Posted in 4 paws, fiction, Giveaway, Literary, Review on September 30, 2016

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I JUST CAME HERE TO DANCE

by Susan Mary Malone

Genre: Literary Fiction

Publisher: White Bird Publications

Date of Publication: September 15, 2016

Number of Pages: 340

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synopsis

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Paula Anne Fairbanks understands all about the unexamined life. And she likes hers that way—until her world gets ripped smooth apart.

Running from reality, Paula falls under the mythological yarns being spun on Diana Maclean’s porch. Surely Paula’s own choices aren’t to blame for the summer of insanity she spends under the spells of Diana…who is, after all, known as the White Witch of Sociable, Texas.

I JUST CAME HERE TO DANCE, a modern allegory, waltzes atop the line between the creative and the crazy, the sacred and the maligned. Through myths it weaves together the multi-layers of personal Self with that of the collective whole. And finally, Paula Anne and the townsfolk learn the simplest of truths: that the fire’s ashes produce wisdom and courage, just as the stories say.

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PRAISE FOR I JUST CAME HERE TO DANCE

“Malone’s voice is one of the most charming I’ve read.  It brings the story and her characters to life.  I feel like I grew up with Paula right over the hill from the lively little town of Sociable, Texas.”  –New York Times bestselling author M. Leighton

“Susan Mary Malone pens well-crafted characters that are so vivid you can picture them in an award winning movie or television series.” –New York Times bestselling author Mary Honey B Morrison

“. . . a magical story about love ripped apart, a life examined, and then healed.  To be read slowly, to savor as one would a tall cool glass of lemonade, on a hot afternoon, watching the world become new.”  –Ginnie Siena Bivona, author of Ida Mae Tutweiler and the Traveling Tea Party, made into a Hallmark TV film, Bound by a Secret

Review
This book will twirl you around while whispering secrets of life, love, loss and the future. After all, life is a dance that is always changing. It is up to you to catch the rhythm.

I’m not even sure where to start on my thoughts of this book! The book centers around Paula Anne Fairbanks – a not quite 30 year old woman that got pregnant in high school (or soon after) and has spent her days raising her son while her husband, Marty, was on the rodeo circuit. He was injured and moved home but their life was never really the same. Or perhaps it was but neither wanted to admit that what they had wasn’t what they really wanted from life. It seems that Paula was having a mid life crisis early, or perhaps it was avoidance of life by seeking out good times, flirting with other men and perhaps wishing her life was different. But she and Marty seemed to have an unspoken understanding and would do their own thing and neither would complain about what each other was doing. This was working well until Paula Anne comes in to find her husband in bed with her best friend. I did see that one coming and that was even before a clue was dropped!

This affair seemed to have woken Paula Anne up from her life that was on auto-pilot. However, she can’t seem to make heads or tails of what she wants or how she should proceed. I imagine that it was a lot to take in after catching your husband cheating on you, and from all that we could infer from the book, it was probably a blessing in disguise. It just takes her awhile to realize that fact. Luckily she has the help of Diana, Lola and even Sleepy to guide her and make her face life. Even her mother, Bonita, reveals some tidbits that are wise in their own way.

The book reveals a lot of truths about Paula Anne, her mother and father, Diana (the proclaimed town witch) and even Marty and Melinda. Along with these characters, there is the small town of Sociable Texas that is destined to implode due to a feud – not unlike that of the Hatfield and the McCoy families of TN. And of course being a small town of around 200 or so, everyone is intertwined with each other and no one seems to truly mind.

Overall, the story is engaging and if nothing else, it reminds us to remember to enjoy life while you have it to enjoy. Whether that is dancing, telling stories or finding your true self. But it isn’t always easy and you might have to deal with crazies before you figure out where you are supposed to be in life.

We give this 4 paws up.

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about the author

susan-maloneTexas native Susan Mary Malone has published two novels, co-authored four nonfiction books, and written many short stories. Her happiness is fiction, wine, and Labrador Retrievers, the latter of which she raises, trains, and shows. Literature is her love. In addition to writing, she edits; fifty-plus Malone-edited books have sold to traditional publishers, and one of them was made into a Hallmark Hall of Fame film (while another is in production, set to be released in 2015). Her stories revolve around the passions and purpose, the myths and meaning of women’s lives. Which often involves wine. She does, however, try to keep the Labradors out of that.

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9/26 Promo Hall Ways Blog
9/27 Guest Post Country Girl Bookaholic
9/28 Review My Book Fix Blog
9/29 Excerpt Reading By Moonlight
9/30 Review StoreyBook Reviews
10/1 Promo Byers Editing Reviews & Blog
10/2 Review The Page Unbound
10/3 Author Interview Texas Book Lover
10/4 Review The Librarian Talks
10/5 Promo Books and Broomsticks

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Posted in excerpt, fiction, Guest Post, Historical on September 30, 2016

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23-minutes

Title: 23 Minutes Past 1 A.M.
Author: Robert J. Dornan
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 550
Genre: Historical Fiction

Synopsis

In the early morning of her sister’s wedding day, Mila Kharmalov stared in stunned silence at the coloured sparks streaming from Reactor Four of the Chernobyl Nuclear Plant.  At that very moment, her life and the lives of everyone she knew changed forever.

Years later and on another continent, Adam Byrd was writing biographies for everyday people looking to leave their legacy in book form. When the woman he loved phoned from Kiev offering him the chance to write the story of a lifetime, he jumped at the opportunity not realizing that his voyage would be a bumpy ride through a nations dark underbelly. With the help of his friend’s quirky cousin, Adam is nudged into a fascinating adventure of love, greed, power and psychotic revenge, culminating with a shocking finale.

23 Minutes Past 1 A.M. is a work of fiction based on factual events from Chernobyl and villages throughout Ukraine.

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Excerpt

The nurses at the reception desk were told not to stare at the late night visitor. He was a Ukrainian hero and deserved the highest level of respect. He arrived at midnight wearing sunglasses and a hoodie that covered most of his face. He said his name and the three nurses stood to welcome him as if honored by his presence. He was then led to Tania’s room. A wall light was lit above the bed. He didn’t recognize her.

Twenty-seven years had passed since the last time they spoke.  Tania was worried that Yuri would miss their wedding. He told her not to worry. She could have had a huge ceremony if he had not been so naïve with Asimov. If he had said no to the Colonels request, Yuri would still be alive. Tania didn’t know this part of the story. She didn’t know the love of her life agreed to dive into the radiated water to protect his best friend.

It was his fault.

Samizdat adored the sisters but the government-owned newspapers wrote horrible articles about them. He plowed their path and never admitted so. Tania disappeared into obscurity, visited only by curious weekend thrill seekers. She has no hair and her skin is yellow.

It was his fault.

Alex pulled a chair next to the bed and touched her hand. She groaned but her eyes remained closed.

“I don’t know where to begin. I’m hoping you don’t open your eyes to see me speak. To watch the hurt in your eyes would be more painful than the burns on my face.  I abandoned you Tania. I abandoned you to hide from life…and to hide from you. My memories of the days before the explosion are what allow me to wake each morning. They are my life force and I owe this to you and Yuri. Without the two of you, I would have been a lonely man with few true friends.

And I still abandoned you. “

“I thought you were dead,” Tania whispered.

A startled Alex let go of her hand and almost tumbled off his chair. “I’ve awoken you,” he said between excited breaths.

“If I remember correctly, it’s not the first time. Am I dreaming Alex?”

“No my friend,” he replied. “It’s me next to you.”

Tania rubbed her eyes attempting to see her friend better. “Why are you covering your face?”

Alex tugged on the top of his hoodie and lowered his head. He dared not remove his sunglasses fearing he would startle Tania.  A patient on the other side of the room exhaled a long painful groan. This was followed by a seemingly chorused shuffling by the other patients.  He closed his eyes. Everywhere he visited, there was suffering. It followed him like a shadow. Tania repeated her question.

