Angela Grout, Author
|Posted by email@example.com on April 27, 2023 at 12:00 AM||comments (310)|
Michael Tourville has become the podcast host of THE HEALING VOICES PROJECT which was birthed after his book VOICES FROM THE FALLEN was written. The journey of an author unfolds with our stories. As Mike shares, his first novel, A PROMISE TO ASTRID was a story he wrote after experincing the kindess of a neighbor. His way of paying her back for the miraculous and spiritual intervention she presented him with. His story inspires all who read it. As Mike began his author journey, he found himself with the opportunity to have his book A PROMISE TO ASTRID produced as a movie. The faith based filmed has been shown in churches, and communities uplifting belief that there is a higher power amoung us which when called upon, good action make the world a better place. The small kindness which Astrid brings to Michael's life, has a ripple effect which the movie certainly shows.
Speaking with Michael about his journey as an author, resognates with my own, as we evolve with our books. Writing his second book VOICES FROM THE FALLEN shares the story of those who suffered and died because of their addiction. That book brought the opportunity to host a podcast which he talks with living people sharing their stories of addiction, grief, recovery,and courage. It takes courage to share and it takes courage to write, but the courage Michael Tourville has to help others is certainly a refection of his kind heart and Astrid's promise to help others.
Watch the eposide and learn how he got started, and how everything grew to where it is now, His story includes parts of Kirk Jonah's story, as they were childhood friends. Kirk's son, Jack Jonah's first person story is told in Tourville's VOICES FROM THE FALLEN book. It is a must read for anyone grieving and needing courage to overcome an obstacle.
For more information on Mike Tourville, his books, his movie, his podcast, and more: Healing Voice Project
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on April 20, 2023 at 12:25 AM||comments (0)|
Kirk Jonah was inspired to share his story, and without picking up a pen, he told his story to a producer who then created the movie JACK JONAH. Why was this movie made and how did Kirk do this? His son Jack passed away due to a drug overdose and in his deep grief, Jack reached to him to apologize for "ever trying drugs". This emotional and spiritual moment gave Kirk the power to forgive his son, continue to love his son, and most importantly help is son to help other to learn about how to avoid what happened to him. Kirk Jonah created the Jack Jonah Foundation and through the foundation and the movie, Kirk travels the country speaking, preaching, and educating people about OPIOID AWARENESS. Drug use doesn't necessarily begin for entertainment, the medical industry provides patients to help them but often the dependancy is unavoidable.
Kirk's powerful, personal, and heartfelt story told inthe movie has a message for those grieving a loss, suffering an addiction, and needing education about medication. Speaking with Kirk Jonah on yWrite about his grief was heartfelt. His life's story changed the minute his son died, and though he suffers daily with his reality, he gives his voice, his heart, and his story to help others. That is the ultimate why one writes...so yWrite?....because you have a story too!
Watch this episode here:
For more information on THE JACK JONAH FOUNDATION and the movie, clik here:https://amzn.to/3NHXBJV
https://www.jackjonahfoundation.org/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">www.jackjonahfoundation.org
|Posted by email@example.com on April 14, 2023 at 9:30 PM||comments (71)|
Designing with flowers has been my passion for over three decades....during the pandemic I began to create and share live video of me at work. Partly because it made me feel less alone and with a hope that someone somewhere could learn some design techniques from watching. Whatever you watch it for, please enjoy the beauty of the flowers, and allow the energy to brighten your life. Videos can be found on the agawamflowershop Facebook page. Here is the link:
https://www.facebook.com/agawamflower/live_videos" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">http://https://www.facebook.com/agawamflower/live_videos
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on April 13, 2023 at 12:00 AM||comments (5)|
Playwrite and Author BETEL ARNOLD's process of becoming a playwrite evolved from novel writing and finding space as a mother to become her unique self.
|Posted by email@example.com on April 7, 2023 at 12:00 AM||comments (0)|
Author, Spiritual Director, and Retreat Leader LISA IRISH shares why being at the right place at the right time often creates momentum to write. She talks about her process of writing a proposal, creating the outline, and using the guide which her publisher required. Her experience has led her to write books and lead workshops to help the grieving to understand that there is an art to grieving. Writing a self-help book allows her to share her experience and wisdom with those seeking guidance with their journey. Lisa says, "Grief is not something to go through, it is something that happens to us and becomes part of us."
