… He pushed the button for line two: “Listen, kind of busy here right now… Yes, another drama… I’ll eat something here… Yeah, I made that up, sure… I’m sorry you cooked… Why do you always have to do this, Alice, you think I enjoy it? … Oh yeah, that’s what you think? … I have to help her to get the performance out of that idiot… I’m doing my job, Alice, maybe you would understand if you would have a job too… So what if you cooked for tonight, you eat… Yes, I’ll eat with her, we have to talk about how to save this movie, maybe Maureen will come too… Alice, I have a responsibility here, you can’t just… Keep repeating that and damn right you’ll never see me home! What’s normal in this life, Alice? … Alice, you’re being hysterical, listen to yourself… So what? You can’t be jealous of the people I work with! … Yes, it’s stupid… No, I didn’t say that… Alice. I have to work… Alice, it’s just work… I’m not interested in her… Alice, I have to finish this movie some- how… How? This idiot doesn’t want to take his shirt off for the love scene; he doesn’t know his lines… He wants to read them! You see what I am dealing with here? … Yes, she’s the director but I am the producer… How can you say that? … How could you possibly say that? … That’s plain stupid, excuse me… Alice, Alice…”

It was dark now and he checked his watch. Maybe there’s some storm gathering, he thought. He felt unusually weak and clammy. He went to open the window but there was no breeze, only a frozen stillness.

Watch the Book Trailer

Carmen Burcea-Haber earned a degree in Engineering from the University of Bucharest, and has worked as a model for Romanian and Italian fashion, an actress starring in a movie with Timothy Leary, as a costume designer for numerous films and TV shows in Rome, L.A. and Prague; she wrote and hosted the documentary feature “Last Bus to Baghdad”, has written dozens of short stories and four children’s books. She is currently writing a novel and blogs for the Huffington Post.

Gray Areas

A Short Story Collection

by Carmen Burcea-Haber

ISBN: 978-1-938846-08-3  | 5.5 x 8.5 | 156 pgs

This title will be released June 8, 2013

Visit our Bookstore»

Afoot in Connecticut, is a love letter to this often overlooked region of America, an inspirational story that will have you taking to the trails and the greenways, along the beaches and mountaintops, and into a land full of transformation, of beauty, and of strength.

This week we offer an excerpt from Chapter 9: Deliberation and Accident.

Driving in to the trailhead, Chris and I passed the inland beachgoers who were soaking up the sun on the shore of the lake. But we were not here for lazing on the sand, we were here to hike about eight miles into the surprisingly empty quarter between the Connecticut River and New Haven. Immediately, I made a wrong turn in the jumble of temporary paths and lost the proper trail. But Chris forged ahead, unfazed by the lack of blazes. He told me stories of his days with the forest service as we wandered on ancient logging roads and horse trails, one of which finally dead-ended at private land. Backtracking, I marveled at the complexity of this trail system, none of which was on the map. How many more areas like this was I missing by staying on the blazed trails?

An hour and a half later we found the blue trail, which ran parallel to the perfectly good path we had taken out of the Cockaponset labyrinth. Continuing, we discovered a miniature toad near a five-foot high property wall in excellent condition. Just there we met a couple missing a brown Labrador named Buck. “He’s always running off like this, but we can’t find him at all this time,” the tie-dyed man told us. “We’ll keep our eyes open,” Chris assured them. We stopped at a junction marked “6” and realized that we’d only came a few miles on the planned route, though far more than that as the wolf runs. As we sat there, contemplating how we had gone astray, Buck the brown lab came whuffling down a hill and approached us, tail wagging. Chris rigged a leash out of his jacket, fed Buck jerky and water, and whistled for the couple. A family wandered by and miraculously had just found a rope, which promptly replaced the jacket. “How lucky!” the mother of the family exclaimed.

Then, our decision made for us by necessity, we headed back towards the trailhead. Just then the owner ran breathlessly up the trail, having heard our far-away whistling. “Thank you so much,” he gasped. “Keep the rope,” Chris chuckled. As our new friend Buck trotted along next to his master, he looked decidedly smug. He had an adventure, probably better than ours, all by getting himself lost.

