Welcome to Cinema 3 and books99cents blog via adelesymonds

•April 12, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Hello Current and Future Cinema 3 Members

 

Welcome to our Book & Movie locator/store. Our website is open 24 hours a day for your convenience. We aim to do our best to provide you with an easy, pleasurable and affordable shopping experience for all your favourite books and movie needs. We have worked hard to locate these all-time favourite books and movies, and plan to continually grow our inventory list. If you have any favourite books or movies that you do not see here, then by all means drop us an email note at: books99@outlook.com

 

Please excuse our Boxes as we unpack book and movie titles during the “Under Construction Process” of our fast growing webpage.

 

Now a bit about who we are:

 

We are a co-operative group of Authors, Screenwriters, Editors, Cover Designers & Voice-Over Artists. We each live in various parts of the world, and have joined forces to offer you this exciting and talented list of the world’s best books and movies at the lowest prices.

 

Please take note of our individual talents and feel free to contact any of us if we may be of service.

 

At Cinema 3 Books99cents.com we offer you Instantaneous and Direct Connections to the very best books and movies and make them available to you at the most competitive prices on the planet. If you want something that you do not see on our shelves, then please email us at books99@outlook.com —> and we will do our best to find it for you at no additional cost to you, and then we will let you know where it is, and how much it costs. And remember we offer our Book Finder Service at no cost to you.

 

The book vendors we link with offer us a small customer finder fee, and those few penny’s add up and help us to keep the lights on, and help us pay for, and maintain this website. We promise to do our best to see that you find exactly what you are looking for. If there is a particular book of movie that you are looking for, and do not see it on our shelves, then by all means, please ask us to find it for you. Please do your best to supply our Team with as much information as you possibly can: Please try to include the name of the book or movie (or as much as you can remember), the Authors/Actors names, and the copyright, or release date if possible. Please address your email to: “Attention Book & Movie Finder Team” and send your note directly to: books99@outlook.com

 

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Currently our Team consists of 7 Full-time Team Members, and Several Part-Time Team Members, but we expect this list will grow over time.

 

Our Full-Time Team members are:

 

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The newsletter will be sent out via email on the 1st of every month and will also develop over time, if there is anything you would like to see as a regular or occasional feature in the newsletter please email the editor at adelesymonds.editor@gmail.com

The blog posts will be weekly or bi-monthly and will contain author profiles, interviews, book reviews, movie reviews and also suggestions are welcomed via comment or email to the editor at adelesymonds.editor@gmail.com

All comments will be screened. Excerpts from writer’s may become a feature on the blog if it proves to be popular but all commenter’s are asked to be respectful of the author’s feelings, they are people too. Constructive criticism is welcomed but should be worded tactfully and personal attacks on the author’s will not be tolerated.

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International Day for Street Children

•April 12, 2014 • Leave a Comment

To mark the International Day for Street Children I would like to share a short story, written by a close friend of mine,  which has been greatly influenced by her experiences living and working with street children in Tanzania over the last 7 months.  This story  secured First Place in the 2013 Words with Jam, Shorter Short Story competition:

STREET KIDS DON’T HAVE BIRTHDAYS

Darkness drops from the skies suddenly and with it the boys of Arusha gather at their night spots. Easter stumbles across the busy road, his glue fogged brain unaware of traffic. He somehow makes it to the steps of the stadium. His bed. Most of his crowd are there already, some big, some small. The streets have no age bar.

“Yo Man, whadd’ya been doing today hey? You gotta shillings in dem pockets, I saw you hauling the metal today. Come on Easter show and share.” Jonah’s lanky frame jigs from side to side keeping a jerky rhythm with his words. He is The Rapper and possibly the oldest of this crew. No one knows for sure. Street kids don’t have birthdays.