Lisa and I are both members of the International Women Writers Guild and together we share how meeting other writers is inspiring. Her Books are available on Amazon. THE SACRED ART of GRIEVING: HOPE IN THE LAND OF LOSS. https://www.amazon.com/Grieving-Sacred-Art-Spiritual-Living/dp/1594736340/ref=sr_1_1?crid=R7BR0W4NNUWU&keywords=Lisa+Irish&qid=1681155208&sprefix=lisa+iri%2Caps%2C601&sr=8-1
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on March 30, 2023 at 12:00 AM||comments (38)|
Watch this episode of yWrite and find out why I called Author KB Pellegrino before I published my first murder mystrery novel. Kathleen has written 8 novels and counting! As a serial writer of a serial murder series, she knows a few things about how to write, research, publish, and create intriguing stories! https://www.facebook.com/ywritenow/videos/599522805423418" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">http://https://www.facebook.com/ywritenow/videos/599522805423418
|Posted by email@example.com on March 23, 2023 at 12:00 AM||comments (5)|
Watch yWrite's 1st Episode: Author of THE PUCK STOPS HERE and Angela talk Memior Writing, Hockey, and Watching our Language!
Bruce Landon, a former NHL goalie, and the recently retired Springfield Falcons' AHL GM joins me, Angela Grout, for a conversation about writing. Bruce wrote his Memior THE PUCK STOPS HERE: My (not--so) Minor League Life to share more than just another hockey story. Bruce and I share why we write, including the push to write, and the people who inspired us to write. We discuss the importance of knowing your audience, and why an editor's suggestion can save an author of embarrassment. Find out why Bruce thanked his editor as he walked into church one Sunday morning, and why he decided to donate the profits from his book to charity.
This first episode of yWrite will excite you to learn you have a story too, and you'll want to read Bruce Landon's THE PUCK STOPS HERE for entertainment and education because reading helps you to understand how to tell a story. How will you tell your story?
yWrite has new episodes weekly!
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on February 16, 2023 at 9:00 AM||comments (0)|
Always fun to be on the show with Bobby G and Lynn. Did you know Lynn was one of my dance teachers as a youth, and I was Bobby's girls dance teacher.
I got to announce the show yWrite coming soon! First weekly episode will air March 22, 2023
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7ST3N3vSS4" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7ST3N3vSS4
|Posted by email@example.com on December 24, 2022 at 10:05 PM||comments (1)|
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on September 11, 2022 at 10:10 PM||comments (0)|
THE TRAIL OF BALLOONS
A MONOLOGUE BY AM GROUT
2020-Performed online with Majestic Theater Summer 2020- see You Tube channel- performed by :
2022- Open Mic Performance at the 2022 IWWG Conference- Monologue- performed by Angela Grout
Video to be attached ASAP.
When I was five, I left a birthday party with a blue balloon in my hand. It wasn’t a special balloon but when I got outside the wind swept it from me and it drifted off to the sky. I was so upset that I didn’t hold it tight enough. My grandmother offered to get me another balloon but I wanted that one. She said, “Bobby, it wasn’t your fault. Heaven needed it now. Have faith and trust that God will keep it save for you and one day you will see again.”
Months later, my mom was in the final stages of kidney failure. I didn’t know her kidneys were failing her but I knew she was sick. She had been sick all the time over the past few years. Dad moved me and my sister away from her and out of the house. He told us it was better for all of us. I imagined she was contagious. I didn’t see her often but we did talk on the phone frequently. She had doctor’s appointments and tests every day. She told me there were some days she would throw up for hours after her treatments.
When Mom died, Dad said it was because Mom stopped getting treatments. I wasn’t sad like most would think. I was actually relieved she wasn’t suffering anymore. I told Dad “I hope God takes care of her just like he is taking care of that balloon I lost.” Dad smiled and said, “Yes, I am sure he will.”
