Charity Sunday: Education and Literacy in the Time of COVID - #CharitySunday #RoomToRead

Welcome to another Charity Sunday! Today I am supporting one of my favorite organizations, Room to Read. Room to Read helps to set up locally-controlled and managed programs to increase access to education and to encourage reading in poorer countries including India, Nepal, Rwanda, Sri Lanka and Jordan, with a special focus on learning opportunities for girls.

I get lots of fund-raising emails from the causes I support (and from others that want my cash). Room to Read consistently talks about their successes and progress in those emails – rather than wringing their hands and trying to tell me how terrible everything is. I truly appreciate this. The world faces problems that seem insurmountable, but in fact local efforts by passionate individuals make a difference. I remember one email that showed up in my box at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, talking about a teacher in India who, when schools were shut down, rode his bike around the village, every day, delivering books to each of his students. A small gesture, perhaps – but one that could have a lasting impact on a few, important lives.

The pandemic has disrupted education for 9 out of 10 children in the world, with children in low income countries the worst affected. In response, Room to Read has supported a range of “distance learning” programs that depend not on the Internet (which is not available in most of their target areas) but on human connectivity. You can read more about these programs here: https://give.roomtoread.org/campaign/covid-19-urgent-appeal/c278379

So, today I will donate $2 to Room to Read’s COVID urgent appeal, for each comment I receive.

And to thank you for joining today’s event, I’ve got another exclusive excerpt from my new release The H-Gene. This MM scifi erotic romance takes place two and a half decades from today, in a U.S. that has been devastated and depopulated by a terrible Plague. Even before the Plague, however, the country was on a downward trajectory, due to global warming, environmental degradation, natural and man-made disasters and intergroup conflict. Education has declined to the point that some citizens no longer know how to read. Propaganda nevertheless survives...

Exclusive Excerpt

By the time Dylan and Rafe had finished consulting with Hammer, returned to the locker room and dressed, dusk was falling. Shadows made the shattered landscape of the exclusion zone even more forbidding. Rafe had relaxed somewhat during their technical discussion of streaming servers, encrypted feeds and specialized codecs, but now, as they made their way back to the gate, Dylan felt the other man’s unease.

The fear was contagious. Sweat gathered in Dylan’s armpits. Adrenaline boosted his pulse. Three days had elapsed since their escape, more than enough time for the Guardians to have disseminated images and particulars of the two fugitives. As they trudged along Market, hoods pulled over their masked faces, Dylan ventured a glance up at one of the screens. Just the usual programming,Technicolor fantasies of peace and plenty—glimpses of a world that was long gone.

He monitored the broadcast while he and Rafe waited to cross the street at one of the remaining traffic signals. It was six p.m., what passed for rush hour these days in Sanfran. A steady stream of miscellaneous vehicles flowed past.

A public service announcement popped up, full of chubby babies and clean-cut, beaming parents, offering free fertility augmentation. This was followed by an ad for Saturday’s rally, details posted both in English words and in simple icons that made reading unnecessary. There were no security advisories, no mug shots of his face, or Rafe’s.

He recalled his theory, that the Guardians might be unwilling to publicly admit his escape. That didn’t necessarily lessen the danger. A mini-copter droned overhead. He dropped his eyes to the ground, hiding behind his minimalist disguise, jumpy as a rabbit expecting the swoop of a hawk.

The red LED finally switched to green. Rafe strode forward into the intersection. The movement jolted Dylan out of his nervous fugue. He hurried after his lover, trying to catch up.

“Halt!” The flat, mechanical voice was a remembered nightmare. Dylan looked over his shoulder. A Robbie loomed on the corner they’d just left, its black carapace flickering in the light from the vidscreen. Its multi-function gripper extruded the sparking prongs of a tasegun.

“Halt, citizen 33609861022. Surrender, by order of the Guardians.”

Dylan sprinted across the street, snatching at Rafe’s sweatshirt. “Hurry!” He kept his voice down, not wanting to attract the attention of other pedestrians. They might be more deadly than the android. “Come on!” The signal had changed again and, for the moment, the Robbie was trapped on the opposite side.