I briefly thought about retracing and continuing, attempting to stick to my original plan, but instead we walked contemplatively back along the lakeside. Small fishing boats puttered about in the tiny coves. Suddenly, two children popped out of the brush, one scared little boy eyeing us with apprehension. His older brother reassured him, “They’re just hikers. You’re just hikers, right?” I was tempted to say, “No!” and give them a fun and scary adventure of their own, but didn’t. Who knows if their parents would have taken it as well as they would have. Adults have often forgotten the lure of the unknown that every day of childhood brings. And that is what was lost when I planned out my hikes too carefully…the sense of adventure, the mapping of the unknown, the happy accidents of experience.

With this lesson in mind, I decided to try something new one day at the Larsen Nature Sanctuary. Instead of marking my goal as a distance to be traversed or a finish line to reach, I decided my goal would be to see wildlife, taking a random route through the maze of trails. I was there for a “slow walk,” treading softly, staying silent. I brought no walking stick, wanting both hands free for my binoculars.

A corridor of red maples, eastern hemlock, Norway spruce, and yellow birch led me into a wonderland. Step by step I crept through the September woods, to where a black-tailed young stag browsed. We stared at each other for ten minutes until he moved deeper into the forest.

I tried defocusing my eyes to catch movement, letting my feet see the ground ahead. It worked and I saw a doe chewing twigs and leaves. Her black muzzle pointed to me, but her pink ears swiveled to catch sound from other directions. The trees swayed in the wind and a golden beam of sunlight burnished her with a chestnut-orange hue. I stayed there for longer than I usually would, mind-melding with her, then slow-walked past, looking in another direction to ease her mind.

I practiced not snapping twigs with my usually clumsy feet. I passed one of the two-hundred-year-old stone walls that crisscrossed the property and entered a brilliant sunlit meadow, full of yellow honeysuckle and goldenrod. Insects chattered and hummed. I explored a small side trail and found a horse farm packed with brown and white stallions and mares. Squirrels prattled at me, giant blue dragonflies spun through the air, and a hawk wheeled above the meadow. Details! I always told my students to pay attention to them and now I was learning the same lesson. I sniffed out faint deer trails, bird houses on poles, and thickets full of bird life. They startled and flew out as I passed.

Then, due to a momentary lapse of attention, I missed four deer flanking the path. With a mighty snort the leader commanded the others off into the forest. I had to be more careful. One brave young stag stayed by the path and I watched him for a while. New horns sprouted from the young deer’s skull and he eyed me uncertainly. Then, an entire herd appeared along a long stone wall. I stayed for about half an hour, then continued down a long boardwalk, carefully avoiding dried leaves and twigs.

As I wandered through the sanctuary, I reached a wild pond, covered in a thin layer of green slime. I studied a small red dragonfly, noting yellow at the base of its wings, tiny spots, and a large black head. Wood duck boxes poked out of the pond and a few of their inhabitants dipped wet bills into the marshy weeds. Then, in another meadow, another deer ran past me. These nature sanctuaries weren’t exactly wild places, but they certainly were full of wild life! I headed down a country lane flanked by stone walls and ferns, the remnants of an ancient town road, crossing a pipeline corridor and thinking of how tempting it would be to follow these around the state on an alternate web.

A flicker of movement to my right. I scanned the woods. Six wild turkeys! I studied them with my binoculars until they moved behind a hillock. Earlier, I had decided not to go off-trail in this nature sanctuary, but fate had other plans, allowing the path to disappear like smoke. Something, another deer no doubt, bounded through the cover far to my left. And there were those turkeys! We had taken different routes and met in a huge glade split by one of the omnipresent stone walls. They fled into the brush and I found the trail at the crumbling foundation of a house. Frogs splashed into creeks at my approach, no matter how stealthy I tried to be. Thick beech trees ruled this rare climax forest, the carvings of lovers expanding slowly in their elephantine bark.

I found a stone wall slightly off the path, sat down, and ate a lunch of sardines, chocolate, and apples. Morel mushrooms sprouted around me. I had brought a book to read, but sometimes nature is all you need to study. A chipmunk on the wall, a squirrel in the ferns, a spiderweb high in an oak tree…these were my pages and, better yet, ones I had found by accident.