“The left side of my face including my eye is scarred from radiation. In situations such as this, I am more comfortable not revealing my deformity. Please don’t ask me to do so.”

“And I look better?” Tania replied with a short snort. “I won’t ask you to do what you don’t want Alex. You were always a stubborn man anyway.” She paused. “I wish you had come see me many years ago but I’m thrilled to have you here.”

“I’ve wanted to sit with you for a long time,” Alex responded.

“Then why didn’t you?” Tania asked between short breaths. “Why do you choose now when my last breath is so near? Alex, we mourned your death. Your mother was heartbroken. I visited her little hut in the Exclusion Zone and it was a memoriam. Photos of you adorned every inch on every wall. Asimov gave her a medal from the Kremlin in your memory that was front and centre above the main room couch.  She picked flowers and left them on your gravesite every day. She cried for years and died alone.” Tania inhaled a long breath. “I always wondered why your body was not entombed at Mitino.”

A full cup of water lay on the bed table and Alex handed it to his friend. She raised herself and sat upright.  The sole light in the room warmed her bumpy, hairless scalp.

“They told me I saved the Soviet Union,” Alex whispered. “They told me I saved Europe. I was a hero in so many eyes…” His voice trailed for a few seconds and he continued.  “I didn’t feel like a hero. The guilt was too heavy to endure. I ruined your life.”

“My life was not yours to ruin. You’re obviously here to say your peace so take a deep breath and tell me what has encumbered you all these years.” Tania stroked his hand with her fingertips. “Don’t fear judgment my old friend, it is not mine to deliver.”

Alex contemplated removing his sunglasses but did not. He had thought of this moment for more than two decades. The conversation took place hundreds of times while he lay in bed struggling to find sleep. He must stay strong.

“Asimov summoned us when someone from Pripyat mentioned Yuri and I were champion swimmers. I didn’t fully understand what the Commander was asking us to do but Yuri did. He didn’t chastise me when I eagerly volunteered. He was more concerned about you.

The suits they gave us were flimsy at best. After opening the sluice gates we tried to swim back as fast as we could but our legs were numb. My face stung like I had fallen on a bee hive. Smiles greeted us at the pond edge and pulled us out of the water. Within seconds I vomited, as did Yuri and Breshevski. I lay on my side and Breshevski was staring wide-eyed at me. I smiled, but he did not acknowledge me. His eyes were shining. I couldn’t understand how he could stare at me and not blink. Two men lifted him and as he was transported outside he yelled that Yuri and I were still in the water and someone had to save us. He was looking right at us.  I learned later that his goggles were defective. By the time he reached the hospital his corneas had melted.

Yuri vomited for a second time in less than three minutes. His arms could not hold him and he slumped into his own regurgitation. I was about to stand when two comrades wrapped my arms around their shoulders and dragged me outside.  Yuri was not far behind and was eased onto a stretcher while we waited for another ambulance.  I wasn’t suffering like Yuri and was strong enough to kneel next to him.  I was overcome with emotion when I looked at his bright red face. The skin on his forehead was cracked like a car window. I cried openly, and a photographer snapped a picture.  Yuri mumbled that if I continued to cry he would start calling me Alexandra. These were the last words he would ever say to me. I couldn’t stop bawling. Asimov was nearby and put his hand on my shoulder. Paramedics lifted Yuri and placed him in the ambulance that had mercifully arrived. I yelled out his name. I told him I was sorry. I was trembling and frozen in place. I didn’t hear the cheers from the workers in the background. I didn’t hear Asimov whispering in my ear. I could barely move so I sat with my head on bent knees. My best friend may die and it was my fault. Flashing lights blurred my vision. More photographers had gathered to take more photos.

Asimov, with the help of a few men, got me into a jeep and we drove back to the same hotel that Kremlin dignitaries were staying. They gave me a room with a shower that I used until no hot water remained. Aside from the tingling in my face, I was fine. They brought me new clothes. I had dinner with the Colonel and some other man I have long forgotten. They praised my efforts. I asked for updates on Yuri but none were available except that he was being flown to Moscow. I told Asimov that Yuri’s fiancée had to be called. The other man made a note and mentioned that Yuri’s condition and whereabouts would be posted in every newspaper across the Soviet Union. Asimov found his assistant’s comment inappropriate and said he would fly to Moscow himself and I was not to worry.

I did worry. It was all I did for years to come.

I had the strangest dream. It was an evening of sleep I never forgot. I excused myself from dinner early and returned to my room. Within minutes I was sleeping. I remember four white walls, a white floor and a white door. I was yelling for someone to save me but no one came. Every time I reached to open the door it would disappear and reappear on a different wall.  A bright light blinded me temporarily, and I realized the door had opened. The same light shone whenever the door opened except once. Yuri walked in through the lights and stood in front of me.  He said nothing and shook his head with disapproval before leaving through the wall behind me. You were next Tania, and you did the same as Yuri. Mila followed, as did my mother, Yulia, David and many others. Each paraded by me with contempt in their eyes. The last person to visit was Valeri Markov, a man I knew from the academy. When he entered the room there was no bright light. The door opened and shut. He smiled, tapped me on the shoulder and sat in the far corner. I asked what he was doing and where he thought he was. He said he was sharing a room with me… in hell. I woke up. Firecrackers from May Day celebrations burst in succession. Drunken soldiers and liquidators were singing. My face hurt.

The next morning I told Asimov I would return to my duties. He replied that I was to rest and not to worry about work for the next few days. He handed me two bottles of vodka and a radio. I wanted a newspaper and one was delivered to me along with breakfast and a prostitute. She drank my vodka and ate my breakfast. I read a small blurb about Reactor Four and that all was safe. There was no mention of Yuri or Breshevski. Maybe tomorrow, I thought. The prostitute danced around the room with a bottle of vodka in her hand.  She had undressed and wore only her panties. She spent most of the previous evening celebrating May Day with married politburo officials and smelled like liquor and old men. She passed out but not before puking on the curtains.

Guest Post

The Inspiration Behind the Cover of 23 Minutes Past 1 A.M.

On April 26th, 1986, Reactor Four of the Chernobyl Nuclear Plant suffered a massive explosion, shooting millions of radioactive isotopes into the early morning sky. 23 Minutes Past 1 A.M. is a work of fiction based on factual events that occurred before, during and after the blast.

The weekend of April 26th was supposed to be a weekend of celebration for the Kharmalov family but instead a horrific accident set them on a grueling tale of deceit, revenge and loss.

I am Robert J. Dornan and I wrote 23 Minutes Past 1 A.M after writing a same-titled song lyric. I had written and edited other books but never anything that required extensive research so 23 Minutes became a learning experience on many different levels.

The Motherland Calls is a monument in Volgograd, Russia that commemorates the Battle of Stalingrad.  The Arc De Triomphe in France and the Statue of Liberty in New York are two more examples of landmarks or monuments that symbolize an event or a philosophy.

The first day of May in the Soviet Union was a day of celebration of military power and Soviet unity. In the nuclear city of Pripyat, the day would include the opening of an amusement park that included bumper cars and a Ferris wheel.  Most of the research I studied claimed that the amusement park never sold a solitary ticket yet I did find a few articles that stated otherwise, saying that the park was opened the day of the explosion in order to calm the populace. Either or, the Ferris wheel to me, represents the death of the city of Pripyat.  A death caused by inexcusable ineptitude and the incalculable destructive power of nuclear energy. The word Chernobyl incites memories of failure and danger. The Ferris wheel incites memories of a loss of innocence and hope.

I found and purchased the book cover image from the web and two designers, Melissa Tovar and Cheryl Perez put the finishing touches to the book cover.  It took five revisions to final product.

Thanks for inviting me to your unique blog and with any luck, you’ll invite me back.  I do wish to add that if any of your readers wish to contact me about 23 Minutes Past1 A.M. or environmental solutions, I can be reached at jackcityguy@gmail.com

About the Author

bob-dornanRobert J Dornan is someone who wishes to leave a better world to his children. He realizes that the odds are slim but he will do whatever he can to increase the probability of success.  He is always open to discuss new and innovative ideas and hopes someday to see the building of a functional solar city as well as a fair and community-driven compensation system.