Easter shuffles up the steps, one hand curled protectively around the sleeve of his grimy jacket which protects the plastic water bottle containing his glue, his other hand raises to The Rapper in a weak high five. His parched and cracked lips break to reveal a wide smile that tries to reach his filmy eyes but can’t quite make it. He slumps on the top step and is curled asleep in seconds, his free hand stretched up across his head protectively. If a kick from passing police should come his way, it may help. If the shunga/ vigilantes should come to this side of town tonight then nothing will protect him. He is small, an easy target.

The Rapper looks at Easter fleetingly remembering his younger self, his muddled memory stirs alive, deep inside his mind, where there is still a few wisps of hope to cling to. He wanted to be a doctor. But hope is like clouds, forever moving and breaking up, hard to catch hold of.

He leaves Easter to sleep and turns his attentions to the rest of the crew, his body twitching and jerking ceaselessly as a life time of marijuana, glue and alcohol course through his veins. He spots a hint of plastic as he watches Philomoni’s massive hand attempts to disappear into his pocket. The Rapper smiles and ambles over to him his fingers clicking in time to his staccato beat.

“Yo Philo, de Big Man. Share, you share wid de Rapper. You knows you can an you knows I’ll care!”

The small baggie containing the cheap local gin reappears clumsily out of the Big Man’s pocket, he grins foolishly as he hands it over. Philomoni’s brain is as slow as his hulking frame.  He knows The Rapper will return it after taking a hearty slug and the others won’t bother him if he shares with The Rapper,

Teacher Mary, the Social Worker from the local children’s centre has arrived and she’s talking easily with the boys, she high fives and jostles with the best of them. Spotting the Rapper she playfully kick-boxes with him as he grins and highs fives her upheld hand. She spots Easter and is pleased, he was at the centre for three weeks but jumped the wall last weekend.

“Hey Easter, wake up little buddy, how’re you doing?”

Easter wakes instantly, alert to potential danger. You don’t sleep heavily on the streets, life is too cheap. His addled brain recognises Mary as a friend, she offers tea and bread but he shakes his head, mumbling incoherently. Glue is his sustenance. Teacher Mary sighs as she eases away, her heart is protected now, it simply cannot break anymore.

“Teacher, teacher,” The Rapper vies for her attention. “I wanna talk with you teacher.” They move away from the cluster of boys. Mary will always listen and Jonas keeps her informed of new boys on the streets.

“Easter wants to come back wid you Teacher, he good boy but the glue, it be getting him quick, so take him with you now Teacher.” The Rapper’s eyes seek Mary’s own and she reads the pain there, she sees the last tendrils of hope fading for this boy. As if sensing her thoughts he adds defensively. “I come next week Teacher, take Easter now.”

“Next week, Jonas,” she always uses his given name. “I’ll talk to Easter but you know the rules man. It’s an open door, it’s up to him.” She shrugs her shoulders.

Next week. She and he know, for Jonas the Rapper, next week never comes.

“Hey Big Man, how about we get you some chai and maybe old Theo can find you a bit of bread. What says you Philo?” She moves towards the solitary Philomoni, she knows she is close with him, he is severely retarded and she knows the gin he’s pocketing comes from the proceeds of passive sex, which he gives easily and mostly freely.

“When Easter wakes we’ll be in Theo’s, Jonas,” she grins widely and her eyes sparkle, she loves her job. “You know da rules man and I know you knows where Theo’s is.” She chuckles as she turns away from the steps, they all know Theo, God bless him, one of the few café’s happy to let her sit with the boys for hours over no more than a cup of sweet spicy chai. Her hand disappears into the warm giant cocoon of Philo’s.

***

The bus station is busy, same as always, Mary knows the score. She pushes her way through the crowd; she wants to get the fast bus. It’s going to be mighty crowded with Philo next to her and the Big Man’s not good in crowds. She knows without looking that his eyes are huge with terror, she can feel it as he crushes her hand in his.

Easter, unseen since last night, appears from nowhere and she smiles. Easter says nothing, grins and takes Philo’s free hand.

