Thursday 14 April 2016

Spring Countdown Blitz Day 10

In a candid and witty memoir, Jodi recounts how her life was transformed when, as a thirty-three-year-old wife and mother, she was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Unwilling to accept her new fate, Jodi's family searches for a doctor who will join their fight against the odds. But when the surgery that could save her life thrusts her into battle with a devastating spinal fluid leak and facial paralysis, even her own children fear her new appearance and physical failings. Jodi perseveres, even with an injured body and spirit. Interweaving the inspiring, provoking, and sometimes disturbing, Jodi reveals the hells and highs of her journey as she fights for hope and purpose—and life.

Jodi Orgill Brown is inspired by people who live fulfilled lives in spite of their struggles. She loves spending time with her muses, namely, her husband Tolan, and their four children, Trenden, Lindi, Casen, and Daven. Her favorite outing locations include Hebgen Lake, Montana, Hawaii’s North Shore, the rolling hills and woods of Virginia, the Weber River Parkway Trail, and even her own backyard. 

When she is not writing, reading, or enjoying family time, you'll find Jodi visiting neighbors or having lunch with a girlfriend on 25th Street in Ogden. She loves learning principles through analogies and she discovers inspiration all around her, from nature, stories, friends, and especially from her children. Jodi holds a BA in communications from Brigham Young University, an MS in organizational communications and leadership from the University of Utah, and is a Certified Fund Raising Executive (CFRE). She is the founder of Amplio Development, and is dedicated to living and teaching personal improvement. She resides in northern Utah with her husband and their four children. 

Book Jodi as a keynote speaker, consultant, or presenter: Email: Website:

Q & A with the Author:

3.      What is the thing you struggle with the most while writing? And how do you defeat it?
Putting other things ahead of my writing is always a struggle. Though my love is writing, and my goals center around my writing projects, getting up everyday and DOING what I love is a challenge. There are always other things that “need” to be or “could” be done. My best defense against not working on my writing goals is deadlines and accountability. When I tell someone else I am going to achieve a deadline, I am more likely to push myself to meet that deadline. If I am the only one who knows about the timeframe, it can too easily slip. I need accountability and I thrive on it.
4.      Which of your personality traits did you write into you characters? (Deliberately or accidentally) 

All of them! Since my book is a personal memoir, my traits (good and bad) are evident, both through my “character”, as well as through some of the storylines I chose to focus on. Yes, part of me is a perfectionist and control freak. That is highlighted in my story when I lost control of my life and health due to a brain tumor.

Connect with the Author:

Excerpt #2
Chapter 19 -- Pinned
The wrestling match began when the sun went down. Exhaustion gripped first, flipped me upside down and pinned me against the night. Pain grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go, tag teaming with despair to assure victory.
The spinal fluid leak and the on-again-off-again fevers created restless days and endless nights. That evening, the ache in my head was worse than usual.
Throbbing pressure lunged in and caught me in its clutch. Floundering under the weight, I tapped out the only way I knew how. I pressed the small button, and a saintly referee appeared at my bedside.
The night nurse with round pink cheeks and wavy russet hair appeared at my corner with words of encouragement. But she informed me the medications were maxed—no time-outs left.
Choking on tears, I sobbed, “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”
But she did not give up on me so easily. Brenda took my hand as aches racked my body. Minutes ticked on, and agony threatened to consume me. But Brenda held tight and didn’t let go.
An hour passed, and still the silent saint stood by my bed. With one hand, she caressed my arm and stroked my head. With the other, she held my left hand and never let go. She did not smile, but the corners of her mouth were turned up and her eyes met mine at every glance.
Time slipped slowly away, and desperation with it. I hurt in ways I could not describe to Brenda. Pain played the vigilant opponent, always there, watching for my weaknesses, ready to attack. But that night, my rival did not win. Brenda didn’t leave until the match ended. The physical torment remained, but the desperation fled.
Brenda’s silent support saved me when my own strength did not.
By the time the first rays of light peaked through my window, I realized again that angels do not always wear wings or flowing white robes. Sometimes they appear as wrestling coaches or nurses in green scrubs.

During my weeks in the hospital, Brenda was my nurse for only one shift, a fact I do not attribute to coincidence. 
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