 

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Posted in Cover Reveal, Romantic Suspense on September 30, 2016

Title: When the Storm Breaks

Author: Avery Hart

Cover design & Photography by: Marisa-rose Shor @ Cover Me Darling (https://www.facebook.com/covermedarling/)

Release date: TBD (October 2016)

Genre: Romance/Suspense

Synopsis

Claire Scott is at an all-time high in her life. After landing her dream job and marrying her best friend, James, she knows that life can’t get much better. Unfortunately, what should be the happiest time of her life suddenly changes when a traumatic event tears her world apart.

Mason Brady never planned to be a part of Claire’s life. In fact, he avoided her as much as possible, but fate works in the most mysterious ways. When he finds her broken and scared, he knows that he needs to do whatever he can to help her heal.

As her world continues to crumble around her, no one in Claire’s life is safe. With someone on a mission to hurt her, Claire knows that her only option is to run. However, there is a problem. How can you run when you don’t know who it is you’re running from?

One wrong move may cost Claire the lives of those she loves most, but, when the storm breaks, who will be left to pick up the pieces?

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Posted in excerpt, Giveaway, Interview, Science Fiction, Spotlight, Young Adult on September 29, 2016

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storm-of-arranon

Title: Storm of Arranon
Author: R. E. Sheahan
Publisher: Rule of Three Press
Pages: 300
Genre: YA Science Fiction/Fantasy

Synopsis

A forbidden birth. A remarkable young woman. A marauding alien society. The battle begins.

A brutal alien society invades Korin and Arranon, intent on destroying the two worlds that make up Cadet Erynn Yager’s home. Forced to expose her strange abilities and reveal her forbidden birth, a guarded web of secrets unravels.

Stranded on an unfamiliar planet of eternal winter and predatory wildlife, the mysterious living consciousness of Arranon intervenes, leading Erynn on a mystical journey.

Aware of Erynn’s potential, the alien enemy pursues her. She struggles to gain control of her growing powers while in a constant race to elude the invaders, and join the forces preparing to fight a mounting occupation.

Erynn’s secret may be her worlds’ only hope, but at the cost of her life. Swept up in a chain reaction of events, Erynn’s dedication extends far beyond service and duty. She learns the true meaning of sacrifice.

Along with courage and hope, Erynn finds something unexpected on her journey of awareness and growth.

Love.

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Excerpt

TENDRILS OF BLUE STATIC POPPED and snapped around Lieutenant Erynn Yager’s fingers as she tapped the keypad. Black numbers and symbols streamed across the white screen of her monitor. She glanced up, checking the equation on the large overhead at the front of the cramped classroom and smiled, her answer correct.

Delicate blue currents reached out and wrapped around her hands with a faint tingling sensation. In a breath Erynn whispered, “Com avlash.” She brushed at dappled shadows that danced across the pool of sunlight at the edge of her desk, amused by the wispy blue filaments tracing her movements. They flowed like a lazy stream, trailing the path her fingertips traveled before the energy faded. As the static disappeared, she glanced around to make sure no one noticed.

No one ever had.

The buzz of winged centinents drifted in on a warm breeze through the open window next to her. She sighed and fingered the neck of her white uniform shirt, the stiff collar tight and irritating in the rising temperature.

From the front of the classroom the instructor, Major Kendal, his tan uniform meticulous, asked, “Does anyone need more time?” He scanned faces in the room. No one responded and he continued, “I trust you took into account gravitational pull, divided by trajectory angles, while factoring in speed given mass and friction before multiplying . . ..”

Erynn tried to listen, but his incessant droning soon matched the hum from outside.

Static crackled, and the air thickened with a sinking heaviness. The temperature plunged to an icy cold, chilling her moist skin. A sweet, spicy aroma replaced the electronic scent of computers and sour sweat of bodies pressed into a tight space for too long. She glanced out the window and frowned. What

Broad yellow, orange, and red leaves trembled in the breeze. Brown stone buildings melded with the blue sky and manicured green lawns. The colors ran, blurred, and morphed into dark oily shapes with faint outlines of long arms and legs. She stiffened and squeezed her eyes shut. Images played in her mind like a silent vid in fast-forward.

Flash—a brilliant jeweled city nestled in a deep green forest. Flash—majestic spires of trees surrounding a clearing, the woods tossed in a violent windstorm. Flash—mountain peaks covered by snow and ice.

More impressions swirled and sped by, eclipsing her thoughts, taking control.

Bright pinpoints of red and orange exploded, swarming under her closed lids. The high-pitched sound of a hundred musical instruments in discord screamed in her mind. The syrupy aroma intensified. She caught two words through the cacophony—a plea, and a warning.

“Cadjoo. Mabrath.”

Her chest constricted, unable to expand.

Help. Death.

The meaning of these two words, in a language she’d made up as a child, took her breath. She pushed recognition away, refusing the insistent vision that pried at the corners of her mind seeking purchase.

Prophecy.

The word slithered across her nerves like a dry whisper.

Heart thudding, her lids flew open. At the periphery of her vision, the sparkling colors blinked out, and the heavy atmosphere in the room lifted. Erynn’s ears popped and the shrieking voices died, sudden quiet making her believe the shrill proclamation left her deaf. She jumped up, chair legs screeching backward on polished tile as the desk banged into the seat in front of her. “No!” Her shout rang out in the small, quiet room.

Floor heaving like rolling waves, she leaned against the desk on unsteady legs. Startled students in her weapons-and-tactics class stared at her, most of them shaking their heads and smirking. Ridicule and resentment came as a barrage of stinging barbs digging under her skin. Concentrated emotions of pity, anger, concern, scorn, disgust and envy bombarded against her attempt to focus, to gain control.

In a practiced technique, Erynn envisioned a wide tunnel of white brightness spiraling into a tiny point of light. This method narrowed her exposure to the emotions of others. The reactions assailing her all but disappeared. She hissed quick breaths through clamped teeth and the nauseating sensation of motion stopped.

Interview

We’d like to welcome R.E. Sheahan to StoreyBook Reviews today.  We got a chance to ask her a few questions and get to know her and her books better.  So welcome!

Is there a particular author that inspires you?

I love Dean Koontz. His descriptions of places and characters make me feel like I’m right there with them in the story.

What is your average writing day like? Do you have any strange writing habits?

First thing in the morning, I check my email. Then I check KDP and Amazon reviews. I know. I’m not supposed to worry about this, but it gives me a goal. Next comes FaceBook. I’m not good on Twitter or I’d spend more time there every day.  I usually work on revisions before doing any new material, interspersed with frequent visits to FaceBook, KDP, and Amazon. I spend a little time on promotions and marketing at least three days a week. Strange writing habits, hmmm. I write with the TV on. The background noise helps, but I don’t know how strange that is. Oh, I can’t write with music playing. So that seems weird. TV okay. Music not okay. I keep wanting to sing along.

From all your books, do you have a favourite character?

I love Erynn. I’ve put her through so much and she just keeps bouncing back. But in the first three books, I think Cale was my favourite character. In book four, I’m leaning toward a new character, Bryn. She’s snarky.

Do you plot your books completely before hand or do you let your imagination flow whilst in the writing process?

Oh my gosh, I’m a total pantser, as in I write by the seat of my pants. I do not outline. The characters lead the story.

If your book was made in to a film, who would you love to play the lead character(s)?

I’ve replaced several of my characters with actors. Faylen is Vin Diesel. Cale is Liam Neeson. Jaer is a combination of Jason Momoa as Khal Drogo and Oded Fehr as Ardeth Bay. Tam is Zoe Saldana. But when it comes to Erynn, I’ve got nothing.  She is just Erynn.

