Ibk Akin – Plip Plap Plot – PROMO Blitz

Children’s Fantasy Adventure / Early Reader
Date Published: February 6, 2016

Uncle Fazo is not your typical Uncle… in that he was the crazy scientist that invented lots of funny and random things for the fun of it. Zach, his nephew and Miranda loved to test them out. Since Zach’s Uncle ‘passed away’, Zach inherited all of his junk.


Join the brave best of friends, Zach and Miranda as they discover some insane inventions like the mute wand, ice cube ray gun, a talking robot and oh’ did I mention a teleporting device that takes them anywhere in the world in seconds, where they can discover secrets of old times, solve mysteries and outsmart goons of all sorts?


And then there is the evil overlord Tain who has a mission to destroy the very things Zach and Miranda try to save – ‘WORDS’. How do you save words, you ask? Find out as the Beginning Series, starts the tale of their adventures, but as the best friends quickly discover, maybe some things are better left alone”


In this children’s book and a bit of superhero comedy, find out as the Beginning Series, starts the tale of their adventures, but as the best friends quickly discover, maybe some things are better left alone. This beginning reader’s chapter book is filled with action and adventure.

The Prequel is currently FREE on Amazon




Barnes and Noble


This is a prelude factoid book for the Plip Plap Plop Series. This Book introduces some of the characters in BOOK 1 (Fazo’s Junk). Miranda and Zach are best friends and do everything together.

Zach’s crazy inventor uncle left Zach some of his inventions in passing

As they go through his stuff they stumble upon a teleporting ball and unknowingly use it a few times

His uncle also had a robot who could help them on some of their adventures. Tain and his goons is the main enemy who opposes them on their adventures

In this introduction children’s book, Selena, Fred and Mr Lee the wordbot is introduced. These characters make a cameo appearance in Fazo’s junk. To get a sample teaser chapters for FREE of BOOK 1 of the series be sure to check out the contents pages of this factoid book or visit the website http://eyebeekay.com and sign up to get your free chapters and other sweet notifications right away.

The Plip Plap Plop Series is geared towards children ages 6-9. It is a Beginner Readers Book and also a chapter book for children. It has plenty of Action and Adventure to check out. The power and origin of words is one way the series have been described. Be sure to check out this children’s eBook series today. Book One Is Out now – AMAZON


“Where should we start?” Miranda asked, looking at the collection of weird objects.


“Let’s look for the notebook he mentioned then we can start from there.” Zach suggested. Miranda agreed and they began going through some boxes to find it. And find it they did.


After about 15 minutes, Zach yelled, “AHA!” and pulled out a red scientific notebook that said ‘FOR ZACH: INSTRUCTION MANUAL.’


Miranda dropped the things she was going through and hopped over to him as he opened to the first page. “Huh, an ice-cube shooter” he said, flipping to the next page. “A sticky rope swing.” Then he flipped to the next page. “Plip Plap Plop ball” and in fine print under the picture was the note ‘it all began with words’.


“HUH!?” Miranda squealed grabbing the notebook and reading the page. She looked at the drawing, then looked around the garage. “There!” she said pointing to the far back corner. There was an interesting clear ball that reminded Miranda of the plastic ball she had for her hamster to run around in. They both walked over to the ball.


“What does it…what do you think it is?” Miranda asked quietly. She reached out her hand slowly to touch the outside and as soon as she laid her fingers on the cool hard ball, Zach grabbed her shoulders from behind and shook her. Miranda jumped from the surprise then laughed as Zach said, “Gotcha!”

“Zach! That wasn’t funny!” she said although she was laughing. But at that same moment, the ball made a tiny ‘plip’ sound and began to beep.


“What the…?” Zach said as they both stepped backwards.


Miranda bravely leaned forward and covered the beeping light with her finger and the ball again seemed to come to life as they heard the sound “plip! plap! plop!”


Then all of a sudden the ball went from clear to pearly blue. Zach and Miranda felt their stomach rising, like you do when you are at the top of a high rollercoaster. Then after a moment, they were in a bakery. Miranda looked around and saw a funny sort of writing on the jars.


“All the jars have Swedish writing on them. I think that’s Swedish…” she said.


“Swedish? Could we be in Sweden?… How!? ” Zach said, alarmed.


“Or at least we are in a Swedish bakery store somewhere.” Miranda quickly noted.


They heard a noise coming from behind the  bricked wall. “I think someone must be baking something over there.” Miranda could smell cinnamon rolls on her breath.


The two crept silently to see a little, old, blonde woman leaning over the hearth. She was pulling out a roll that smelled of ginger and cinnamon.  They watched as she set it down to cool and stared at it.


A little girl appeared from the stairs on the other side of the kitchen. She was reciting a phrase that she may have just learned.


“See Nana’s bun! See Nana’s bun, the little girl recited over and over again. The blond lady smiled at the young girl and then seemed to freeze in a moment.


She jumped very quickly and started running around searching frantically for something.


“Where is my pen?” She yelled.


