Pump Up Your Book Promotion Virtual Book Tours: THE WOMEN OF CAMP SOBINGO VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ' 07

Join women's fiction author Marilyn Celeste Morris, author of The Women of Camp Sobingo, as she virtually tours the blogosphere on July 2 – 31 on her second virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion Virtual Book Tours!

Born a military brat, Marilyn Morris attended schools overseas, in Seoul Korea, 1946-47 and Linz, Austria (1949-1952) and various schools stateside. From this background, she has crafted her autobiographical Once a Brat, relating her travels with her army officer father from her birth in 1938 to his retirement in 1958.

Her first novel, Sabbath’s Room, was published in 2001, and her most recent work, Diagnosis: Lupus: The Intimate Journal of a Lupus Patient was released in December 2005 by PublishAmerica and her new book, The Women of Camp Sobingo, the story of four women from diverse backgrounds who bond together in a military compound in Seoul, Korea, in 1946, is published by Mardis Gras Publishing.

She has taught creative writing at Tarrant County College, Fort Worth TX and survi

ved numerous book signings and speaking engagements. She is co-facilitator for the Fort Worth Lupus Support Group, North Texas Chapter of the Lupus Foundation of America and advisor to the Board of Directors. When not writing or editing emerging writers’ manuscripts, she enjoys searching for former classmates and true to her Brat heritage, she has a suitcase packed under the bed, ready to travel at a moment’s notice.

Marilyn Celeste Morris may be reached at (817) 246-2639 or by email: marilyncmorris@sbcglobal.net to schedule a speaking engagement or arrange for editing services. See also for excerpts of all three books.

Her publications may be purchased by calling the publisher at 877-333-7422, from the website at http://www.publishamerica.com/; http://www.amazon.com/ or your local bookstore can order for you.

Visit the book blog here!

You can purchase The Women of Camp Sobingo here!

The Women of Camp Sobingo Synopsis:

This novel is based on my mother's experiences as an army wife sent to join her husand in Seoul, Korea, in the winter of 1946, where she endured brutal cold, numbing loneliness and a primitive enviironment despite the US Army's attempts in providing amenities such as housing, commissary, post exchange and a dependents school located in the compound named Camp Sobingo.

She forged friendships with three other women, whose backgrounds are disclosed during the narrative, whom she met on board the USAT General Mayo crossing the stormy Pacific, friendships which sustained her and the other women who shared that life. Bridge was a pasttime which helped ensure their mutual sanity; despite their friendships, however, one of the women committed suicide in that remote country. At age nine, I had been a silent witness to my mother's enduring strength and wondered for many years why this one woman had chosen to end her life there. From that point, a story formed, exploring each woman's background and the strengths each possessed from childhood to maturity. In The Women of Camp Sobingo, near the close of their tour of duty, the women promised they would hold a reunion twenty-five years later, and they kept their promise. Secrets and sorrows are revealed at that reunion and Trudy Cavanaugh, the lead character who now runs a publishing empire, realizes how assumptions and secrets can cloud one's memories and while she treasures her old friendships, she is at last able to let go of the past.

The Women of Camp Sobingo Excerpt:

Prologue
1973

Trudy Cavanaugh strode from the mahogany paneled boardroom, leaving in her wake seven men looking at each other in astonishment. She bolted into the women’s room at the end of the hall, pushed open a stall door and leaned over the toilet, allowing the bile to flow freely from her agitated stomach. Damn! She thought. When will I ever get used to confronting people without vomiting? Straightening, she flushed the toilet and emerged from the stall, going directly to the vanity area where she ran water and pumped the soap dispenser vigorously. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she grimaced at her appearance. She hoped she didn’t look as sick as she felt. Cupping her hands under the flow of cold water, she sipped water and rinsed her mouth of the foul taste. That would have to do until she could get her handbag where she carried a small bottle of mints. Opening the ladies’room door, she nodded at her secretary, who handed Trudy her handbag and her full-length mink coat, then motioned to the man who was leaning over the desk.

Her attorney pursued her through the offices of Cavanaugh Enterprises toward the elevators. Leo Powell knew he didn’t have to hurry; even the powerful and wealthy Cavanaugh woman had to wait for the elevator to crawl slowly from the ground floor to the twenty-fifth.
So she’s done it again, he grinned to himself as he walked behind the rapidly retreating figure. Outwitted those old farts on the board and headed this business in the right direction. If Trudy had been merely a figurehead chairman, she would have allowed the members to watch the company die, along with many other publications in this year of change.

Instead, Trudy had held her ground and bullied the old men- Those paunchy, balding, impotent old men in their pinstriped suits--into turning the focus of the business around- towards the woman’s market.