About the Author

robynn-e-sheahanI have always been a reader. I love books. When I’m not able to read, I listen to audio books. I started writing while working as a Paramedic/Firefighter in Northern California. Trust me, it’s not like it appears on TV. There was plenty of time for books, mostly reading them. I didn’t seriously start writing until I moved to my ranch in Oregon. While waiting for lambs to be born in the middle of the night, I would head back to the house for an hour or two and sit down at the computer. Before I knew it, I had a manuscript. Not a good one, but a start.I joined critique groups and attended writer’s conferences. I was on the fast track to learning.

In 2013, I received an honorable mention in Writer’s Digest’s Self Published book awards for MG/YA. I guess I am learning something!

Ideas from dreams follow me into warm sunny days or the quiet of falling snow. “What ifs” feed a vivid imagination. Even mistyped phrases may lead to an “aha” moment. Brain storming sessions standing in windy, dark parking lots with fellow writers release thoughts that pry at the corners of my mind, grasping for purchase. Sometimes the ideas pursue me, with persistence.

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Giveaway

R. E. Sheahan is giving away a paperback copy of Book Two (Storm of Arranon Fire) and Book Three (Storm of Arranon Allies and Enemies)!

Terms & Conditions:

  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive both books
  • This giveaway ends midnight October 28.
  • Winner will be contacted via email on October 29.
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

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Posted in 5 paws, Cozy, Giveaway, Historical, mystery, Review on September 29, 2016

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marchtoremember

A March to Remember (A Hattie Davish Mystery)
Historical Cozy Mystery
5th in Series
Kensington (September 27, 2016)
Paperback: 304 pages
ISBN-13: 978-1617737282
E-Book ASIN: B01A4APINY

Synopsis

Traveling secretary Hattie Davish is taking her singular talents to Washington, D.C., to help Sir Arthur Windom-Greene research his next book. But in the winding halls of the nation’s capital, searching for the truth can sometimes lead to murder . . .

Hattie is in her element, digging through dusty basements, attics, and abandoned buildings, not to be denied until she fishes out that elusive fact. But her delightful explorations are dampened when she witnesses a carriage crash into a carp pond beneath the shadow of the Washington Monument. Alarmingly, one of the passengers flees the scene, leaving the other to drown. The incident only heightens tensions brought on by the much publicized arrival of “Coxey’s Army,” thousands of unemployed men converging on the capital for the first ever organized “march” on Washington. When one of the marchers is found murdered in the ensuing chaos, Hattie begins to suspect a sinister conspiracy is at hand. As she expands her investigations into the motives of murder and closes in on the trail of a killer, she is surprised and distraught to learn that her research will lead her straight to the highest levels of government . . .

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Review

I have enjoyed the adventures of Hattie Davish since the first book. She may be a prim and proper woman of the late 1800’s, but she has a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time which then leads to her solving a murder.

In every book I have read in this series, I am always amazed how how proper the killers are when they are revealed. They don’t go running off or try and harm anyone else, they accept their fate and are rounded up by the police. Wouldn’t that be nice if people acted this way today?! I did suspect who the killer was just because I couldn’t see anyone else doing it, but I didn’t know the reason behind the situation.

There is even a little romance in this series once Hattie met Walter, a dashing doctor in a previous book. I do enjoy seeing their romance continue and how different it is than times today. I also like that while this may be the late 1800’s, that Walter is very supportive of Hattie’s career and does not expect her to sit at home and manage the house should they marry. Very forward thinking for a man of those times, especially considering we see how boorish other men are and how they treat their wives.

This book revolves around an actual historical event that involved Coxley’s Army. I really enjoy learning a bit more history especially this event that isn’t as well known as other events. And the fact that they managed to arrest people for standing on the lawn of the White House. What a crazy law that was on the books. I also liked how the politicians were portrayed, not a whole lot different than politicians today other than they might be a little more refined. It is also perfect timing with the election and everything we see in the news.

Excellent book and with the ending will be curious to see how future books play out! can’t give you too many details otherwise I would giveaway the ending!

We give this book 5 paws up.

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About the Author

Loan_Wilsey_headshotAnna Loan-Wilsey, biologist, librarian, and author, writes the historical Hattie Davish Mystery series featuring a Victorian traveling secretary who solves crimes in every historic town she visits. The first in the series, A Lack of Temperance, set in 1890’s Eureka Springs, Arkansas, (an Amazon #1 bestseller) was followed by Anything But Civil (set in Galena, IL), A Sense of Entitlement (an iBook #1 bestseller set in Newport, RI), and A Deceptive Homecoming (set in St. Joseph, MO, Hattie’s hometown).  A March to Remember finds Hattie caught up in the political intrigues surrounding Coxey’s Army and the first “march” on Washington, D.C. Anna lives in a Victorian farmhouse near Ames, Iowa with her family where she is happily working on new mystery adventures.

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September 27 – Brooke Blogs – GUEST POST

September 28 – Grace. Gratitude. Life – REVIEW

September 28 – Island Confidential – CHARACTER INTERVIEW

September 28 – The Power of Words – REVIEW

September 29 – StoreyBook Reviews – REVIEW

September 30 – Author Annette Drake’s blog – INTERVIEW

October 1 – A Holland Reads – SPOTLIGHT

October 2 – Shelley’s Book Case – REVIEW, GUEST POST

October 3 – Pulp and Mystery Shelf – SPOTLIGHT

October 4 – Queen of All She Reads – REVIEW

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October 5 – 3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too! – SPOTLIGHT

October 6 – Girl Lost In a Book – REVIEW

October 7 – A Blue Million Books – INTERVIEW

Posted in 4 paws, excerpt, fiction, Review, women on September 29, 2016

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Title: The Things We Said Today – A Bennett Sisters Novel
Author: Lise McClendon
Publisher: Thalia Press
Pages: 274
Genre: Women’s Fiction

Synopsis

Five sisters, all lawyers, well-trained in the art of demanding what’s necessary.It’s enough to drive a wedding planner to tears. Then add in a European venue, a Scottish hunting lodge, and a reluctant bride, and things get dicey. Can the middle sister, Merle, rally the troops, deal with the in-laws, and stop a powerful storm from ruining everything? Merle has powers of persuasion, especially when it comes to her French beau, Pascal, but in Scotland she has no clue how to corral her out-of-control sisters who are hellbent on wringing every bit of drama from a bad situation.

Annie Bennett is getting married…. At the ripe old age of 55. She’s turned down a few proposals over the years and stayed true to her motto: Stay single, stay happy. When she met handsome Scot Callum Logan she had no intentions beyond her own personal Highland fling. Then it happened: she fell in love. Annie’s doubts about marrying a much-younger man continue to plague her. Callum wants to get married in the bluebells of his native Highlands. But does Annie want to get married at all?

Join the Bennett Sisters in their third rollicking novel, after Blackbird Fly and The Girl in the Empty Dress, in another summer adventure with romance, intrigue, men in kilts, plus wine and whisky, as they navigate the treacherous waters of middle-age, self-discovery, and understanding your fears.

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Excerpt

The Scottish landscape sped by the window in flashes of greens, ruby reds, and golds as Merle Bennett sat curled into the train seat, holding Pascal’s warm hand. All the planning, coordinating, and anxiety of the last few months evaporated as they passed fields of sheep, horses grazing on emerald pastures, trees aglow with new finery, and tiny villages squatting low along roadsides.

As a pessimist Merle never thought it could all come together, even with her prodigious check-lists. But there is one important reason to be a pessimist. As one you are subject to pleasant surprises, and Merle was experiencing one now. Things had come together. Stasia, the hyper-organized sister, had wielded her mighty binder full of maps, weather charts, and suitcase-packing diagrams. Merle provided lists of clothing required for each day of the week. Annie, the eldest and the bride, had floated along on everyone else’s plans. The younger sisters were blissfully ignorant of all lists, treating the whole thing as a big adventure. And it was, Merle supposed, if you looked beyond the machinations to make it all happen.