“I need to write this down, oh, angel you are a genius!” she said excitedly referring to the little girls’ rant. We shall call it ‘Seenanasbun’. Zach had seen enough. He motioned for Miranda to go back to the ball which was now clear again. Miranda approached and touched the ball, the ball came to life.


The two held onto the ball and plip plap plop, within a minute they were back in the garage again. Miranda and Zach couldn’t believe what had just happened. Had they really just teleported to another place and time?


“What just happened?” Miranda asked, still in shock, “is that ball a…you know?”


“I might be crazy, but I think we may have a teleporting ball,” Zach exclaimed. They both sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, but was actually only a couple minutes when Miranda said, “Want to try it again?”


IBK lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba. He was originally born and raised in Lagos, Nigeria. IBK enjoys traveling and adventure. He has a talent for storytelling and has only just started putting his words to paper. IBK works in children’s programs across the province of Manitoba. IBK’s debut series is the Plip Plap Plop series.Contact Information


Twitter: @IBKA1

Facebook: HERE

Osteoarthritis -Strategies to reduce inflammation and repair.


There are nearly 200 forms of arthritis but the most common are Rheumatoid, Osteo and Gout and these are the three I am covering in this short series… Yesterday I looked at the form of arthri…

Source: Osteoarthritis -Strategies to reduce inflammation and repair.



Psychological Suspense
Date Published: January 29, 2016

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Two days, eighteen hours, fifty-eight minutes…The time of your life on this earth. Richard Goodman is the caretaker of a unique institution that trains disabled youth in the art of watchmaking. But he is no ordinary administrator. He possesses extrasensory powers he does not fully understand and cannot control.
But an innocent outing to Coney Island results in him obtaining a more disturbing ability, along with a terrifying prophecy that he will die in less than three days. As the clock of his life counts down, a still greater threat emerges. An uncanny assassin who will destroy everyone he knows and loves.
Unless he can discover who the killer is. And stop him in time.
Praise for Visions Through a Glass, Darkly:
“A taut novel of suspense with a thread of the supernatural, Visions Through a Glass, Darkly seizes the reader’s attention and will not let go. Lurking underneath the saga of a psychic’s imminent mortality and the threat of a ruthless murderer are deeper thematic questions about the essence of human free will. An unforgettable, dizzying kaleidoscope of a thrill ride!” – Micah Andrews, Midwest Book Review
Kara lies unconscious on the bed. The light bed covers accentuate her slightly swollen midsection. Richard pulls the covers back and places his hands there gently, ever so gently, looking up towards her eyes. Tears stain his face and it is all he can do to prevent bawling outright. He chokes back his anguish.
                And then he feels the movement, almost imperceptible, like a feather gliding over water, raising his fingers ever so slightly.
                She is alive. He knows she is a girl, and that she is his child, without having to consider how he knows.
                I’ve got a special announcement and I want to be in a fun place, DIG?
                He looks at Kara again, and tries at the same time to catch any stirring with his peripheral vision. Before him lies his hope for a future, just trying to survive a little longer now in her warm dark place.
                He forgets for a moment that the doctor is here. If she has noticed his blood covered clothing, she hasn’t let on that she has. She isn’t very old, this doctor of medicine, her human feelings not yet hardened to cold steel by a thousand unpreventable demises, her eyes not yet blinded to the suffering of the infirm, her ears not yet closed to the cries of the dying and those who love them.  
                He senses her spirit. She holds suffering at bay by the force of her will. She has acquired skill, and knowledge, and uses these as her weapons in her daily battles with the horrifying aftermath of blind fate, or poor choices, or bad luck. Sometimes, she prevails.
                She has also gained wisdom, enough to know that every victory is fleeting, that she may hold the bastion for only a little while, and that ultimately she is powerless to halt the advance of time, or death. For we are all so fragile; each of us and all of us together; so breakable, so faulty.   
                And Richard knows that she feels this, as well: That whatever it is she truly clashes against, that one day it will stop, and turn around, and reveal itself to her, and she will see It as if for the very first time. And then It will take her, as if in payment for the lives she has stolen.  
                Richard looked up at the physician, afraid of the truth he would see in her eyes. He never got that far, really. The Wave swept over him as it never had before, as if it had a weight and a mass all its own, robbing the oxygen from the air, choking him, catching the hope in his throat and making it impossible for him to speak. It covered him in a dank blanket of misery and wretchedness, pushing him far past the point where he was even capable of articulating the question “why,” to a desolate place where that word has no meaning, where the only explanation in reply is “because.”
                The Wave forced his eyes closed and compelled him to See, and what he perceived was himself as a character in Dostoevsky’s novel, standing there on a rock three feet wide by three feet long, looking out over an endless sea with no other land in sight, with lightening crackling in the air and rain pouring down relentlessly, forever and for always, that black storm cresting, that ageless ocean lying before him until the end of time, he and It, he and It and nothing more; loneliness, true loneliness, killing the spirit and the soul but unmercifully leaving the body alive, leaving nothing but the husk of a man containing his skin, his bones, and his internal organs; lungs breathing, heart beating, body wracked by pain, pouring sweat, unwilling to stand but unable to fall, no reason to live but unable to die; not a scavenger in the sky, not the lowliest insect crawling on the ground, not even the dorsal fin of some fearsome beast below, nothing and no one, forever and for always alone alone alone.
                Here is fear, here is the end of all things, where all roads terminate, where all horror truly begins, where It lies and lives and rules and lords over nothing and everything; unspeakable dread where time does not exist, beyond reality, beyond the imagination of any reality, the mouth of the demon, the Center, the core, not a star in the firmament nor the faintest hope that there ever was, that there ever could be, that there ever will be, not here.
                Forever and for always. He was to be alone.   
About the Author