After these experiences, I made getting lost on purpose one of my rituals. On a late October day I traveled up a road that a century ago was called the “Backbone Route to the North” in New Haven County. I hiked a mile or so in from a quiet suburban development on the Quinnipiac Trail. Hitting a long, grassy pipeline corridor, I turned left and up a short rise. At the top I was greeted with a grassy slope down into Cheshire with the best view of Meriden’s mighty Hanging Hills I’d ever had. Not satisfied with this diversion, I continued on the blue-trail for a bit, then shot off across a swamp, crossed the corridor again, and found a fascinating “tor” much like the ones in the moorlands of England. Twisted and cracked rock formations topped this small hill, and I imagined that hundreds of years ago, when this land was denuded of trees, the settlers felt right at home.

I was not worried about getting too far off-track, knowing that a road or house was probably right around the corner. Getting lost in the wilderness of Alaska can be a deadly experience. But here in Connecticut it is a luxury we can afford. So, I lazed on that rocky prominence and boiled water for hot chocolate with my stove. I cracked open my usual tin of sardines and a hazelnut wafer bar. Wind in the trees was the only sound in this hidden corner of the Connecticut suburbs. Sipping the last of my chocolate, I reached into my pack for a notebook when a shadow moved in the trees below. I froze and stared in the forest. A dog? But dogs made more noise. And that loping trot looked familiar…a coyote. A primal thrill went through me. My first Connecticut coyote. I had seen coyotes out west, but here! Later, I talked to a woman who lived in the nearby development and she confirmed my sighting. “We can hear them howling at night,” she told me.

Excited by the encounter, I moved off, uncertain how to find the blue trail again. I knew a coyote couldn’t hurt me, but I remained jumpy as I searched for the path, picking my way through poison ivy patches and downed tree limbs. Crash! Two deer suddenly burst from a thicket and I started, instincts kicking in, suddenly part of the great theater of the wilderness, brought there by blind accident, but full of bright purpose. Trembling, I moved onwards, searching for the way. Who knows what adventures awaited me, now that I had found the courage to lose myself here in the gaps between the suburbs.

Afoot in Connecticut

Journeys in Natural History

by Eric D. Lehman

ISBN: 978-1-938846-07-6 | 6 x 9 | 120pgs

Pre-order in our bookstore and save 20%

]]> http://homeboundpublications.com/deliberation-and-accident-excerpt-from-afoot-in-connecticut/feed/ 0 http://homeboundpublications.com/awards-2013/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=awards-2013 http://homeboundpublications.com/awards-2013/#comments Wed, 15 May 2013 00:36:17 +0000 Editor http://homeboundpublications.com/?p=6352 Homebound Publications as had quite the award season. First Oak Wise: Poetry Exploring an Ecological Faith wins the Nautilus Gold Medal for Poetry. Then The Crucifixion by Theodore Richards wins the Independent Publisher Book Awards (IPPY) Bronze Medal for Religious Fiction. Now, we are pleased to announce, Fleeting Moments of Fierce Clarity: Journal of a New England Poet has been named a finalist in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards for best regional nonfiction!

We only have eight books in our library since lifting off and already we have 3 award-winners. We are the little indie that could. Come see what everyone is raving about!

Signed editions of Fleeting Moments of Fierce Clarity and Oak Wise featuring the seal are now available in our bookstore. Likewise, copies of The Crucifixion featuring the award seal are also available, in fact you can currently save 20% off the list price. Visit our Bookstore»

A Look at our Award-winning Titles of 2013

 Oak Wise: Poetry Exploring an Ecological Faith by author and press Founder L.M. Browning was awarded the Nautilus Gold Medal for Poetry. The Nautilus has been won by such authors as Deepak Chopra, Barbara Kingsolver, Mathew Fox, Eckhart Tolle and His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

This second edition of the beloved collection, Oak Wise: Poetry Exploring an Ecological Faith features previously unpublished verse, a new ending note from the author that reflects on the personal significance of the title for the author, and finally a new foreword penned by Emmy-winning Irish Filmmaker Alan Cooke.

Oak Wise is a collection of Celtic-themed narrative poetry exploring the old wisdom of the Druidic and shamanic traditions. This collection is approachable to the curious seeker just beginning their exploration of ecological spirituality; while at the same time remains insightful to long-time path-walkers. This collection brilliantly reintroduces the ecological sensitivities of the earth-based faiths, highlighting the relevance of the old wisdom in this current age of environmental crisis.