Two boys from the thousands on the streets of Tanzania go back with Mary, they’ll get cleaned up, counselling and start lessons. Easter’s bright; he could make graduation.

Or… he’ll jump the wall again and be lost to the short life that is the streets.

***

Published with the permission of Words with Jam competition organisers and the author, Gill Sainsbury.

Please take a moment in your day to think of the thousands of children living on the streets around the world, they have no place to call home, no security, no education and no extended family support.

Thank you for your time.

Book Review of ‘Pressed Pennies’ by Steven Manchester

•March 31, 2014 • 2 Comments

Steven Manchester is a #1 best-selling author of a previous book – ‘Twelve Months’

I received a copy of Pressed Pennies in return for an objective review, which I was very happy to agree to as I would have been buying the book anyway. I have read 2 of Steven’s previous books and I love his writing style and characterisation techniques.

This edition of Pressed Pennies was published in 2014 by The Story Plant

ISBN:978 1611 88 135 6

I give this book a well deserved 5/5 stars.

This is basically a love story with a complication or two.

Rick and Abby grew up together and were best friends until Rick had to move away.

Fate has now brought them back onto the same path, their love for each other is strong and palpable but Abby has a daughter to consider.

Paige has grown up with an alcoholic father and constant arguments between her parents, since they split up ad divorced his regularity at collecting Paidge is sporadic at best and at other times he turns up drunk.

Paige has built a safe and secure relationship with her mother and sees Rick as a serious threat to this.

The novel is written in Steven’s inimitable style, his characters are the most real people I have met in any books recetly. They are well depicted, drawn in detail in your mind as the reader, grow and change with the plot and his unique ability to get completely within the head of each of his characters is second to none.

 

I highly recommend this book and any of his other books which are available, I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.

A well deserved 5/5 although there are a few very minor edits which were missed during the process.

Buying links: Amazon.co.uk for paperback or Here for kindle.

Amazon.com for paperback or Here for kindle.

 

Guest Blogger Day – Adele Symonds on Editing

•August 18, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Guest Blogger Day – Adele Symonds on Editing.

Update Re: Deirdre Marie Capone – new audio book about Al

•July 1, 2013 • Leave a Comment

He says he wants you to listen to him talk! Email not displaying correctly?
View it in your browser.

UNCLE AL CAPONE AUDIO BOOK

Available for sale NOW!

7 CD’S
All Al Capone quotes in Al’s voice by professional voice impressionist.
Read by author
$34.97
Currently this audio book is only available at:
http://www.unclealcapone.com/buy.htm
(buy with credit or debit card. You do not have to use pay pal)
It will soon be available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and downloadable at Audible.com

Follow on Twitter    Friend on Facebook    Forward to Friend
Copyright © 2013 Uncle Al Capone Book, All rights reserved.
You registered on the Uncle Al Capone website

Our mailing address is:

Uncle Al Capone Book

PO Box 367556

Bonita Springs, FL 34136

Add us to your address book

 

Author spotlight on Alan Cooke

•April 28, 2013 • Leave a Comment

ALAN COOKE NEW HEADSHOT 2013

 

Bio

I have been involved in the arts as an Actor Writer and Film Maker from most of my
adult life. The depth of beauty in this world has always compelled me as much as the darkness to create with my voice my body, my visual and my words. These tools have since growing up in such a beautiful and epic country like Ireland given me a gateway to a deeper understanding of the world around me. The noble resonance of a word thought then written then spoken or read by another gives me a sense of renewal of the heart.

My time in Ireland first as an actor then as a writer and film maker shaped the color
and depth of my worldview. When I moved to New York I transcended my past and
became immersed in a deep and flowing river of endless humanity. My art as a writer accelerated as much as the pain and rebirth was in tandem with this difficult flowering.
My inner narrative emerged as a man , as a human in a landscape that was changing almost by the moment. I had the advantage of my acting skills and my visual skills to
absorb characters, ideas, shapes and sounds. I filled the depths of my heart with all of the voices of the world. My spirit shaped amongst the millions.

