA Book News!
Marilu is publicizing UNBRIDLED: A TALE OF A DIVORCE RANCH in a series of talk radio interviews nationwide!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Money Matters Radio Network with Gina Ghioldi; Nationally Syndicated to 9 Stations
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
KCBR-AM 1040; Colorado Springs CO; 9:00 a.m. MT
Monday, January 4, 2010
WOCA-AM 1370; Ocala FL; 9:00 a.m. ET
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
WDYK-FM 100.5; Cumberland MD, 11:30 a.m. ET
Airing Week of January 11, 2010 (Monday, Wednesday or Thursday)
WNTN-AM 1550; Boston MA, 6:30 a.m. and 11:30 a.m. ET
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
WACK-AM 1420; Rochester NY; 8:35 a.m. ET
Friday, January 15, 2010
WNAV-AM 1430; Annapolis/Baltimore MD; 9:35 a.m. ET
Airing Week of January 18, 2010
Issues Today Radio Network with Bob Gourley; Nationally Syndicated to 188 Stations
Thursday, January 21, 2010
KAHI-AM 950; Sacramento, CA; Noon-1:00 p.m. Pacific
The Dec09/Jan10 issue of BUST Magazine article, “The Six-Week Cure,” written by Priya Jain, features an interview with Marilu and information about UNBRIDLED: A TALE OF A DIVORCE RANCH!
by Marilu Norden
We live by rote and fail to see
The beauty that surrounds us
Of simple things like grass and trees,
A starlit sky, a moon that’s full
And music that astounds us,
The air we breathe, the food we eat,
A kiss, a smile, a friendly word
All Nature that abounds thus.
For all is but a brief encounter
Of life upon this sphere,
So if love comes let’s hold it close
Let’s taste its beauty clear,
And lose the rote that keeps us blind
To all love offers here.
Contemplating divorce? Check out the California Healthy Marriages Coalition!
Back in the days of vaudeville, Gypsy Rose Lee and her mom found themselves booked into a third rate theater specializing in the dubious art of stripping. This was comically dramatized in the 1962 film version where the young “Gypsy” is introduced to the inner sanctum of stripping by a trio of strippers, each insisting, in her own inimitable way, that to succeed “You Gotta Have A Gimmick.” “Gimmick” is yesterday’s word for today’s all-purpose “hook,” as in: if you want to guarantee stardom on the world stage “You Gotta Have a Hook.” But in vaudeville “hook” meant if you gave a lousy performance somebody from backstage would wield a big, long hook and reel you right off the proscenium. There went your rent money and your reputation in show business. Not so today. Have a great hook and you’re in the running for whatever the media demands.
(I’ve been busy working on my second novel, The Ghost Painter, a paranormal thriller set in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The following is an excerpt in which the heroine — a New York artist — attends her first Santa Fe art opening.)
The level of chatter at the Cross of the Martyrs Gallery was rapidly rising. Too many bodies in too small a space, thought she, as she surveyed the crowded room while holding a small plastic glass in one hand and balancing some kind of tiny black-olive-cream-cheese-on-puff-pastry-thingamajig in the other. Never had she seen such a conglomeration of costume “get-ups” in one place without the occasion being Halloween. Nor had she seen so many females running the gamut of southwestern fashion choices. There was everything from Indian-style velvet broomstick skirts in rich colors of ruby-red, aqua, gold, and green, all topped off with high-necked or off-the-shoulder satin blouses, a preponderance of silver-and-turquoise jewelry, and fancy cowboy boots. Some flaunted their slim figures with sexy, skin-tight jeans, fringed sueded vests, and cowboy hats, along with the usual Indian jewelry. The men were no less flamboyant in their Western-style shirts, jeans with silver-buckled belts, high-heeled, alligator-skin boots, ostentatious hunks of turquoise-and-silver bolo ties, and the obsequiousness of the occasional Stetson. What a show, she thought. As for the main event, because of the crowd, Angelina hadn’t been able to get close enough to view the paintings hanging on the white-washed walls since she’d arrived.
High up a winding road in the hills of Hollywood on a summer day in 1956, I drove my little gray ‘49 Pontiac, trying to ignore the tannish ribbon of smog obscuring the view of the city spread out below me. Finding the address I’d been given, I parked, then mounted steep stone steps to the wood-carved front door of a white stucco, Spanish-style house. I rang the bell and was greeted by a slim, blonde man who smilingly beckoned me to follow him down a few Mexican-tiled steps into a sunken sala, heavy with oriental rugs and wrought-iron and leather furniture.
“Hi. I’m Leighton,” said the man. “Have trouble finding the place? Brando likes his privacy so the place is somewhat hidden.”
Brando!? “Oh, no. Thank you.” I stood, smiling nervously, my portfolio of music held tightly to my chest. “My agent gave me good directions.”
Inspiration for my newest series of water media/oil paintings on canvas springs from my love of musical theatre, a genre I was happily involved in and captivated by at a certain time in my life, and for which will forever hold a fascination for me. What fun to sing and dance across a stage to the accompaniment of a full orchestra, or similar tuneful support, acting out and being part of a plot (book) enhanced and embellished by an unforgettable (in most cases) musical score!