The Crucifixion is a modern American myth reframing the Old Testament in terms of the flight of African Americans from the Deep South during the Great Migration and the New Testament as the struggle for meaning in the modern, urban America.  It is the story of a young man who is lost and alone, and must return to the city of his birth to find his place in the world.  Ultimately, the man must awaken from the urban nightmare in which the world is “black and white” to realize that he and the city are embedded in a world of living color.

Wayne Gustafson, author of Community of Promise: The Untold Story of Moses, reflects: “I was moved emotionally by The Crucifixion. …In today’s rapidly changing world, the ability of individuals, families, and communities to live with hope and purpose is essential, but according to my observations, too rare. The characters demonstrate how ordinary people can live extraordinary lives that exude the power to transform those around them.”

Fleeting moments of fierce clarity are had when the confusion clears and the gray numbness that hangs about our senses draws back allowing us to see the world and ourselves with sharp relief. Follow author and New England native L.M. Browning in her wanderings across the Northeast, from the solitude of her home along the shore of Connecticut, to the rushing city streets of Boston, to the tall-pine landscape of Arcadia Park in Rhode Island to the quiet edges of Walden Pond.

… The person who opened the door however was a very handsome man in his late sixties, quite tall, with clear blue eyes, short gray hair and gentle manners.

“You must be Angela! Please come in my dear and make yourself at home. Excuse the mess around here, but I’m in the process of doing some re-modeling of the house.”

He kept talking about the house while leading her toward the dining room through a long, wide hallway. It looked as if the place were uninhabited, the rooms practically empty, newspapers scattered on the floor, cardboard boxes lying about and a draft blowing in from the broken windows. In contrast, the dining room in which they were now sitting was nice and cozy, with an antique rug on the wooden floor, fine oil paintings on the walls and white muslin curtains.

“There’s nobody out there now like Rosa Ponselle,” he said. “Do you know anything about her?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” she answered.

“She was a real diva; she had the voice of an angel. Listen…” The music continued flowing between them during a momentary silence that lasted a little while.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t made up my mind yet. I mean, in case you thought that maybe today… you know…” Her voice broke down nervously.

“Oh no, my dear, don’t feel embarrassed, please don’t. I’m here like a rock in a river. All I have is time, so you take your time. I trust you’ll come to make the right decision.” He got up and went to the old record player. “I hope you don’t mind.”

The same aria started again. She felt more relaxed now. She took one of the cookies offered.

“You know, I really love my boyfriend.” Her voice was very soft now. “I would like nothing better than to marry him and raise a family. He loves me too, but he’s not ready to commit yet.”

The professor was listening, nodding.

“He says he has no money and we can’t afford anything without money.” She took a sip of tea.” He says I deserve better but I don’t know, I’m very much in love with him. I don’t want anybody else.”

“I understand your confusion, my dear. I don’t want to influence you in any way; it’s entirely up to you. You are very young and you have your whole life in front of you. But sometimes in our youth we tend to be very impulsive and impatient and we do make mistakes. Do you mind?”
 He took a cigarette from a pack on the coffee table and lit it with an old fashioned lighter. “Maybe he’s right and you do deserve better. You are a very beautiful and thoughtful girl.”

He was looking at her hands now, thinking that they were per- haps the most beautiful hands he had ever seen. “You have very lovely hands”.

“Thank you,” she said.

The smoke floated between them, contributing to the unreal- ity of the scene. She looked at him for the first time with a certain curiosity at this unusual tableau: an old, handsome, lonely man, smoking a cigarette and listening to a record on a dusty turntable.

Life is so sad in the end, she thought, after a whole life to end up like this alone in a rundown, empty house…

 Watch the Book Trailer

Carmen Burcea-Haber earned a degree in Engineering from the University of Bucharest, and has worked as a model for Romanian and Italian fashion, an actress starring in a movie with Timothy Leary, as a costume designer for numerous films and TV shows in Rome, L.A. and Prague; she wrote and hosted the documentary feature “Last Bus to Baghdad” and has written dozens of short stories. She is currently writing a novel and blogs for the Huffington Post.

Gray Areas

A Short Story Collection

by Carmen Burcea-Haber

ISBN: 978-1-938846-08-3  | 5.5 x 8.5 | 156 pgs

This title will be released June 8, 2013

Pre-Order Now Visit our Bookstore»

The houses of the small town stretched across two big hills like old, white bones and that fall the lives of their inhabitants went on as always, day in day out, behind the thick stone walls and dark narrow streets.
 Here everyone seemed to share a common pallor. Even the children playing outside were not blessed with rosy cheeks; instead their shiny feverish eyes glowed on their drawn, yellow little faces. Their cries were weak and their games were quiet and at any given moment their worried parents might check on them from behind closed blinds.