Back in Ireland , when I first stepped on a stage , I was electrified by what was within rushing out into the light and allowing my soul to be free. Again it was words, unlocking the mysterious kingdom of the self. Always I felt changed. Breaking time whether it be by the pen or the expression of the words of others.

In New York I made a great leap with just a digital camera. The extension of my gifts like the tallest spires in Manhattan reaching beyond the impossible into the realm of a dream realized. I wrote and filmed and wandered and lost all that was me. I talked and interviewed and spun a web of beauty, light, darkness and something almost pure in a much wounded city. This film became HOME, and became a beacon to New York. It shone in it’s innocence of creation in an era of destruction. My words in the film soared
into the eyes and minds of tired New Yorkers.

I got Woody Allen, Liam Neeson, Mike Myers , Susan Sarandon, Frank Mc Court, Pete Hamil and others to recollect their own feelings about why New York was their home.
But it was my words, fragments of pain and light that scattered the cobwebs from my eyes. I was New York, it’s rhythm, it’s beat it’s pulse. The blood of this metropolis was pulsing in my veins. That film took me to London, Florida, Lincoln Centre, all over Ireland and it had it’s launch on PBS and across America. My words echoing in the
home’s of millions. I was commended by the New York Mayor and lauded by Gabriel Byrne and others of fame in the Irish American Arts.

I think back to Ireland then the beauty and the darkness, my own simple life, and I look also at the incredible journey of ten thousand miles walked around every block and alleyway and avenue and they seem worlds apart. They are linked by millions who share the idea of leaving and returning. Of their loneliness like I felt many times.
But for art, for writing it was gold, harsh cruel gold but shining nonetheless.

The scars are beautiful. For others to see and be transformed by. My journey in this
world with so many pitfalls and unmarked roads, has enhanced my gifts. Where are
we now in this darkening era of disconnection and myth less rage? I know I fall back on my art. The bard, the poet, the player of the story. I know the worth of being moved or moving someone in the heart. This awaits my own work I feel. My voice many times has touched lives with my film across the world. The voice of a simple man. Yet their is something extraordinary about an ordinary life. That is my wealth in my work.

When the Emmy’s in 2009 were announced as I sat in a humble supermarket after
returning to Ireland I felt the doors opening again. I felt the broken dream reassemble and beckon me back to the city of a thousand ideas.

The night I was in the hotel 50 floors up , apart in the silence and again back in the city, I smiled and looked at the tiny lights of a hundred thousand windows across Manhattan.
She was bending to me again , after so much strife and agony.

I knew her heart and the darkest essence that stirred beneath the pipes and bricks and cabs. That night I won. I won for best writing. It was a cinderella moment. Broken , beaten and now ignited again in this city . I dedicated the Emmy to those who had yet to come, to those who remained and to those who left and carried something of New York which only those that dared to risk truly knew.

The breath and width of my journey encompassing acting on stages both in New York and Ireland sharing a communion of emotions brought me to writing Naked In New York . After all the acclaim of HOME and the subsequent reaction from around the world,
I realized that people were deeply affected by my words and voice. Whatever I had
experienced in life somehow I could transmit directly into the sounds and shapes and vowels that people could immediately connect with.

My lineage , the great celtic blood of the dreamer that connects me with Joyce and
Beckett and Oscar Wilde in how the seen their own interior world and wanted to share this short and beautiful mortal life as passionately and resolutely with as many others
as possible. I have sometimes felt the ragged bones of failure haunt my life. The chosen road of a dreamer in such a dark era is paradoxical in the extreme. As the shadows
haunt the world and men of terrible impulses wage war on beauty. The poet and
dreamer and writer pushes against this every day. As the world moves in slow circles , I ponder and write and delve and sacrifice .