The day of mom’s wake, there were bunches of balloons at the entrance of the funeral home. I walked in and saw the casket across the room. It was metal and shiny like Dad’s truck. Hesitating for a minute, I approached the open casket and looked in. I expected to see mom but that is not what I saw.
I looked around the room and saw a big letter “B” made out of flowers. I didn’t understand, Mom’s name was Dianne and that was D not B. A man in a black suit entering the room carrying another wreath of flowers. There wasn’t a need for more flowers but he placed them on an easel next to the casket. I ran over to him and asked, “Where is my mother?”
That is when I heard her voice. She was sitting on a couch in the back of the room. She was holding a blue balloon.
I ran over to her and she handed me the balloon. I was so excited. I hugged her tight, careful to not let go of the balloon. Then all of a sudden, one of the balloons in the doorway popped. I jumped and said, “Mom, What is going on?”
With tears in her eyes, she held me a little closer and whispered “I am so sorry. My addiction cost me your life and mine.”
I looked at her and said, “It’s okay Mom. God will take care of you, just like this balloon. And you won’t be suffering anymore with your pain. It’s not your fault.”
She cried louder and kept repeating how sorry she was. Then a door next to the casket opened revealing a long hallway. A bearded man appeared dressed in white, calling her name and said, “Dianna, It’s time.”
She squeezed me once more and stuttered the words, “I love you. I will see you soon.”, then she walked to the door and slowly disappeared in the hallway.
The man adjusting the flowers was now turning on a television in the corner of the room. I asked him, “Where did my mom go?” He ignored me. A video containing photos of my family scrolled on the screen. I looked back in the casket and saw the body lying there looked like me. I touched the hand, it was cold. I poked the face and it was stiff.
The boy in the casket was wearing my favorite shirt and sneakers. I felt like Greg in the book called Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I read it with Dad this summer. Greg had x-ray vision, and somehow I could tell this boy even had my favorite socks on. I must be dreaming I thought. I remember someone talking about when someone you love dies, you lose a part of yourself. Maybe that was what this was. I guess I loved my mom more than I ever knew. But I loved my Dad too, and I wished he was here.
A second later, I heard my father’s voice. I ran over to him and hugged him. “Dad, I am so glad you are here. You have to look in the casket, it’s so weird.” Dad remained silent. He was looking at a card on that had fallen from one of the flower designs. The card read, ‘Your son will be remembered in our hearts forever.’
The funeral director placed a comforting hand on Dad’s shoulder and expressed his condolences. Dad said, “I can’t believe this is really happening. One minute we were tossing a ball to distract him from crying about his mom, and then in an instant, Bobby was lying in the road. Why couldn’t I have saved him?” Tears began to well in his eyes.
Dad knelt down at the casket and placed his hand on mine. He said, “Son, I am so sorry. I failed you. I wish I could have been a better father.”
Dad’s hand was warm. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Dad you have nothing to be sorry about, you are the greatest Dad ever. I love you.” Dad whispered back, “I will always love you.”
A beautiful woman dressed in shades of blue entered the room. She motioned for me to come near her. “Hello my child,” she says, then her arms extend like angel wings and she caressed my shoulders.
I looked into her eyes and saw the most wonderful light. The light came from beyond her eyes, beyond her soul. Her soft wings continued to caress my arm and she share with me this story.
“This is the gift of the spirit. You were made from this light and now you must return. Though it is far earlier than expected, you will be welcomed home just the same. Tears will dry. Know there is no need to breathe here, you will just be. You will hear all the kind words, and see so much. There is so much love that all your fears will disappear. You will remain in the hearts of many and reside in the arms of God forever.”
I found myself surrounded by blue balloons. The balloons embraced me, filled me with love and healed my wounds. The video played in the back of the room showing the life I lived. It was pretty great. It wasn’t the story of a wimpy kid, it was the hero of a brother, the partner of a father, and a proud member of a family.
The blue lady adjusted the balloon in my hand and said, “New memories can be made, but nothing will ever be the same.” And together we floated to the heavens with that balloon.
Dad walked outside to get some fresh air. Silently he whispered, “I need a sign.” When he opened his eyes, a single blue balloon brushed his head as it floated to the sky.