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.

Brainy (#intelligence #education #TheGazillionaireAndTheVirgin)

Write what you know, we authors are often told. This oft-cited advice may not be useful for some genres, of course. How many of us have met a vampire? Or a billionaire, for that matter? Even so, our real world lives will necessarily have a significant influence on our stories. We write about places we’ve been, jobs we’ve done, situations we’ve observed. It’s not just that this is easier (though that may sometimes be true). Our writing is likely to be more authentic and realistic when it’s based on what we’ve actually experienced.

My long bio says “Lisabet has more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre.” I have spent many years in universities and research institutions. Hence, it might not be surprising that some of my characters tend to be better educated than average. The heroines of my first three novels all have masters degrees. Miranda, in my second novel Incognito, is working on her doctorate, and her lover Mark is doing post-PhD research at her university when they meet. In fact, the plot of Incognito revolves at least partially around the content of Miranda’s thesis—an academic study of Victorian erotic fiction.

In my novel The Gazillionaire andthe Virgin, Rachel is a physicist turned businesswoman. Theo is a junior professor of computer science. The story more or less requires that both main characters have PhDs. There’s even a bit of technical stuff in the book, though I’ve tried to keep it simple.

I worry a bit that some readers might not identify with characters that have such lofty academic credentials. Really, Rachel and Theo are just like anyone else. They have desires, fears, and needs. They get up and go to work in the morning. They brush their teeth. They make love. Yes, they are both pretty brainy, but their intelligence reveals itself in fairly subtle ways. They’re not Mr. Spock or Doctor Who.

When I start having these doubts (and all of us authors do have these crises, when they’re sure nobody will like their books!), I remind myself that romance is, at some level fantasy. The market makes it clear that readers have no trouble imagining themselves in a relationship with a billionaire. Hopefully the same will be true for a hero with a lot of education.

Here’s a bit from the book to whet your appetite.

~ ~ ~

Theo:

She’s not what I expected. She’s soft and full, not lean and angular like most Californians. None of the gym-toned muscles everyone sports here in the land of sunshine. And she’s young, much younger than someone so filthy rich has any right to be. Her designer watch must have cost more than two months of my professor’s salary. On the other hand, I can hardly complain about her wealth, can I, since my pet project is the beneficiary of her largesse?

Hunkering down in the leather-upholstered back seat of her disgustingly opulent vehicle, I try to calm myself. I’m sweating like a pig, and my muscles are in knots. I gulp down orange juice from the bar I’d ridiculed and focus on my breathing the way Dr. Hopkins has taught me. I force myself not to count the telephone poles whizzing by. I know that will only make it worse.

When I pat my pocket, I can’t help grinning a bit. Two hundred fifty thousand! We can equip a new mobile development lab and hire two trainers for a year. Or take our outreach into junior high schools. Or even expand to some of the Rust Belt cities where the recession has hit particularly hard...

No, this wouldn’t be enough for that. But Dr. Zelinsky—Rachel—had indicated there might be more.

Rachel. Bringing up the search engine on my phone, I type in her name. I should have done this before the meeting, of course, but I was much too nervous. Up until the moment her limousine pulled up in front of my building, I still thought I might back out.

The screen fills with images and links. There’s even a Wikipedia article. I flip through the text, digesting the basics. Born in Brooklyn. An MBA from Harvard and a PhD—in physics!—from MIT. Looking Glass is her third company. She sold the first to IBM and the second to Microsoft.

A real high roller. And MirrorWorld is a huge hit—the main article on the virtual environment runs pages and pages. Since the Looking Glass IPO almost two years ago, the company stock has increased in value by an unbelievable 224%.

She can afford a quarter of a million for charity. For her, that’s petty change.

By the time we arrive back at my complex, I’m pretty much back to normal. At least what counts as normal for me. I nod at the uniformed driver who opens the door for me, trying to pretend I do this every day. The Vietnamese gardener is spreading new mulch on the flower beds in front of my building. Averting my eyes and ignoring his greeting—after all, I can barely understand his English— I hustle up the wooden steps to my second floor condo.

It’s quiet and cool inside. The soft hiss of the air conditioning soothes me. I flip on the stereo, something by Brahms, turn the volume down low, then stretch out on my bed, fully clothed.

I made it.