My book Naked in New York is an extension of my soul’s work. A transmutation in
poetic heaving paragraphs . The world is alone. In a planet of billions with so much

communication we are adrift on our own private islands. I wrote Naked in New York
to expunge the black liquid of pain and awareness of a cruel world and yet try and
highlight the beauty of a city that has the world’s greatest and lowest aspects of our tired race. I made a journey alone into a wounded city. I shared the suffering and felt wild anger and loss. I was bound by something greater to express the souls of New York in all their anguish yearning and their triumphs. New York changes you forever.

I watched from distant shores when I was there and thought of all I had left behind.
Now I have returned , I am amongst wild trees and a darkening Atlantic ocean that hides the secrets of a million souls that left and never returned.

I am in both places in the heart. Ireland is an illusive place of beauty and secrets. New York is a steel giant relentless and foreboding yet full of tiny achingly beautiful touching moments.

Who am I in the midst of these great journeys? I am a man, a dreamer, a celt, a poet an actor and writer. I will soon embark again on another journey. An epic odyssey around
Ireland to capture it’s heart, it’s essence and to find my own connection with this my
nation of birth. The project film and book will be called ‘ The Spirit of Ireland’ .
My book The Spirit of Ireland – An Odyssey Home will be available as an audio download here on my site soon.

I hope this to be another light a flickering and eventually will turn into a flame of power that can be ignited around the planet. Ireland calls out to many from the four corners and the 70 million around the globe who claim blood and lineage as part of this nation will answer I hope to my expression and my passion and poetry about this great and wounded country called Ireland.

 

Book blurb for Naked In New York

Naked in New York is a literary non fiction memoir by irish Emmy Winning Writer Alan Cooke. It is the story of Alan’s powerful journey of inner transformation in a post 9-11 New York. Naked in New York is a poetic eulogy and odyssey through a dark and bruised metropolis.

 

BOOK TRAILER AND AUDIO NARRATION SAMPLE”
Please watch and listen to these.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoVOnxcdJjg

 

To learn more about The Wild Irish Poet aka Alan Cooke please follow the links below.

Author Spotlight for David Pilling including Guest Post.

•April 7, 2013 • 8 Comments

David Pilling

 

Author Bio:

David Pilling was born in West Wales, where he lived for eighteen years imbibing tales of the Mabinogion and Arthurian legend, as well as dragging his parents up and down ruined castles. This history and fairy tale-fixated childhood, along with early exposure to The Once and Future King, sparked his imagination and stuffed it full of castles, kings, knights, swords and jousts etcetera. After a lengthy stint working in various archives in London, including Tate Britain and The Royal Opera House, he is now back in Wales and settled down to write as many historical and epic fantasy tales as his mind can churn out.

TWHpaperbackcover

 

 

Book Blurb

“A Bolton! A Bolton! The White Hawk!” England, 1459: the rival factions of Lancaster and York have plunged the kingdom into civil war. The meek and feeble King Henry VI presides over the chaos, unable to prevent his ambitious, bloodthirsty nobles from tearing each other to pieces. Book One of The White Hawk follows the fortunes of one family, the Bolton’s, as they attempt to survive and prosper in this world of brutal warfare and shifting alliances. Surrounded by enemies, their loyalty to the ruling house of Lancaster will be tested to the limit in a series of bloody battles and savage twists of fate…

 

Guest Post and excerpt by David Pilling

A Bolton, a Bolton! The White Hawk!

“A Bolton, a Bolton! The White Hawk! God for Lancaster and Saint George!” England, 1459: the kingdom stands divided and on the brink of civil war. The factions of Lancaster and York vie for control of the King, while their armies stand poised, ready to tear each other to pieces. The White Hawk follows the fortunes of a family of Lancastrian loyalists, the Bolton’s, as they attempt to survive and prosper in this world of brutal warfare and shifting alliances. Surrounded by enemies, their loyalties will be tested to the limit in a series of bloody battles and savage twists of fate.

