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Thursday, May 29, 2014

Blog Tour: An Absent Mind by Eric Rill (Guest Post + Giveaway)


** GIVEAWAY Details**
  • One randomly chosen commenter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.
About the Book:
A riveting new novel from Eric Rill, author of Pinnacle of Deceit and The Innocent Traitor, is about a race against time. The ticking time bomb is Saul Reimer’s sanity. His Alzheimer’s is going to be the catalyst that will either bring his family together or tear it apart.

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My Math 
Okay, so my left brain is somewhat wanting. Well, that’s probably an understatement. In fact, if it weren’t for calculators, I would still be using my fingers to count. But, even with that deficiency, I find it quite easy to come to a very important, rational conclusion about the following facts and figures.
The government spends $550 million every year on Alzheimer’s. (It spends $2.7 billion on cancer, $2 billion on heart disease, and $3 billion on HIV/AIDS.) And guess what it costs a year to take care of dementia patients? How about over $200 billion? Yes that was billion with a “b”. So you do the math, and unless you know something I don’t, this makes no sense.
Rates of heart disease, cancer, and HIV/AIDs are declining. Alzheimer’s rates are going through the roof. There are 5.5 million in the United States alone suffering from this disease (35 million worldwide), and the numbers are projected to double by 2020.
And what about the caregivers? Add them in, and the numbers of people dealing with Alzheimer’s are off the charts. The Alzheimer’s Association states that one in six women over 65 will get the disease, along with one in eleven men. That equates to one in nine people over 65 in the United States will get Alzheimer’s—oh, and by the age of 85, it’s one in two people.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I think something is very wrong here—costs running crazy, people dying a horrible death, and yet when someone like Seth Rogen goes to Capital Hill to plead for more funding for research, all he gets is a couple of senators who hang around to listen to him.
I wish I could end this blog with a good idea of how to rectify this situation, but, frankly, I’m baffled.

I only hope it doesn’t take family members of senators or congressmen being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s to change the model for allocating medical research. That would be a shame. Hopefully they will act before that happens.
Saul: The Fa├žade

It’s been almost two years since they told me how sick and useless I was. I am able to keep it more or less together most days. And I stress days, because by dinnertime my mind is exhausted. I never knew you could have an exhausted mind, but I do now. The sheer weight of having to pretend I am normal all day for my friends, or the store clerks, feels like a boulder around my neck. What happens toward sundown is like when you hear the snap, crackle, and pop when the transistors in your old television go bad. Everything numbs and becomes foggy. Sights, sounds, and smells meld into a ball and explode toward the sky. It’s as if I’m not the same person I was when I got up.

As of now anyway, I can see everything I want to say as clear as ice. It’s right there on a blackboard in front of me, spelled out perfectly. But then to actually say what’s written on the blackboard isn’t always a piece of cake. Sometimes it’s easy, like it is right now. I know what I’m saying to you is coherent and that my vocabulary is correct—but that could suddenly change and become difficult, sometimes impossible.

In the morning, I can be happy—well, maybe not happy, but not feeling sorry for myself. It’s different by lunch—if I remember to eat, and I generally do because it’s on my list, although I have been known to leave my pad somewhere and not be able to find it; if that happens, Monique usually reminds me. At least I think she does. Regardless, by lunchtime things generally start to go downhill.

Today, while I was sitting in my easy chair, she bent down to kiss me and brought her hand quickly to her mouth.

“Whew,” she said, or something like that. “You didn’t brush your teeth. Why did you check it off?”

I didn’t bother answering, not because she was interrupting my soap opera—I really wasn’t focusing anyway—but because I didn’t know the answer. Maybe I didn’t check the toothbrush to see if it was wet or dry, like I’ve been doing. Then she scolded me, like it was my fault. First they tell you you’re sick because you can’t remember anything and then they give you hell for not remembering.

The doorbell rang, and Monique disappeared for a minute, reappearing with Arthur Winslow in tow. I was standing there with the telephone receiver in my hand. Monique took it from me and put it back in the cradle.

Arthur was in high school with me and was actually the one who squealed to the principal that I was the one who decked Ian Coulter. Coulter, even though one of the great anti-Semites of all time, lived by a code of honor and wouldn’t have turned me in, but Arthur did, and I understand why. You see, Arthur was the goody-goody of the class. He would have turned in his own mother if she had done something wrong. But other than squealing on me, he was a true and trusted friend.

Arthur lives down the street—at least I think he still does—and faithfully drops in to see me. Sometimes I think he has nothing else to do. I can’t tell if he has missed any days visiting, or, if so, how many, but that doesn’t matter now. What I do know is he cares, and I hope he keeps coming, even if I don’t recognize him one day.


I already know that there will come a time when I won’t know him, or people like Bernie. Frankly, I don’t give a damn if I don’t recognize Bernie—in fact, that could be the Lord’s gift to me, something to make up for what lies ahead. What does bother me—in fact, scares the hell out of me—is not recognizing the kids. As inconceivable as that seems, they say it will happen as sure as night follows day. Who, you may ask, are they? I remember when I was a kid, my grandmother would always quote the almighty they. I would ask her, “Who are they, Granny?” She would always answer, “You know, they.” I think maybe she had Alzheimer’s!

Author Bio’s
Eric Rill was born in Montreal and graduated from Cornell University with a Bachelor of Arts, and from UCLA with an MBA. He held several executive positions in the hospitality industry, including president of a global hotel group. His hobbies include trekking, scuba diving, and collecting antique carpets.  Eric has two sons and divides his time between his residence in Panama and international travel. You can reach him at his website at: www.ericrill.com



Mary: It's great to meet a Cornell grad! 
** GIVEAWAY Details**
  • One randomly chosen commenter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.
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13 comments:

  1. Goddess Fish PromosMay 29, 2014 at 6:18 AM

    Thanks for hosting.

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  2. I am so glad to see that there is something being written about this very sad disease. It sounds very sensitive..

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  3. this sounds fantastic! Thanks for sharing!

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  4. Love the cover!

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  5. The excerpt sounds really good

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  6. I liked the topic of the novel. Alzhiemers disease is such a relevant topic for today.

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  7. I like the topic of Alzheimer’s. Alzheimer’s is a misunderstood disease. One that people need to know more about.....

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  8. The topic and cover work well together, especially with the font.

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  9. Thanks for hosting the contest! May you have a great day! =D

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  10. I like finding new authors through the blogs, I often find treasure I wouldn't otherwise know about. This book looks intense and dramatic - I like the sound of it

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  11. "My Math" caught my attention.

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  12. I enjoy learning about a new author (to me) and their books!!This looks like it will be interesting.

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