The money is mine, free and clear. I’ll ask my sister to deposit it tomorrow. I don’t need to see Rachel Zelinsky again.

I can’t stop thinking about her, though. I recall one of the pictures from the web article, a black and white photo of a skinny teenager with a mop of curls, standing in front of some science fair project. She didn’t have those curves yet. No, but I recognize the expression, that determined set of her mouth and those laser-sharp eyes under the dark eyebrows. She was going to win—there was no question.

Something about her makes my stomach do somersaults and my mind turn to oatmeal. I can’t concentrate. All the blood rushes to my cock....

Oh, it’s like that.

Of course it’s like that. Who wouldn’t want her? She’s clever and articulate, self-confident and successful, a “modern visionary” according to the Internet. Not to mention as lush and ripe as some forties film star. No wonder I’m granite hard inside my boxers.

Ten Things I Love About Being an Author

I've been publishing erotica and erotic romance for sixteen years now, and I've seen a lot of changes. With the tsunami of self-published work flooding the electronic shelves these days, it has become harder than ever to find readers and make sales. Sometimes I get a bit discouraged. (I think we all do.) But then I remember that I'm really not in it for money or fame. There are other rewards, more enduring and ultimately more satisfying.

Ten Things I Love About Being an Author

1. I can create worlds. There's something magical about starting with a premise, a set of characters and a setting and building a fully-fleshed world, entirely out of words – a world that can make people laugh, cry, hope, and believe.


2. I can let my dirty mind run free. For years I kept my most outrageous fantasies to myself, but now I can share them with like-minded readers without feeling (too much) like a pervert.
 
3. I get to use all my years of education. From the time I entered school, I spent nineteen years in educational institutions. (Some might say I was trying to escape the real world. Yeah, we authors do that sometimes...) During those years I wrote a lot of non-fiction and honed my ability to express ideas clearly in written form. Writing fiction demands some of those same skills – at very least competence in grammar and spelling!

4. I can relax from my day job. Writing fiction provides a welcome contrast to my real world occupation. I enjoy my technical, detail-oriented day job, but writing lets me practice a very different kind of thinking.

5. All the books I buy are tax-deductible. I've sometimes thought I should try to deduct the costs of travel as well, since so many of my books have foreign settings. Rajasthani Moon, for instance, is set in India. The Ingredients of Bliss is mostly set in France. My first novel, Raw Silk, takes place in Thailand. However, I've decided not to push it...! Books though, are legitimate business expenses, since I need them to evaluate potential new publishers, suss out the competition, or do research.

6. Royalty checks. I don't make my living from my writing, nor do I write primarily for the money. However, I'd be lying if I pretended I don't get a thrill whenever there's a new deposit into my PayPal account.


7. Reviews. Yes, of course, reviews are a double-edged sword. A negative review can definitely ruin my day. However, for me, the joy that comes from a positive review more than balances the funk I get into when someone pans my book. I know that I can't please everyone. That just makes every person who does like my work even more precious.
 
8. Book covers. I've been fortunate to have had some great cover artists over the years. When I look over the collection of my covers, I feel warm all over. It's almost like looking through an album of family photos, reliving the creation of each book. I don't have children, so in some sense my books are my babies. Lately I’ve been making some of my own covers. That’s a whole other sort of joy. Though I’m often frustrated by my lack of skill in graphics, I love having control over the content.

9. Other authors. I've come to know many amazing writers through my various online communities. I count some of them among my closest friends, even though it may be that we've never met in the flesh. I value their support and advice – and I try to offer the same to them, and to new authors just getting into the business. When I first started publishing in 1999, writing was a lonely occupation, but the Internet has changed that completely.
 
10. Readers. The absolute best thing about being an author is getting a note from a reader, telling you that he or she loved your book. There's a deep sense of validation that comes from knowing you've managed to communicate your vision to another human being, though the fragile medium of the written word. More than anything else, that's what keeps me going - even as Amazon mucks around with search algorithms, as trolls post negative reviews, as poorly written and cliched titles hit the best seller lists, and everybody in the world seems to shouting about his or her masterpiece. As long as there are readers who want more of what I've got, I'll probably keep writing.

If you'd like to check out some of my covers, take a look at the cover gallery on my website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/covergallery.html). Just click on a cover for more information and an opportunity to buy.