This period, with its murderous dynastic feuding between the rival Houses of York and Lancaster, is perhaps the most fascinating of the entire medieval period in England. Having lost the Hundred Years War, the English nobility turned on each other in a bitter struggle for the crown, resulting in a spate of beheadings, battles, murders and Gangland-style politics that lasted some thirty years.

Apart from the savage doings of aristocrats, the wars affected people on the lower rungs of society. One minor gentry family in particular, the Paston’s of Norfolk, suffered greatly in their attempts to survive and thrive in the feral environment of the late 15th century. They left an invaluable chronicle in their archive of family correspondence, the famous Paston Letters.

The letters provide us with a snapshot of the trials endured by middle-ranking families like the Paston’s, and of the measures they took to defend their property from greedy neighbours. One such extract is a frantic plea from the matriarch of the clan, Margaret Paston, begging her son John to return from London:

“I greet you well, letting you know that your brother and his fellowship stand in great jeopardy at Caister… Daubney and Berney are dead and others badly hurt, and gunpowder and arrows are lacking. The place is badly broken down by the guns of the other party, so that unless they have hasty help, they are likely to lose both their lives and the place, which will be the greatest rebuke to you that ever came to any gentleman. For every man in this country marvels greatly that you suffer them to be for so long in great jeopardy without help or other remedy…”

The Paston Letters, together with my general fascination for the era, were the inspiration for The White Hawk. Planned as a series of three novels, TWH will follow the fortunes of a fictional Staffordshire family, the Bolton’s, from the beginning to the very end of The Wars of the Roses. Unquenchably loyal to the House of Lancaster, their loyalty will have dire consequences for them as law and order breaks down and the kingdom slides into civil war. The ‘white hawk’ of the title is the sigil of the Boltons, and will fly over many a blood-stained battlefield.

In the following excerpt, the Lancastrian lord “Butcher” Clifford prepares to defend a river crossing against the Yorkist host:

“Lord Clifford sat his horse on the north bank of the River Aire and watched the glittering mass of the Yorkist vanguard march into view from the south.

It was a bitterly cold afternoon, with a hint of ice on the wind. Clifford took no notice. He was the lord of Skipton and Craven in Yorkshire, and the atrocious weather and desolate landscape of the north appealed to his stark nature. This was his country.

“The Butcher”, the Yorkists had started to call him, for his cold-blooded killing of Edmund of Rutland after the Battle of Wakefield. Clifford gloried in the name. The more his enemies feared him, the better. He was a hard man, consumed by a lust for revenge since the death of his father at the First Battle of Saint Albans, six years previously.

Clifford had slaked his thirst for Yorkist blood somewhat on Rutland, and still felt a tight little shiver of pleasure at the memory of his knife plunging into the boy’s soft white gullet. One death, however, wasn’t enough. Only the bloody annihilation of all the Yorkists in England would suffice.

“Fauconberg’s men are in the van, as we suspected,” said Lord Neville, his second-in-command, pointing at one of the enormous standards carried at the head of the Yorkist troops, displaying blue and white halves painted with Fauconberg’s distinctive sigil of a sable fish-hook in the top right corner.

Clifford said nothing. He had already repelled an attempt by the Earl of Warwick and Lord Fitzwalter to cross the stone bridge over the Aire, falling on the Yorkist camp at dawn and slaughtering many soldiers in their beds. More had died as they tried to escape across the river, drowned or swept away in the icy waters. Lord Fitzwalter had been mortally wounded, and Warwick himself barely escaped with an arrow in his thigh.

The bridge was the only reliable crossing over the flood-swollen Aire for miles in either direction. The Yorkists had to cross the river to engage the enormous Lancastrian army slowly deploying a mile to the north, between the villages of Towton and Saxton. Sooner or later, Clifford appreciated, they would realise how small the force was that opposed their crossing…”

If this whets your appetite, then please check out the paperback and Kindle versions of Book One below…

 

 

Links for David Pilling

Twitter: @RobeH2

 

 
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