Not the traditional ladies market, though. With the emergence of women into positions of authority and power in the business world, Trudy had recognized their need for publications aimed at their work-world. No recipes for her. No fashion commentaries or movie-star profiles, but articles related to work experience, how to juggle appointments with babysitters...that’s what Trudy Cavanaugh wanted.

And that's what she’ll get, Leo knew. He slowed his pace and stood silently beside his employer by the elevator.

"Leo,” she said without turning to him, "What were those old geezers doing when I left?"
“Babbling amongst themselves. Having strokes and heart attacks.”

She chuckled. “Good. I want a meeting with the editors of all our publications tomorrow morning. I want to tell them all personally, before the Board has a chance to do any more damage.”

The elevator arrived and they stepped inside, its brass doors closing silently and firmly. They rode in silence to the garage floor where Trudy’s limousine waited.

Leo assisted her into the back seat, telling the driver; “We’ll go to Mrs. Cavanaugh’s home, now.”

Trudy settled herself against the car’s soft leather, pulling off her kid gloves and shrugging off her mink coat.

Leo pulled his cigarette lighter from his coat pocket and held it as she put a cigarette to her lips.
“Thank you.” She inhaled deeply and stretched her long legs straight out, flexing her tense leg muscles.

Leo wisely withheld his questions, as Trudy was seemingly absorbed in looking out the window at the changing autumn scenery.

Glancing out the window every so often, he studied her.

I know her like a book, he thought. In fact, Leo had been offered a great deal of money to write a book about the Cavanaughs, all of them, with Trudy as the focal point, but he had declined. Leo was above all else, loyal to the family. But what a book he could write. The Cavanaughs were newsmakers and this lovely member of the family was the most sensational of them all.

He found himself appraising her: Tall, rather an angular woman, with strong features and a certain boyish stride. Her hair was blond with sun-streaks, unaided hairdressers, as far as Leo could determine, and he knew well how her emerald—green eyes could turn from warm to stone cold. A line or wrinkle there, he admitted, but the woman was approaching fifty, and the strain of simply being a Cavanaugh was enough to age her—

He shook his head.

Trudy had said something.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I said I want to give a party.” She ground out her cigarette and turned her luminous eyes on him. They were not warm.

“I’ll get your social secretary--” he put his hand on the telephone.

“No.” She put her hand over his, stopping him. “No, Leo. I want do this one myself. But I need your help. Give me your legal pad and a pen, would you?”

He pulled them from his briefcase and she began writing in her illegible scrawl.

“I want you to find these people-- ”

“Is this what I think it is?” His eyebrows knitted in a frown. “Your friends from Korea?”

She continued scribbling. “We promised twenty years ago that we’d all meet again, and it’s time. Or it will be, soon.”

She tore off the page, handing it to him. “Do what you can, will you?”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

Leo looked at the list in dismay. About twenty names, ranks, a few last-known addresses. He looked up at her, but Trudy was looking out the window again.

“I’ll find them. When do you want them?”

“I’ve wanted them for a long time, Leo.” Her chin trembled and tears welled in her emerald eyes.

Leo had never, in all the years he had been around the family, seen Trudy Cavanaugh cry.

Never. Not when she and Philip returned from Korea, his body mutilated, then his soul, nor when Philip died. Not even when the Old Man died - but now--- now, the woman was about to cry.

The driver slowed as he turned to question his employer with his eyes. They were nearing the turnoff to the cemetery.

Trudy nodded, slowly, as she bit her lip to control the tears that had spilled over onto her cheeks. Yes, she would stop at the cemetery, as was her usual custom after haggling with the Cavanaugh Enterprises board members over one issue or another. She needed to get in touch with her roots, where she came from, more than where she was headed. And her roots lay with her late father-in-law, who had chosen Trudy over his own son, to assume the Chairmanship shortly before he died.

Leo helped her into her coat before she stepped out of the car in front of the Cavanaugh Mausoleum.

She approached the stone edifice with legs that felt like rubber. Entering, she paused at the casket that contained the body of her father-in-law. “Colin,” she murmured, “You would have been proud of me today. I turned the company upside down. And yes, I threw up later.” She allowed herself a somewhat crooked grin, as she stroked the top of the casket. She could almost imagine Colin guffawing loudly, his eyes sparking with a mischievous glint. She was silent for a few moments, then turned to her husband’s casket a few feet away.

“Philip,” she whispered softly as she knelt to touch his casket. “I’m keeping the pact we all made when we were in Korea. We will all meet again, as we promised. Maggie and Jake, BT and Doc, Nell and Evan… and…..and…..” she could not finish before she was swept away by great sobs. A moment passed and she composed herself. “I miss you.”

Wiping her eyes, she straightened and walked briskly to her waiting car.

“Let’s go home, Leo,” she said.