Here, spring was feared for bringing anemia and dizziness, summer was the season for powerful colic, diarrhea and rashes, the fall meant massive hair loss and depression, and the winter brought endless colds, influenza and emphysema.

Sickness seemed the only god in these parts, covering the town like a dome and always providing the municipal hospital with an ample supply of believers.

Even the streets and public squares were named after illnesses: the hospital stood on Hepatitis Drive, the elementary school on Dystrophy Avenue, the pharmacy on Alzheimer Alley and the county buildings on Plague Place.

The town had two small hotels, generally empty. The smaller one was on Diabetes Road and the Belleview Hotel, the larger of the two, could be found on Lupus Lane.
One morning around eleven a stranger checked in at the Belleview Hotel, prepared to stay the night.
 Not surprisingly, he was the only guest at the moment and the staff scurried around, at his complete disposition. The kitchen sent a tray with a bowl of chicken soup, a delicious steak with a mixed salad, pumpkin pie, a glass of milk and a small bag containing a full supply of vitamins, iron and zinc.

A gray, mousy looking maid brought him a couple of warm blankets, a muffler and an umbrella, just in case.

The manager came in to make sure his room was properly heated and the windows closed. He noticed that their guest had not been supplied with cough syrup and aspirins, so when he went back downstairs he ordered the maid to bring them up to the guest’s room right away.

She knocked at the door. 
“Who is it?” 
“It’s me, Estella, the maid, sir, again! I brought you some cough syrup and aspirins!”
 The door opened and she was faced with the guest’s handsome face and naked torso. A strong draft hit Estella in the face and she noticed the white curtains fluttering in the open window.

“Thanks, that’s very nice of you, but I’m leaving tomorrow and I don’t see that I’ll be needing these things before then,” the guest said politely, but with a trace of exasperation.

Estella couldn’t hide the genuine panic frozen on her face. “Are you all right? Is there a problem?” he asked.
 She nodded, frenetically turned and rushed off down the stairs directly to the manager’s little office.
 “He didn’t want these medicines and his window was wide open!” she blurted out in one breath.
 The manager’s features became even more cadaver-like.
“Yes,” she went on, “and he was naked from the waist up.” “My God,” the man jumped to his feet. “He’s going to catch a cold! It’s the middle of October!”
 “Yes, I know,” she continued, the excitement making her voice reach an unnaturally high pitch, “when he opened the door the draft almost knocked me down.”

The manager sank back into his chair thoughtfully, while Estella ran to the kitchen. Soon, nervous whispers were circulating throughout the place like small wild birds in a cage.

Carmen Burcea-Haber earned a degree in Engineering from the University of Bucharest, and has worked as a model for Romanian and Italian fashion, an actress starring in a movie with Timothy Leary, as a costume designer for numerous films and TV shows in Rome, L.A. and Prague; she wrote and hosted the documentary feature “Last Bus to Baghdad”, has written dozens of short stories and four children’s books. She is currently writing a novel and blogs for the Huffington Post.

Gray Areas

A Short Story Collection

by Carmen Burcea-Haber

ISBN: 978-1-938846-08-3  | 5.5 x 8.5 | 156 pgs

This title will be released June 8, 2013

Visit our Bookstore»

The Crucifixion is a modern American myth reframing the Old Testament in terms of the flight of African Americans from the Deep South during the Great Migration and the New Testament as the struggle for meaning in the modern, urban America.  It is the story of a young man who is lost and alone, and must return to the city of his birth to find his place in the world.  Ultimately, the man must awaken from the urban nightmare in which the world is “black and white” to realize that he and the city are embedded in a world of living color.

Wayne Gustafson, author of Community of Promise: The Untold Story of Moses, reflects: “I was moved emotionally by The Crucifixion. …In today’s rapidly changing world, the ability of individuals, families, and communities to live with hope and purpose is essential, but according to my observations, too rare. The characters demonstrate how ordinary people can live extraordinary lives that exude the power to transform those around them.”