Rafe gave a single glance backwards and understood immediately. He loped up the sidewalk, moving fast, but not running, not yet. Dylan struggled to keep up with the pace of his longer-legged companion.

Ignoring the red light, the hulking robot stepped into the road. Vehicles squealed to a stop. The Robbie marched across the road, each stride covering twice as much distance as Dylan’s own. People on the sidewalk shrank away from the ambulatory tank barreling along the broken pavement. “Halt! Halt!” the Robbie continued to intone, waving the Taser in their direction, gaining on them by the second.

“Run!” Rafe yelled back at him, following his own advice. The powerful black man streaked along Market, then ducked into a side street. Dylan raced after him, breathing hard as he strained to catch up. The Robbie was nearly in range. Desperate, Dylan summoned every ounce of energy and channeled it to his pumping legs.

The street sloped upward. Rafe had almost reached the top of the hill, a good twenty yards ahead. Dylan’s calves screamed from the effort. His chest ached with each labored breath. His hood had slipped off and his hair clung to his forehead, soaked with sweat. I won’t go back, he told himself, pushing himself to the limit. I’d rather die.

***

Remember, every one of your comments helps to secure an education and improve the future for young women in low income countries. And please do visit the other authors who are participating in Charity Sunday today. (You'll find their links below.) Each one is supporting a cause dear to his or her heart.

Charity Sunday: Room to Read - #CharitySunday #Literacy #BlogHop

Nearly two years ago, I dedicated a Charity Sunday post to Room to Read.

Room to Read is an organization promoting literacy, education and gender equality worldwide, but especially in lower income countries. Since it was founded in 2000, Room to Read has constructed over 1,900 schools and established more than 17,000 libraries. The charity has published more than 1,100 original local language children’s titles and distributing over 15.5 million books. More than 31,000 girls have received enhanced educational opportunities and life skills training. Overall, Room to Read has impacted the lives of more than 10 million children, in places like Laos, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Tanzania, Cambodia and South Africa.

I got an incredible response to that post. I’m guessing this is because people who follow my blog love to read as much as I do, and deeply appreciate the importance of literacy. Books are our joy; we want to share that joy.

So my post today is a reprise. For each comment I receive on this post, between now and next month, I will donate one dollar to Room to Read. If you’re here, reading this – please take a minute or two to comment. It doesn’t cost you a penny to do a bit of good for the world.

Today is also our first attempt at making Charity Sunday into a multi-author event. After my usual excerpt, you’ll find a list of links to the sites of other authors who are participating today. Note that each individual author chooses his or her own charity to support, and decides how much to donate. I’m just the organizer!

Speaking of excerpts, here’s a sexy bit from my recently released erotic romance The Heart of the Deal. Not much reading going on here – but it’s definitely about female empowerment!

My father always recommended physical activity as an antidote to stress. So, here I am at Proscenium, lately my favorite club. I need to move, to dance, perhaps to indulge in more specialized exercise.

Proscenium is housed in a remodeled movie house from the forties. The stage has been extended out to become a dance floor. A carved and gilded ceiling arches high overhead, crisscrossed by multicolored lasers. With the seats removed, the sloping orchestra pit gives one a slightly dangerous feeling of vertigo. Like the stage, it is packed with writhing bodies clothed in vinyl, spandex, fake fur, and leather. I see a good deal of bare skin as well.

The main balcony is equipped with a bar and crowded with wobbly tables and chairs. The curtained side balconies are also open, available for more private encounters.

I am in my Asian bitch goddess mode. I have pulled my hair back into a long, tight ponytail that hangs down to my waist. I am wearing butter-soft, black leather: laced vest, miniskirt, stiletto-heeled boots, broad studded belt. From that belt hangs an elegant little flogger, a statement and an invitation. My eyelids are silver and my lips are scarlet. I am gorgeous, I know, an exotic vision of female power.

I stride into the churning mass of dancers on the stage and begin to dance. The music pulses, alien and compelling. Techno is not usually to my taste, but tonight it suits my mood.