David I. Aboulafia is an attorney with a practice in New York City. He is also the author of “Snapshots from my Uneventful Life,” an irreverant collection of comedic essays.
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A WHOLE LOT ~ Literary Fiction by Bradley Wind


Literary Fiction
Date Published: February 16, 2016

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Abel Velasco calculates many things. Things like the arc of falling sycamore leaves, the duration of a dog sneeze, or the number of times his aunt might hit him. He can’t help it – he’s a savant.
It is 1982. Abel has left foster care to live with his newly found relatives. His typical teenage struggles are compounded by the complication of his savant talents. Searching for a challenge, Abel becomes obsessed with the mysterious architecture of an abandoned mansion and strangely numbered Bible, launching his journey from suburban New Jersey to Berkeley, California and beyond.
Dr. Darold A. Treffert, author of “Extraordinary People,” consultant for the movie “Rainman” and expert on savant syndrome wrote to Bradley: “Savant syndrome typically is present from birth as a part of some developmental disorder, including autism. But there are also cases of what I call “acquired savant” syndrome following head injury. The Acquired Savant raises interesting questions about the little Rain Man that might reside, perhaps, within us all.”

I sense something divine in you. Yes, I do.
In December 1666, the Chevalier de Terlon plucked a finger from the skeletal hand of the great mathematician René Descartes. When caught, de Terlon defended his theft as being worthy for, after all, it was the “instrument of the defunct’s immortal writings.” As documented in several of my favorite encyclopedias, Descartes was the father of modern philosophy and a key figure in the Scientific Revolution. No doubt he deserves respect, but I believe the finger theft a fitting tribute.
Descartes was a real a-hole. He called animals automata, basically flesh robots, and thought them without souls. How horrid to think of him dissecting living dogs, doing so only to learn how their hearts beat. A finger bone taken postmortem appears minor when one considers all those lives he stole, but still, he is my greatest hero and possibly, when I turn thirteen next year, I’ll care less for dogs. Most adults seem uninterested in animals.
I wish my neighbor, Mr. Sutkin, merely felt apathy toward his dog. He appears to hate Mister Scratch. Why own a dog you hate? Each time I see him hit Mister Scratch, I wish someone would steal Mr. Sutkin’s, pre-mortem.
From my back porch, I watched Mister Scratch sniffing for a discreet bowel-relief location. Mr. Sutkin would beat him if he crapped in his own yard, or if he found him on the obsolete train tracks that ran behind our houses. The options left were our property or on the banks leading down to the tracks. Crapping on a slope was no easy feat, so he preferred our yard. I tried to signal him to go next to the clothesline—neither Mr. Sutkin nor Pigpie (my aunt) could see him there, and I could take care of his pile—but he was too busy sniffing to notice me.
I dodged between the drying sheets to retreat from the breeze, pausing to smell the flowery detergent and experience the secret-passageway feeling that standing between sheets can give. Leaves flittered above, and the sheets started to whip against me. I considered sneaking a quick trip to the tree before mowing the lawn. The weather felt perfect for tree climbing.
Mister Scratch finished up his business and came over to sniff me as I started toward the tracks. His scent reached me first. If you eat what you smell, which we all do, and you are what you eat, then part of me is Mister Scratch – while most would find that a disquieting fact, I breathe deeply when he’s near. He’s a bent-tailed mutt who’s mostly beagle with conceivably some German shepherd, and he follows me all over the yard whenever we’re outside. He stopped at the slope, as he always does, and I waved good-bye as I climbed down.
A dirt trail detoured off the main path and wound through dense weeds and brushwood. Few could navigate it, especially not heavyset individuals. One had to keep alert to each root, rock, and thorny twig, but the path ended at a worthy destination: a giant old sycamore with a slat ladder nailed to the trunk.
At the seventh slat, I knew AC/DC Rocks and followed the directions to Keep Going!! At the eleventh, my heart doubted the truth that Alan & Lisa and they had True Luv Always. At the seventeenth slat, the writing on the board unnecessarily tipped me to being high in the sky with a little marijuana leaf drawn next to it. It was somewhat frightening to climb this far above the ground into such an old tree, but I always focused on the ladder’s words until I rested in her huge limbs. The gold and still-greenish leaves enveloped me as I dug my fingernails into the bark. After five minutes of careful climbing, the branches went rubbery, a stoplight signaling to go no farther. I did a quick scan for anyone who might see me

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