The Crucifixion is now available wherever books are sold. Look for it in Kindle, Nook and Kobo editions. Audio book coming in late June to iTunes, Amazon and Audible.com! Visit our bookstore and add this powerful work to your home library today! We are currently offering 20% off the list price! More info»

At Hammonasset that October day, the great sphere of ruby finally sank over Long Island, and we strolled back through the mainly deserted campground. A few brave groups huddled around fires, quilted blankets draped over their legs, sipping hot drinks. They, too, had come to this post-season campground, drawn by the same thing we had been. What was it? I wasn’t sure, and perhaps it was foolish stubbornness to want to draw out the summer with an autumn camping trip on Connecticut’s browning shore.
Back at the tent, I cooked soup and tea, while Amy prepared sleeping bags and warmer clothes for the sub-zero night. The branches of wind-wracked pines swayed around the tent as we burrowed slowly into our bags, munching on crackers and filling hot water bottles. We read poetry aloud to each other in the dim tent to stave off the cold and wind, to light the growing darkness. Finally, as the wind died down, we drifted off into a pine-scented sleep.
In the morning, frost had settled on the rain-fly and we shivered our way to boiling water for coffee and oatmeal, shoveling needed fuel into our inner furnaces. The sun finally warmed our faces and we headed out to the beach again, where fishermen hopefully cast into the surf, a group of budding scientists took notes on the local nature, and a grizzled artist set up his easel in the morning sun. Cormorants sped across the wavetops, so calm now after last evening’s fury. Snowy egrets speared fish in a wading pool, wood ducks dove for minnows with wiggling tails, and a great blue heron wheeled across the brown expanse of the salt marsh slowly, searching for breakfast.
These shore birds were already hard at work, and though they seemed freer, would spend the majority of their time on survival. They would tell me that it was not foolishness that brought me to Hammonasset in October. Such days we must steal from the autumn of work, the endless paper trails and e-mails, the demands of bosses and families. We must snatch them now, before the real cold sets in, the cold that does not respond to steaming mugs of hot chocolate….

While, it is a little ways away from Hammonasset, spend a moment with Eric at the Riventon Inn in Connecticut in this video journal episode.

Afoot in Connecticut, is a love letter to this often overlooked region of America, an inspirational story that will have you taking to the trails and the greenways, along the beaches and mountaintops, and into a land full of transformation, of beauty, and of strength.

It is a memoir about erasing the tracks of the past and starting a new life, and it is an investigation of local ecology, geography, and natural history. It is both a call for preservation and a moving love story. It proposes that the answer to the question who am I cannot be answered without asking where am I?

Dick Allen, Connecticut State Poet Laureate declares, “Afoot in Connecticut is a gift of knowledge and love to those who have traveled or would travel Connecticut’s trails and waterways, mountains and shores.”

David Leff, author of Deep Travel and The Last Undiscovered Place writes, “Afoot in Connecticut proves the old adage that the slower you go, the more you see. In these pages we join Eric Lehman on peripatetic rambles the length and breadth of the Constitution State, exploring beaches and ridgelines, woodlands and caves, back roads and rivers, colonial cellar holes and ancient stone walls. With its seamless fusion of the cultural, natural, and personal, this book will enrich the experience of visitor and native alike.”

Tom Shachtman, author of The Most Beautiful Villages of New England reflects, “‘There are times when natural history, geology, and archaeology break down and sunlit meadows stream unencumbered through the eyes and into the spirit,’ Eric D. Lehman uses his glorious, restless spirit to show us unbridled Connecticut. If Afoot in Connecticut doesn’t make you put on your hiking boots and burst out of doors and beyond the suburbs, nothing will.”

Afoot in Connecticut  is available wherever books are sold in trade paperback, Kindle, Nook and Kobo editions. Look for the audio edition this summer! Visit out bookstore and add a copy to your home library today! Eric is currently traveling through Connecticut giving readings. See if he is coming to your neck of the woods. More info»

We also excited to share that Cosmosophia: Cosmology, Mysticism and the Birth of a New Myth by Theodore Richards has won a Nautilus Gold Medal. This is the second award for Cosmosophia. The book previously won an IPPY Gold Medal. In 2012, Homebound Publications released Theodore’s first novel, The Crucifixion. Cosmosophia as well as Theodore’s new book, Creatively Maladjusted: The Wisdom Education Movement Manifesto are not available wherever books are sold.

View the full list of winners here>>