Swirling, grinding my hips, flicking my hair from side to side, bathing in the heat of the flesh around me, I am beginning to feel better. Richard Martell had best beware if he plans on crossing Ruby Chen.

Part of me is lost in the beat and the movement. But I am also scanning the crowd, seeking an appropriate partner. I notice him just as he sees me. He is a bear of a man, with lush black hair and a beard. He’s dressed in medieval mode, a flowing shirt of royal blue whose open-laced neck shows more hair on his chest. Riding boots, leather wrist-cuffs, a chain-mail bag at his waist. Despite his size, he moves well. His tight suede leggings show off his muscled thighs. As I hold his gaze, I also can see the telltale swelling at his groin.

With the slightest motion of my head, I summon him to me. He towers above me, despite my four inch heels, but when I fix my eyes on his, he cannot sustain the contact. Instead, he looks down at the instrument of punishment on my belt, half-fearful, half-eager. He licks his lips.

“Let’s dance,” I say, more a command than a suggestion. He nods, and we begin to move together.

I shake my shoulders, my hips. Thrust my breasts forward, so that the thong lacings part and he can see the shadowy valley of my cleavage. My body is close to his, close enough for me to smell his nervous sweat, but I do not allow us to touch. My crotch dampens. That familiar, demanding ache rises in my sex. I trail my fingers through the air, across his body, a hair’s breadth from his bulking erection. So little space between us—does he catch the musky scent of my desire?

I lean a little closer, so that he can hear me over the whine of the synthesizer. “You were staring at my whip. Do you like it?”

Underneath his beard, he blushes. He nods, reluctant but obviously excited.

“Do you want it?” I ask, pushing him further. “You will have to earn it, you know.”

The music is too loud for me to catch his response. But I see his answer in his face.

“Come with me, then.” I turn and slink toward the side corridor, heading for one of the private balconies. I do not look back, but I can feel him following me, sense his eyes on the tight leather that sheathes my hips.

When he parts the velvet curtains, I am already ready for him, sitting on one chair, legs apart with a booted foot on each of two others.

“Remove your shirt. And kneel.”

He does not require more explicit instructions. He pulls his lovely blue tunic over his head. His torso is powerful and darkly furred. His bulk making him a bit clumsy, he lowers himself to the appropriate position between my thighs, then looks up at me for further orders.

Buy Links for The Heart of the Deal

Kinky Literature

https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/6188-the-heart-of-the-deal-business-bondage-discipline-and-desire/

Amazon US

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07SJY8PTC

Amazon UK

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07SJY8PTC

Smashwords

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/942426

Barnes and Noble

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-heart-of-the-deal-lisabet-sarai/1131920310?ean=2940163239221

Kobo

https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/the-heart-of-the-deal-business-bondage-discipline-and-desire

Add on Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46258845-the-heart-of-the-deal

Please leave a comment letting me know your thoughts, and share the gift of reading. Then I hope you’ll visit the other authors who are participating this Sunday.

Here's the direct link to the Calendar Girls post:
https://rusticatinginthetropics.com/2019/08/25/charity-sunday-calendar-girls-florida/ 

The Gift of Reading - #literacy #UnitedNations #charity #RoomToRead

The other day I went to a big city hospital for an evaluation. It was a huge, crowded place, busy enough to be rather confusing. Everywhere on the walls were signs, telling patients where to go, what procedures to follow, which windows were to be used for submitting prescriptions, which ones for picking up XRays, which for making same-day versus future appointments, and so on.

I managed to accomplish my objectives without too much of a problem. As I sat waiting for my turn to speak to the doctor, though, gazing at all the signs, I suddenly realized how much more difficult the entire process would have been if I had been unable to read.

My parents taught me to read when I was five. I haven't stopped since. I generally read several books a week for entertainment. That doesn't include the newspapers, technical documents, research papers and professional journals I read—nor all the websites and blogs. I tend to take reading skill for granted. But my experience at the hospital reminded me that not everyone is fortunate enough to be literate.