Annie’s wedding was in five days. Merle was crazy about Callum Logan, as he made her sister happy. That was easy to see. But it would be stretching it to say that she thought six months ago that this wedding would happen. Moving entire families across the Atlantic Ocean, coordinating flights, getting passports for some, renewals for others, hotel rooms, rental cars, all that plus the actual wedding planning. Not to mention trying to make everyone happy. It was a nightmare to Merle. In the end she only had to coordinate herself and Pascal. And that, as it turned out, was easy.

He had his head back, eyes shut, black curl drooping on his forehead. The sway of trains made most people sleepy but Merle rode one almost every day. She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. Almost everything about Pascal was easy, she thought, and that made her twitchy. Life in general didn’t fit that pattern. There were compromises and disappointments, failures and chaos. People left you, grew up, moved away, died. There was so much room for loneliness and disaster.

Life was irritatingly random. So she made her lists, trying to control what she could and cross the rest off.

They slowed to a stop in a small town. The station was bright, cheerful, with splashes of blue paint. Sunshine poured through glass panels in the roof. Everything she’d heard about Scotland seemed wrong. It was beautiful, peaceful, full of spring flowers, blue skies, and happy faces.

She made a quick promise to herself to smile all week. Her son Tristan wouldn’t be here to remind her. A glance at Pascal might do the trick. It shouldn’t be that hard. She was happy for Annie, who despite years of protestations and bohemian ways, was actually getting hitched.

It was amazing. It was romantic. And it felt inevitable the way the best things do, as if life had finally given up throwing obstacles in your path and wrapped its warm arms around you and whispered those happy words you’d been longing to hear.

This is your moment. Go live it.

Review

This is the third in the series, but it can be read without reading the first two books. You may learn more about the sisters and their situations, but I don’t feel like I really missed much not having read the books.

This book is listed as women’s fiction, but there is a little bit of mystery/suspense wrapped up in this story.

There are 5 sisters and this book revolves around Annie, who is 55 and marrying a man that is 14 years younger than her. She has some serious reservations about marriage and whether it is really for her. Callum is her fiance and he has a few secrets of his own that nearly derail their relationship. And there is his very overbearing mother.

But the whole book is not just about them…there is a journey involved for Merle and her boyfriend Pascal; Francie; Elsie; and even Stasia. Each minor character adds to the overall flow of the story.

Overall the story was enjoyable and since it was set in Scotland, the picture that was painted made me feel like I was there. There is a good blend of characters that play off each other well to round out the story.

We give this book 4 paws up.
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About the Author

lise-mcclendonLise McClendon writes fiction in the Rocky Mountains of Montana. She has been a film reviewer, a film maker, a journalism professor, and a PR flack. Since her first novel, The Bluejay Shaman, was published in 1994, she has served on the national board of Mystery Writers of America and the International Association of Crime Writers/North America, as well as on the faculty of the Jackson Hole Writers Conference where each year she critiques, speaks, and learns from writers new and old.

Lise McClendon also writes as Rory Tate.

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Posted in excerpt, Giveaway, Historical, romance, Spotlight on September 28, 2016

perks-of-loving
THE PERKS OF LOVING A SCOUNDREL
By Jennifer McQuiston
Avon Books
September 27, 2016
ISBN: 9780062335142; $$7.99
E-ISBN 9780062335159; $5.99

Synopsis

New York Times bestselling author Jennifer McQuiston continues her enchanting Seduction Diaries series as a bookish spinster and an unrepentant rogue unite to unmask a traitor.

Every girl dreams of a hero….

No one loves books more than Miss Mary Channing. Perhaps that’s why she’s reached the ripe old age of six-and-twenty without ever being kissed. Her future may be as bland as milk toast, but Mary is content to simply dream about the heroes and adventures she reads about in her books. That way she won’t end up with a villain instead.

But sometimes only a scoundrel will do.

When she unexpectedly finds herself in the arms of Geoffrey Westmore, London’s most notorious scoundrel, it feels a bit like a plot from one of her favorite novels. Suddenly, Mary understands why even the smartest heroines can fall prey to a handsome face. And Westmore’s is more handsome than most. But far worse than the damage to her reputation, the moment’s indiscretion uncovers an assassination plot that reaches to the highest levels of society and threatens the course of the entire country.

When a tight-laced miss and a scoundrel of epic proportions put their minds together, nothing can stand in their way. But unless they put their hearts together as well, a happy ending is anything but assured.

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Praise

“McQuiston’s third Seduction Diaries novel is to be commended for its complex and unusual plot and for featuring characters the reader comes to care for. A surprising, readable story about healing, forgiveness, and trust.” — Kirkus

“The story is equal parts mystery and romance, and just when readers begin to feel cheated, the twists and turns navigate to a stunning ending.”— Publishers Weekly

“Pure Escapism. Ms. Mcquiston created a romance as epic as the characters who lived it. […] With easily identifiable main characters and a thrilling story, it was a no brainer for me to gift this book with 5 stars and a Top Pick.” — Night Owl Reviews

”McQuiston’s Seduction Diaries series captivates readers with clever plots and engaging characters. Incorporating plenty of sexual tension, bantering dialogue and a mystery into this installment delivers everything fans expect from McQuiston. This is truly a delightful addition to a reader’s library.”— RT Book Reviews

“THE PERKS OF LOVING A SCOUNDREL is full of interesting characters and their interactions, especially those between West and Mary. There is also plenty of suspense concerning the assassination. The era is also a change from the Regency that so Dominates British historical romances.”— Romance Reviews Today

“Regency romance fans will adore this addition to McQuiston’s Seduction Diaries series”— Booklist

Excerpt

From the Diary of Miss Mary Channing
May 24, 1858

Eleanor wrote today. I should have been glad to hear from her, given that she is my twin sister and I love her dearly, but it would be untruthful to say the contents of her letter pleased me. Her new husband, Lord Ashington, has been called away on business and she’s asked me to come to London to keep her company during the last two months of her confinement.

Can you imagine? Me, in London?

My family says I must get my nose out of my books and begin to live in the world around me. It is true I’ve never been further afield than a day trip from home, and that I have never slept a night outside my own bed. But why would I ever want to leave, when I have my books to keep me company? And a trip to London is not without its perils. I could very well end up like one of the characters in my beloved stories, snubbed by the popular crowd. Whispered about behind lace fans. Or worse . . . led astray by a handsome villain and then abandoned to my fate.

Yet, how could I not go? Eleanor is my sister, and she needs me. So I shall put on a brave face. Pack a trunk. Smile, if I must. But I can’t help but wonder . . . which worries me more?

The many things that could happen in London?

Or the thought of seeing Eleanor, with her handsome new husband, and her shining, lovely life, and everything I am afraid of wanting?

Chapter 1

London, May 29, 1858

The smell should have been worse.

She’d expected something foul, air made surly by the summer heat. Just last week she’d read about the Thames, that great, roiling river that carried with it the filth of the entire city and choked its inhabitants to tears. Her rampant imagination, spurred on by countless books and newspaper articles, had conjured a city of fetid smells, each more terrible than the last. But as Miss Mary Channing opened her bedroom window and breathed in her first London morning, her nose filled with nothing more offensive than the fragrance of . . .

Flowers.

Disconcerted, she peeked out over the sill. Dawn was just breaking over the back of Grosvenor Square. The gaslights were still burning and the windows of the other houses were dark. By eight o’clock, she imagined industrious housemaids would be down on their knees, whiting their masters’ stoops. The central garden would fill with nurses and their charges, heading west toward Hyde Park.

But for now the city—and its smells—belonged solely to her.

She breathed in again. Was she dreaming? Imagining things, as she was often wont to do? She was well over two hundred miles from home, but it smelled very much like her family’s ornamental garden in Yorkshire. She didn’t remember seeing a garden last night, but then, she had arrived quite late, the gaslight shadows obscuring all but the front steps. She’d been too weary to think, so sickened by the ceaseless motion of the train that she’d not even been able to read a book, much less ponder the underpinnings of the air she breathed.

She supposed she might have missed a garden. Good heavens, she probably would have missed a funeral parade, complete with an eight-horse coach and a brass band.

