Posted in Children, excerpt on February 15, 2024

 

 

Synopsis

 

George and Murphy are two brothers who share everything – toys, secrets, and especially the love for their sweet grandmother. But one day, she goes to Heaven, and the brothers miss her a lot.

Then, something amazing happens. Bright red birds start showing up wherever they go. These aren’t just any birds; they seem special. Following these birds, George and Murphy go on a big adventure. Along the way, they learn that these birds have messages from their grandmother!

The story of When the Red Bird Flies is like a big, warm hug. It tells us that even when someone we love goes away, they’re still with us in different ways. Sometimes, they might send signs to let us know they’re watching over us. All we have to do is pay attention and believe.

So, join George and Murphy as they learn about love, memories, and the magical ways the world tells us that we’re never truly alone. With every chirp and flutter of the red bird’s wings, they find a little more happiness and remember all the fun times they had with their grandmother.

 

 

Amazon * B&N * Bookshop

 

 

Excerpt

 

On a cold night in November, a loving grandmother had gained her heavenly wings—this left all her family in tears but especially George. George said “How will we go on without her? I will miss her so terribly much, Mommy.” His parents told him that he would never be alone, that his grandmother may have left but she is still here—right here. “You can feel her, but you can’t see her. If we believe enough and ask her to send us signs to let us know she is watching over us, she will do just that—always look for the signs when you need them most.”

Shortly after his grandmother’s passing, George celebrated his seventh birthday. His parents tucked him into bed on the evening of his birthday. As his mom closed his door, she whispered: “Close your eyes and make a wish.” So, he did—he wished for his grandmother to send him a sign to let him know she is still with him.

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Courtney Reames Haydell, born to Bonnie Carville Reames and Michael Wilks Reames, is the youngest among six siblings.  Hailing from a small town in Louisiana, she’s an author deeply rooted in familial ties and the wonder of nature.  Drawing inspiration from her own experiences and surroundings, her stories often touch upon themes of love, loss and healing.  Courtney currently resides in Texas, where she finds joy in the company of her husband and two sons.  Through her writing, she hopes to touch young hearts, helping them navigate through life’s profound moments.

 

 

 

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Posted in Cozy, excerpt, Giveaway, Guest Post, mystery on February 11, 2024

 

 

 

 

 

Hammers and Homicide (A Hometown Hardware Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Setting – Oregon
Crooked Lane Books (January 16, 2024)
Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 280 pages

 

Synopsis

 

Perfect for fans of Kate Carlisle and Victoria Gilbert, when a body is found in a hardware store, will Dawna Carpenter’s sleuthing measure up to find the killer?

Recent sexagenarian widow Dawna Carpenter thought running her own hardware store after the death of her husband was hard enough. With her adult daughter, April, moving back into town, and Darlene, the annoying boutique owner next door to her shop poking around, Dawna has her hands full. But when she finds a dead man in the bathroom of her store, with a framing hammer by his side, she’s in way over her head.

The victim, Warren Highcastle, was a land developer who was looking to purchase the old theater in town to build a new hotel. Dawna and April, worried about the implications of the crime scene at the hardware store, put themselves on the case. They soon learn that Warren had made quite a few enemies in his short amount of time in town. As the suspect list starts growing, so too do the threats against Dawna and April. Can Dawna and April nail the killer before they strike again?

 

 

Amazon * B&NKoboBookshop * Penguin

 

 

Guest Post

 

Hello! I’m Dawna Carpenter, owner of Carpenter’s Corner Hardware in Pine Bluff, Oregon. What? You’ve never heard of Pine Bluff. I can’t say I’m surprised. When people think of Oregon, they envision Portland or the coast, but they don’t realize what a diverse state Oregon is. If you left Portland to drive here, you’re going to leave behind the lush rainforest feel of Western Oregon, then drive nearly four hours through the Columbia River Gorge and the plains before finally climbing into the Blue Mountains and meandering your way to our picturesque valley.

Wait a minute. Excuse me for a second.

Sorry, I’m back now. My author person rudely interrupted to inform me that Pine Bluff is a fictional town. That’s nonsense and I’m not going to listen to her negativity. Either way, real or imagined, Pine Bluff is a charming small town. My family moved here when I was only eight and it’s never crossed my mind to live anywhere else. Maybe that’s small minded of me, but I love my quirky little town. Bob, my late husband, and I raised our three children here, built two businesses and had a wonderful life. After Bob died, my oldest daughter wanted me to move in with her family over on the coast. But no, my roots are as firmly planted here as that big Elm tree in the front yard.

Besides the fact, I’m beginning to think Bob is still hanging around inside our big brick home. I can’t tell you how often his signature scent of sawdust and coffee swirl around the room, and I swear to you, occasionally he kisses me on the cheek. Plus, there’s Lilac. That sweet kitty crossed the rainbow bridge ages ago, but she’s been sleeping on my bed every night now for two weeks. If a cat spirit can comfort me with her presence, why not Bob?