The 2008 film “The Reader” vividly depicts the limitations imposed by illiteracy. Kate Winslet plays a woman in her thirties who somehow never learned to read. She seduces a younger man by asking him to read aloud—never revealing the true reason that she needs his services. Her shame causes her to ultimately push him away, though he loves her deeply. Being illiterate makes her life difficult and ultimately results in her being sent to prison for crimes that she did not commit. Ultimately she teaches herself to read while she is imprisoned, providing a ray of hope in what is otherwise a rather dark movie.

As it happens, today, September 8^th, is International Literacy Day. This event, established by the United Nations and observed annually, is an opportunity for governments, civil society and stakeholders to highlight improvements in world literacy rates, and reflect on the world's remaining literacy challenges.

Many of us take the ability to read for granted. In many countries and societies, though, literacy is the beyond the reach of many individuals—especially girls and women. The notion of living my life without the pleasure of books horrifies me. Meanwhile, I recognize how much of a handicap illiteracy can be for someone trying to function in our modern world.

That’s why I support the charity Room to Read. Room to Read works in countries like Bangladesh, Laos, Nepal and Zambia, countries where poverty is rampant and both practical and cultural obstacles to literacy exist. The motto of this charity is “We believe that world change starts with educated children”. I couldn’t agree more. 

Today, in honor of International Literacy Day, I’m making a donation to Room to Read. Would you like to join me?

Maybe you don’t have the funds to spare. That’s okay. You can help in many ways: by donating used books you’ve already read to your local library or community center; by volunteering as a tutor or mentor; by reading to your children or grandchildren.

The ability to read is a precious gift.

Meanwhile, I'm newly grateful that my parents helped me to acquire my lifelong love of reading. As I get older and I can do less physically, I reassure myself with the notion that when I'm really ancient, I'll finally get the chance to tackle all those books that I haven't gotten to yet. This may be naive, but I find the thought extremely comforting.

News flash! I just got an email from Room To Read, indicating that all donations between now and the end of September will be doubled by an anonymous donor!

Charity Sunday: Room for Reading - #CharitySunday #Literacy #NewRelease

Welcome to this month’s Charity Sunday! Like most authors, I’ve always been an avid reader. A love of books and reading is one of the most valuable gifts one can give to young people – simultaneously a deep pleasure and an invaluable tool for survival.

Hence, this month, I am supporting Room to Read, an organization promoting literacy, education and gender equality worldwide, but especially in lower income countries. Their motto: World Change Starts with Educated Children. 

Since it was founded in 2000, Room to Read has constructed over 1,900 schools and established more than 17,000 libraries. The charity has published more than 1,100 original local language children’s titles and distributing over 15.5 million books. More than 31,000 girls have received enhanced educational opportunities and life skills training. Overall, Room to Read has impacted the lives of more than 10 million children, in places like Laos, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Tanzania, and South Africa.

As is usual on Charity Sundays, I will donate one dollar for each comment I receive on this post, between now and next month's Charity Sunday. So if you’re here, reading this – take a minute or two to comment. It doesn’t cost you a penny to do a bit of good for the world.

Of course, I’m also here to entertain you and make your visit worthwhile. Here’s a bit from my taboo erotic romance Miranda’s Masks. The choice seems appropriate since my heroine Miranda Cahill is a graduate student working on her PhD in literature.

In this exclusive excerpt, Miranda meets the hero, and explains her unconventional dissertation topic.

The grizzled head of Harold Scofield poked through the door. “Hello, Miranda. I am sorry to intrude, but I have someone to whom I would like to introduce you.” Miranda smiled to herself; her genial thesis advisor always sounded like a grammar textbook. The gray-bearded figure in suspenders bustled in, followed by an attractive young man in dark-framed eyeglasses.

“Miranda, I would like to present Mark Anderson, our new lecturer. Mark will be handling the Dickens course for the summer session.”

“Mark, this is Miranda Cahill, my most promising graduate student.” Miranda blushed, and Dr. Scofield’s eyes twinkled. “Miranda has chosen a rather controversial topic for her thesis, a new interpretation of the corpus of Victorian erotica.”