After the long, tiresome journey, she’d only wanted to find a bed.

And yet now . . . at five o’clock in the morning . . . she couldn’t sleep.

Not on a mattress that felt so strange, and not in a bedroom that wasn’t her own.

Pulling her head back inside, she eyed the four-poster bed, with its rumpled covers and profusion of pretty pillows. It was a perfectly nice bed. Her sister, Eleanor, had clearly put some thought into the choice of fabrics and furniture. Most women would love such a room. And most women would love such an opportunity—two whole months in London, with shops and shows and distractions of every flavor at their fingertips.

But Mary wasn’t most women. She preferred her distractions in the form of a good book, not shopping on Regent Street. And these two looming months felt like prison, not paradise.
The scent of roses lingered in the air, and as she breathed in, her mind settled on a new hope. If there was a flower garden she might escape to—a place where she might read her books and write in her journal—perhaps it would not be so terrible?

Picking up the novel she had not been able to read on the train, Mary slipped out of the strange bedroom, her bare feet silent on the stairs. She had always been an early riser, waking before even the most industrious servants back home in Yorkshire. At home, the cook knew to leave her out a bit of breakfast—bread and cheese wrapped in a napkin—but no one here would know to do that for her yet.

Ever since she’d been a young girl, morning had been her own time, quiet hours spent curled up on a garden bench with a book in her lap, nibbling on her pocket repast, the day lightening around her. The notion that she might still keep to such a routine in a place like London gave her hope for the coming two months.

She drifted down the hallway until she found a doorway that looked promising, solid oak, with a key still in the lock. With a deep breath, she turned the key and pulled it open. She braced herself for knife-wielding brigands. Herds of ragged street urchins, hands rifling through her pockets. The sort of London dangers she’d always read about.

Instead, the scent of flowers washed over her like a lovely, welcome tide.

Oh, thank goodness.

She hadn’t been imagining things after all.

Something hopeful nudged her over the threshold of the door, then bade her to take one step, then another. In the thin light of dawn, she saw flowers in every color and fashion: bloodred rose blooms, a cascade of yellow flowers dripping down the wrought iron fence. Her fingers loosened over the cover of her book. Oh, but it would be lovely to read here. She could even hear the light patter of a fountain, beckoning her deeper.

But then she heard something else above those pleasant, tinkling notes.

An almost inhuman groan of pleasure.

With a startled gasp, she spun around. Her eyes swam through the early morning light to settle on a gentleman on the street, some ten feet or so away on the other side of the wrought iron fence. But the fact of their separation did little to relieve her anxiety, because the street light illuminated him in unfortunate, horrific clarity.

He was urinating.

Through the fence.

Onto one of her sister’s rosebushes.

The book fell from Mary’s hand. In all her imaginings of what dreadful things she might encounter on the streets of London, she’d never envisioned anything like this. She ought to bolt. She ought to scream. She ought to . . . well . . . she ought to at least look away.

But as if he was made of words on a page, her eyes insisted on staying for a proper read. His eyes were closed, his mouth open in a grimace of relief. Objectively, he was a handsome mess, lean and long-limbed, a shock of disheveled blond hair peeking out from his top hat. But handsome was always matter of opinion, and this one had “villain” stamped on his skin.

As if he could hear her flailing thoughts, one eye cracked open, then the other. “Oh, ho, would you look at that, Grant? I’ve an audience, it seems.”

Somewhere down the street, another voice rang out. “Piss off!” A snigger followed. “Oh, wait, you already are.”

“Cork it, you sodding fool!” the blond villain shouted back. “Can’t you see we’re in the presence of a lady?” He grinned. “Apologies for such language, luv. Though . . . given the way you are staring, perhaps you don’t mind?” He rocked back on his heels, striking a jaunty pose even as the urine rained down. “If you come a little closer, I’d be happy to give you a better peek.”

Mary’s heart scrambled against her ribs. She might be a naive thing, fresh from the country, and she might now be regretting her presumption that it was permissible to read a book in a London garden in her bare feet, but she wasn’t so unworldly that she didn’t know this one pertinent fact: she was not—under any circumstances—coming a little closer.

Or getting a better peek.

Mortified, she wrapped her arms about her middle. “I . . .that is . . . couldn’t you manage to hold it?” she somehow choked out. There. She’d managed a phrase, and it was a properly scathing one, too. As good as any of her books’ heroines might have done.

A grin spread across his face. Much like the puddle at the base of the rosebush. “Well, luv, the thing is, I’m thinking I’d rather let you hold it.” The stream trickled to a stop, though he added a few more drips for good measure. He shook himself off and began to button his trousers. “But alas, it seems you’ve waited too long for the pleasure.” He tipped a finger to the brim of his top hat in a sort of salute. “My friend awaits.

Perhaps another time?”

Mary gasped. Or rather, she squeaked.

She could manage little else.

He chuckled. “It seems I’ve got a shy little mouse on my hands. Well, squeak squeak, run along then.” He set off down the street, swaying a bit. “But I’ll leave you with a word of advice, Miss Mouse,” he tossed back over one shoulder. “You’re a right tempting sight, standing there in your unutterables. But you might want to wear shoes the next time you ogle a gentleman’s prick. Never know when you’ll need to run.”

About the Author

A veterinarian and infectious disease researcher by training, Jennifer McQuiston has always preferred reading romance to scientific textbooks. She resides in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, their two girls, and an odd assortment of pets, including the pony she promised her children if mommy ever got a book deal.

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Posted in Book Release, Cozy, excerpt, mystery, Spotlight on September 27, 2016

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Synopsis

Samantha Reynolds had hoped that moving to the resort town of Aloha Lagoon would be the start of an exciting new life. Sure the start may not be everything she had hoped for—she’s living with her mom, has no job, no income and absolutely no idea what to do next. But it’s a start! Out of options, she decides to take a job she’s a just a little under qualified for—a children’s surfing instructor at the Aloha Lagoon Resort. She can surf…she just doesn’t know how to teach surfing. But that soon becomes the least of her worries.

Throw in two dead bodies, two unexpected inheritances, and one hot bartender, and the heat in Aloha Lagoon has quickly turned up! Samantha just needs to figure out why her family is involved, control a group of preadolescent kids, keep her mom and brother out of jail, and get the hot bartender to notice her. It couldn’t be that hard could it? With the help of her new friend Alani and some of the quirky residents of Aloha Lagoon, she just may be able to pull it all off…and still keep everybody alive!

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Excerpt

Reaching the water depth I wanted, I did a quick head count of the kids on the sand. That was when I noticed the female lifeguard, Malie, running down the beach toward us. Panic took over for a moment as I saw the faces of ten children looking back at me, horrified.

What was wrong? Was a shark coming for me? I squealed and looked over my shoulder out to the ocean, but as I did, a wave came in causing someone to slam into me.

The person knocked me into the shallows, and I took in a lungful of salt water as I went. My board hit me in the leg, and I knew a bruise would appear later. I cursed the person who wasn’t watching where they were going.

As the water rushed back out, I stumbled to my feet, spluttering out what I’d inhaled. I hated the taste of salt water. Hated it. I could feel my bikini bottoms filled with sand and made sure they hadn’t moved down my legs. That would be embarrassing. My board was still caught in the water being pulled back out, dragging my leg with it as it went. I was unprepared for it, and the water pulled it from under me. I fell, landing on the person who’d knocked me over.

Rolling onto my back, I managed to pull at my leg rope and control my surfboard before the next wave brought it back to shore, hitting either me or the person facedown in the sand. I was about to stand and help him to his feet, when Malie reached us and pulled the man onto his back. I watched in horror as she put her arms under his shoulders and dragged him to shore.

It was only as the water rushed back in that I realized why the man hadn’t been watching where he was going.

This man was dead.

About the Author

Beth Prentice is the Bestselling Author of the Westport Mysteries. Killer Unleashed, her GHP debut novel, received a bronze medal in the Readers Favorite International Book Awards. Her main wish is to write books you can sit back, relax with, and escape from your everyday life…and ones that you walk away from with a smile! When she’s not writing you will usually find her at the beach with a coffee in hand, pursuing her favorite pastime—people watching!

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Posted in excerpt, Romantic Suspense, Spotlight on September 27, 2016

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Eugenia

Title: Eugenia: Destiny and Choice
Author: GEÓRGEOS C. AWGERINØS
Publisher: iUniverse
Pages: 280
Genre: Romantic Thriller

Synopsis

Debut novelist Georgeos Constantin Awgerinøs paints an epic love story and political thriller in EUGENIA: DESTINY AND CHOICE. The title character, Eugenia “Jenny” Corais, a Columbia University graduate, is an idealistic young feminist and intellectual who charts her destiny against such volatile backdrops as cabaret-era Berlin, America during the Civil Rights and anti-Vietnam War protests, and the violent final days of colonial Africa.

With its potent combination of politics and romance, EUGENIA: DESTINY AND CHOICE resembles  Erich Segal’s LOVE STORY, coupled with a tale of political intrigue that would fit comfortably in the novels of Graham Greene, John Le Carre or Stieg Larsson, and historical developments reminiscent of James A. Michener.

Awgerinøs’s title character, Eugenia, is complicated. Her idealism and social consciousness, the author notes, is tempered with “a compulsive curiosity for the weird, unusual, or forbidden. She aims at the light but she cannot resist the temptation of the darkness.”

Jenny’s co-protagonists include Dietrich Neuendorf, a charismatic and unyielding German human rights attorney haunted by his family’s past and his country’s history. He and Jenny quickly fall in love.

A third character, Desmond Henderson, attracts Jenny’s darker side. Despite his humble origins and abundant charm, Henderson has a deeply dark core. A former British colonial officer, he is the head of South Africa’s military industrial apparatus, linked to the high echelons of international corporate elite and secret intelligence. He is an immense figure who designs mass murder and forced relocations on spreadsheets and is involved in some of the most defining political acts of the 20th century.

But in this novel, even the most invincible have an Achilles heel. As Awgerinos puts it, “EUGENIA doesn’t romanticize power; rather, the book demystifies the powerful by exposing the intimate, vulnerable and disowned aspects of human psyche.”

Jenny, Dietrich, and Desmond cross paths and embark on a perilous journey together in an exotic African country, a wonder of nature that faces massive winds of historical tide and a catastrophic revolution.

“Through my characters and their interaction, I try to convey another view on love and sexual conflict, society, human nature and beyond-natural, democracy and collective mind control,” says Awgerinøs. “I also try to offer a historical account about a very volatile era in a turbulent region, Southern Africa.”

Awgerinøs hints that he is working on a sequel to EUGENIA: DESTINY AND CHOICE. Meanwhile, EUGENIA shows great potential to be adapted as an exciting and thought-provoking feature motion picture or TV movie.

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Excerpt

“Mr. Prime Minister, I urge you to reconsider your decision.”

The South African prime minister, a tall and imposing man with silver hair and a wide smile, dismissed the warning of his national security advisor.

“Dr. Duplessis, our republic is under imminent threat from within. I will never allow this country to be hijacked by a shadow government. In one hour, I will reveal to the parliamentary caucus what has been going on behind closed doors.”

“Never before has a public exposure of such marquee names come before the legislative assembly. This unorthodox approach is unheard of in the history of political affairs,” Dr. Duplessis commented, in his distinctive Wallonian inflection. He was a long-skulled, pale-skinned man of average build, no taller than five foot seven, with close-cropped gray hair, an icy stare, and robotic mannerisms. He listened as the prime minister went on with his rant.

“South Africa didn’t gain its independence from the British crown in order to subordinate itself to its military industrial complex. Apartheid was meant to protect the racial order in this country, not to become a self-destructive debt-spiral ploy.”

“Independence means the freedom to choose your own masters, Mr. Prime Minister, and racial order is a costly agenda.”

“This is the South African Republic, not South Africa, Inc.”

“It is the South African Republic, Inc. All states are corporate entities, monsieur, one way or another; this country is not an exception. With all due respect, presidents, prime ministers, even absolute rulers are the stage protagonists in the theater called politics; they are neither the writers, nor the producers of the show. This is a friendly reminder.”

The premier was aware that South Africa had become a “republic” because of Dr. Duplessis’s gerrymandering and intricate offstage diplomacy. He owed his prime ministerial chair to Dr. Duplessis’s byzantine machinations, but he would not yield to his trusted policymaker’s insolent innuendo and skillful pressure. When he spoke again, it was apparent that he had removed from his mind the last shadows of hesitation. The tone of his voice was conclusive.

“Dr. Duplessis, alea jacta est-the die is cast. The security operations units are on alert. The disarming of the Armée-Gendarmerie and the arrests of the Concession’s board members will begin once I commence my speech.”

“As you wish, monsieur.

The PM relaxed his tone with his advisor; he became genial as usual.

“On Thursday, I will turn sixty-five years young. I have a family gathering at home. You will be there, Fabien, you promise?”

“Of course Hendrik, I will,” Dr. Duplessis responded.

The prime minister watched his advisor retreat. As he sat alone he stared at the antique clock across from his oak-paneled desk. He checked once more the printed page of his speech, which he had placed on the desk. Today he would make an announcement signaling a shake-up in modern history, and in the process he would settle some old scores. For a few seconds he visualized the reaction of the caucus: a standing ovation for his daring initiative. Pleased with this thought, he approached the window and watched the midday bustle of Cape Town, his beloved city.

Nestled in the southwest corner of the African continent, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, with glistening coastlines and breathtaking views of Table Mountain, Cape Town, the parliamentary capital of South Africa, is a thriving metropolis with Dutch architecture, wide boulevards, colorful parks, and a flourishing business district. The city’s rich history contains an intriguing mix of European sophistication and Cape Malay exoticism that dates back to the seventeenth century, blended with subtropical African beauty.

Picturesque and prosperous though it might have been, Cape Town was not a paradise for all. The eye of the conscientious traveler in 1966 would observe, from stores to parks to the sandy beaches, two signs, in Afrikaans and English: “Slegs blankes/whites only” and “Slegs nie-blankes/non-whites only.”

Seven miles into the sea across the panoramic Table Bay was Robben Island. It appeared a tiny idyllic islet, which one might have guessed was a fisherman’s retreat; but such was not the case. Once a leper colony, Robben Island was one of the most infamous penitentiaries on earth. And yet, it hosted no penal convicts but instead, civil rights activists, some of them with world-renowned names: Govan Mbeki, Nelson Mandela, Jacob Zuma.

Just ten miles to the east of the majestic capital there was another world that most Capetowneans did not know existed: a district for natives only, which no whites except the police could enter. There, the neighborhoods of Langa, Nyanga, and Guguletu resembled more a massive dumpster than a sprawling suburbia. Newly built project buildings that reminded one of barracks sat beside wooden shacks with tin roofs. African women washed their clothes in rusty bins with boiled water outside their slum dwellings. Their children, most barefoot, played soccer with tin cans in dirt alleys with numbers for names, such as NY1 or NY4, which stood for native yards, as the city called these dusty, unpaved lanes.

It was 2:15 p.m., Tuesday, September 6, 1966, when the prime minister of the South African Republic made his entry to the House of Assembly to deliver his speech.

While he took the podium, a man with Mediterranean features dressed in a messenger’s uniform entered the building. He crossed unchecked through the heavily guarded lobby and approached the podium. Within seconds, the messenger pulled a dagger out of his jacket and stabbed the prime minister four times in the chest. Parliamentary members rushed to pin the assassin to the ground, while the PM’s blood gushed from the gaping wounds in his chest. An ambulance rushed him to the Groote Schuur Hospital, but it was too late. He was pronounced dead on arrival.