The newcomer’s polite smile expanded to a grin. “Really. That’s fascinating. Sounds far more—stimulating—than my dissertation on the metaphorical significance of orphans in Dickens and his contemporaries.”

Miranda’s blush deepened as she noted the double entendre. She met his teasing gaze, almost defiantly. “Yes, it is an intriguing topic, and I believe one of considerable literary and social significance, as well.” He had thick, dark hair, slightly tousled. His eyes behind the glasses were velvety brown with glints of gold. In his face, she saw intelligence, energy, and humor.

“Miranda has championed an unusual theory, that the explosion of sexually-oriented writing during the latter half of the nineteenth century was a reflection of actual practices, rather than a reaction against repressive public morals.” Her advisor appeared to be enjoying the role of agent provocateur. “She believes that the detailed accounts of sexual adventure and aberration published during the era chronicled real experiences, not merely fantasies.”

“Hmm.” Their bespectacled companion looked both amused and interested. “What evidence do you have to support this proposition?”

“Well, to begin with,” said Miranda, automatically adopting an academic tone, “a significant fraction of these writings are first person accounts. And a surprising number are related from a woman’s perspective. If this were primarily a literature of fantasy and titillation, I would expect a male point-of-view to dominate, as it does in modern pornography.” Miranda was encouraged to see that her audience listened attentively and gave due consideration to her points.

“Secondly, these tales are full of real-world details and commentary that would be superfluous and even distracting in fictional erotica. The protagonists discuss social issues such as poverty, child abuse, oppression of the lower classes, things that can only detract from a work intended as escapist fantasy. Even a hack pornographer knows better than to mention the unpleasant or the mundane, illegitimate pregnancies, unpaid bills, rising damp. Yet references to such items are common in the corpus.

“Finally, I find in many of these writings a thoughtfulness that conflicts with the conventions of the pornographic genre. The narrators are engaged in a wide variety of sexual activities, which are described in vivid and provocative detail. At the same time, in many cases, they reflect on their own desires and behaviors, sometimes justifying themselves in the face of the official morality, sometimes castigating themselves for weakness and sinfulness. Either way, there is a psychological depth that would be redundant in fictional erotica.”

“So, what you are saying,” interposed Mark with a grin, “is that a fictional character would simply go ahead and bugger his maid, whereas an individual writing a clandestine diary would spend some time and effort wondering why he wanted to bugger his maid, before he got around to actually doing it?”

“No, no, that’s not it at all!” Miranda, embarrassed and flustered, wondered if the new instructor had been reading her manuscript over her shoulder. Her eyes flashed. “You’re not willing to take me seriously, any more than the submission review committee for the Association for Modern Literature!”

“Now, Miranda,” soothed her advisor. “Mark was just teasing you.” Looking again at the attractive stranger, Miranda saw that Scofield was telling the truth.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Mark held out his hand like a peace offering. “I really am delighted to meet you. Your theory is unconventional and provocative, but who knows, it might actually be true.” His skin was cool and dry, the pressure of his fingers firm and confident. “Let me take you out for coffee, and you can tell me more about what your research has turned up thus far.”

As he released her hand, he brushed his fingers lightly against her palm.

The secret, sensual gesture terrified her. Miranda found herself reacting as she so often did in the presence of a man who desired her. She felt herself tense, contract, her fears and uncertainties condensing into a dense, cold knot under her solar plexus. Her face was stiff and wooden as she tried to smile. “Thank you, but I can’t right now. I have an incredible amount of work to get done.”

“Diligent, industrious Miranda,” her advisor scolded her lightly. “You need to take more time for yourself. It is Saturday, after all.”

“Thanks, but I need to work harder. I need more evidence to support my theory. Deeper study, of a larger number of texts.”

“Please…” Mark began, disappointment plain in his voice. Then he saw clearly that she would not be swayed. “Well, maybe another time.” He smiled so warmly that the icy knot thawed slightly. “I definitely would like to get to know you better, Miranda.”

~~~

Barring any unforeseen issues, the book should be out at the end of the week. Don’t worry, I’ll let everyone know!

Meanwhile... why not leave a comment and share the gift of reading?

https://www.roomtoread.org/