Later that day, television and radio stations around the world announced the staggering news. From nations opposed to the apartheid regime came lead stories declaring: “Demetris Tsafendas, the son of a Greek immigrant and an African woman from Mozambique, assassinated Dr. Hendrik Frensch Verwoerd, the prime architect of apartheid.” Conversely the local media stated: “A mentally disturbed extremist assassinated the father of white South Africa, motivated by hatred and rage.” The African underground press was jubilant: “Tsafendas inyanga yezizwe—Tsafendas, the healer of the nation!”

That evening witnessed an unusual commute in front of the ministerial houses below the campus of the University of Cape Town. Cars carrying government officials and parliamentary members came and went. It was after midnight when the gates of a palatial mansion opened, and three stretch limousines with black-tinted glass made their exit. The convoy moved slowly down Belleview Road, encountering little traffic. Police patrols created a strong presence that night. In the second car of the motorcade, two men sat in the back of the limousine. One was a short, plump gentleman in his sixties. After looking nervously at the car following them, he reached for the limo’s bar and took a bottle.

“Thirty-year-old Glenfiddich, Mr. Henderson? I know it’s your favorite,” he said and poured some into a shot glass.

“I’ll have tobacco instead, Minister,” his companion replied with a conspicuous English accent. He was a towering man with broad shoulders, a wide face with a prominent jawline, and a thick mustache. He resembled a nineteenth-century British colonial military officer. Oddly, he wore a safari pith helmet, like a jungle explorer ready to hunt his prey. He lit up and silently puffed on his cigar. He sat comfortably, apparently enjoying his smoke. At one point, he too glanced back to face the limo that was following. The headlights illuminated his face, showing a man in his late forties with harsh features and piercing dark eyes.

“What a night, Mr. Henderson.”

“It was a great night, Minister,” the big man with the pith replied, puffing his fat Havana.

“Now that the obstacles have been removed, the door is open for the government and the Southern African Development Concession to sign the agreement. The armaments production executive board will be replaced, and within a week the shopping list will be on your desk, Mr. Henderson.”

The Englishman stared outside the dark window, momentarily in thought.

“Minister, the signing of agreements is not enough. The Concession is part of South Africa’s apparatus, and we need our territory secured. We cannot intervene every time some careless bureaucrat in your administration oversteps or defies our initial arrangements.”

“What do you have in mind, Mr. Henderson?”

“The Southern African Development Concession needs ironclad legislation that secures our role in this country’s future. You did it with the Oppenheimer gold and diamond cartel; you will do it with us too.”

“That was the situation five decades ago, when this part of the world was the Wild South. This is 1966.”

But the Englishman didn’t seem in the mood to brook refusals.

“Rhodesia and South Africa will always be the Wild South. Africa is made by monopolies for monopolies; the Concession would have to refuse anything less. Without the Southern African Development Concession, apartheid will fall swiftly like a shack in a gale. You know that as well as I, Minister.”

The driver continued moving on the barren road. His burly build and crew cut made apparent his role as secret security rather than a mere chauffeur. Henderson puffed his Havana contemplatively while he rolled past the closed stores of Belleview Road. The South African minister of defence and national security refilled his glass.

“Are you sure you don’t want some malt?”

“I never mix liquor and business; and this is business, Minister.”

“I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow morning. Be assured that from tonight we enter a new period of friendly cooperation for both sides.”

Henderson seemed pleased with the minister’s conclusive reply. He looked at his watch.

“It’s already one o’ clock. I need to be back in Rhodesia in two hours, but I enjoy myself every time I am in the Cape, especially tonight.”

About the Author

Georgeos C. AwgerinosGeórgeos Constantin Awgerinøs, author of EUGENIA: DESTINY AND CHOICE was born and raised in Athens Greece. He lives in New York City.

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Posted in 4 paws, Cozy, Giveaway, mystery, Review on September 26, 2016

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Murder in G Major

A Gethsemane Brown Mystery

by

Alexia Gordon

Genre: Cozy Mystery / Suspense / Paranormal

Publisher: Henery Press

Date of Publication: September 13, 2016

Number of Pages: 268

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synopsis

Stranded in Ireland after losing both a gig and her luggage, African-American classical musician Gethsemane Brown hopes to win her way back to the States by accepting a challenge: turn rowdy school boys into a champion orchestra. She’s offered lodging in a beautiful cliffside cottage once owned by her favorite composer. The catch? The composer’s ghost. He can’t rest in peace until he’s cleared of false charges of murder-suicide. Desperate after a quarter-century, he begs Gethsemane for help. A growing friendship with the charming ghost spurs Gethsemane to investigate. Her snooping provokes a long-dormant killer and she soon finds herself on the wrong sort of top ten hit list. Will Gethsemane uncover the truth as she races to prevent a murderous encore or will she star in her own farewell performance?

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PRAISE FOR MURDER IN G MAJOR

“Gordon strikes a harmonious chord in this enchanting spellbinder of a mystery.” —Susan M. Boyer, USA Today Bestselling Author of Lowcountry Book Club

 “Just when you think you’ve seen everything, here comes Gethsemane Brown, baton in one hand, bourbon in the other. Stranded in an Irish village where she know no one (but they all know her), she’s got just six weeks to turn a rabblesome orchestra into award-winners and solve a decades-old murder to boot. And only a grumpy ghost to help her. There’s charm to spare in this highly original debut.”  — Multi-award-winning author, Catriona McPherson

 “Gordon has composed a masterful and magical debut. . .Murder in G Major captivated me from the first page to the last, transporting me to the windswept cliffs of Ireland.”  — Gigi Pandian, USA Today bestselling author of Michelangelo’s Ghost

 “Alexia Gordon’s debut is delightful: an Irish village full of characters and secrets, whiskey and music – and a ghost! Gethsemene Brown is a fast-thinking, fast-talking dynamic sleuth (with a great wardrobe) who is more than a match for the unraveling murders and coverups, aided by her various –handsome – allies and her irascible ghost. Can’t wait to see what she uncovers next!” —J. Suzanne Frank, AKA Chloe Green, author of the Dallas O’Connor mysteries

Review

Music, murder and ghosts….a trifecta for me! And I didn’t even mention that it is set in a small town in Ireland. While I haven’t been to Ireland, perhaps one day and I can imagine this little town (small enough to ride a bike everywhere, or so it seems).

The characters are diverse and sometimes downright comical. I can imagine Gethsemane’s horror at being able to see a ghost and converse with him. I don’t think she expected that at all, but the upside is that he was an amazing composer that she admired.

Gethsemane is a strong woman in her own right and despite being an American in Ireland, she pushes local police to really figure out what happened 25 years ago to Eamon and Orla. She also has to gain the respect of teenage boys and bring them together for a competition for orchestras. That is no small feat in itself as she has 6 weeks to pull that off.

The mystery turns into more than just who killed Eamon and Orla, more people die as Gethsemane pokes into the 25 year old mystery. I won’t say that I figured it out entirely, I had my suspicions but had to wait for the author to reveal the motive to truly understand.

The book does leave you hanging a little bit (can’t say too much without giving it away) so I will have to read the next book to find out if the situation is resolved or not.

We give this book 4 paws up

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about the author

alexia-gordonA writer since childhood, I won my first (okay, so far, only) writing prize, a copy of Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends, in the 6th grade. I continued writing through college but put literary endeavors on hold to finish medical school and Family Medicine residency training. My medical career established, I returned to writing fiction.

Raised in the southeast and schooled in the northeast, I migrated to the southwest after a three-year stint in Alaska reminded me how much I needed sunlight and warm weather. I completed Southern Methodist University’s Writer’s Path program in Dallas, Texas then moved to El Paso, Texas where I currently practice medicine. If pushed, I will admit Texas brisket is as good as Carolina pulled pork. I enjoy classical music, art, travel, embroidery, and a good ghost story.

I am a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, and the Writers’ League of Texas. I am represented by Paula Munier of Talcott Notch Literary Services, LLC and published by Henery Press.

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9/22 Excerpt Texas Book Lover
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9/24 Guest Post My Book Fix Blog
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9/28 Guest Post The Librarian Talks
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