And boy do I need comforting right now! Not that I can’t take care of myself. I can, for sure, but the other day a man was killed in the bathroom of my store. How crazy is that? I found his body, but better me than one of my customers. Now I’m worried that people will be too freaked out to shop in my store, and with that big box home improvement store that recently opened in the next town over, things could get dicey.

My daughter April and I are going to figure out who killed the poor man, though, and try to get things as back to normal as possible. I hate to point a finger, but there’s several Pine Bluffians I’m suspicious might’ve had something to do with the man’s demise. Oh, there’s April now. We have some snooping to do. I don’t want to keep her waiting, so I’ll cut this off and talk with you again soon.

 

 

Excerpt

 

I ended the call then reached into the cupboard for a glass and filled it with infused cucumber water from a pitcher in the refrigerator.

“See her where?” April filled another glass with cucumber water. “What’s going on?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Join the Women’s Service Club, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

I’d been trying to get April to join the organization ever since she’d taken over the decorating and furniture restoration side of my business, but so far, she’d refused.

“Whatever, Mom. I’m not ready to wear polyester pants and go to a meddling women’s meeting.” My daughter rolled her eyes and tapped her wrist like she was checking a watch. “At least not for another…oh, let’s see…twenty years.”

I threw my hands in the air and looked down at the pink-and-white striped T-shirt, cotton shorts, and denim shoes I wore. “Do you see polyester pants here? Don’t think so, missy.”

“No, but your meddling is showing. Better get it tucked back in.”

The two of us cracked up like a pair of cackling hens.

“Anyway, Evonne called an emergency meeting tonight. Without a feasible buyer for The Emery, we need to regroup and double our efforts to save the theater for Pine Bluff.”

“See? I knew I wouldn’t have to join your stuffy old ladies club to get the scoop. You can’t keep from talking about it.” April grinned. “But, seriously, it’s a good idea. What time’s your meeting?”

“Seven. Why? Are you coming with me?”

“Nope, not going with you. Will you stop, please?”

I laughed. “Never.”

“I think I’m going to head to the workshop and finish the dresser I’ve been working on. Maybe I’ll work until your meeting is over. It should give me a few hours to paint.”

Workshop was an overreaching word for the storage unit where April refinished and stored the pieces of furniture that were the heart of her business, Carriage House Designs.

“Do you think it’s wise to be there alone right now? You could stay here and bake those cupcakes you promised J.T.”

“It’s too hot to bake. I’ll do it tomorrow morning while it’s still cool. I’ll be as safe at my workshop as I’d be here by myself. Don’t worry. I’ll text J.T. to let him know where I’m at, okay? You need to do the same thing when you leave the house, and then text me when you’re heading back home from your meeting. Plus drive your Jeep. No walking tonight.”

“Deal, bossy cow.”

April and I pinky swore. There was no going back on our deal now. With a pinky swear, it was completely unbreakable.

“The meeting isn’t for several more hours, though. I have all afternoon to kill. Think I’ll turn on the air-conditioning unit in the sunroom and read for a bit after I start a load of laundry. It’s too hot to work in the garden right now.”

“Sounds perfect. And don’t say kill.” April glowered at me in jest before she turned to head outside.

I grabbed the dishtowel hanging on the stove doorhandle and snapped my daughter on the rear end before she made it outside.

“Oh, lady, you’re going to be mighty sorry you did that.” April let the screen door bang behind her for good measure. “Lock the door,” she called over her shoulder.

 

 

About the Author

 

When Paula Charles isn’t writing under the towering trees of the Pacific Northwest, she can be found in the garden with her hands in the dirt or sitting on her front porch with a good book and a glass of iced tea. She has a love for small towns, ghost stories, and pie. Paula lives on a small farm in Southwestern Washington with her patient husband and a handful of furry and feathered critters. Paula also writes cozy mysteries under the pen name of Janna Rollins.

 

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Giveaway

 

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Posted in excerpt, romance on February 10, 2024

 

 

Synopsis

 

Mr. Darcy’s 21st-century alter ego, Presser, is struggling in real life. Not only is he at odds with the job search, but he is also grappling with marriage. Although he would fight for his son, Noah, who shared custody, they did not design for him. Thanks to an unfortunate attempt to approach her, he also loses the girl who stuck by him the whole time. Finally, the stone of remembrance sinks into the river, which with its white color becomes a symbol of forgiveness.

On Mr. Darcy’s Sofa is a compelling novel about love, loss, and heartbreak. Covering a range of delicate topics from death to infertility, the reader is taken on an emotive journey following a range of well-developed and interesting characters as they navigate their way through life’s ups and downs.

There are elements of humor that work well alongside the hard-hitting narrative and the references and comparisons to Jane Austen and Mr. Darcy throughout are very well done and will, no doubt, captivate readers.

On Mr. Darcy’s Sofa is an intriguing women’s fiction novel set in Hungary, which is informed by the author’s own experiences. With many parallels drawn between beloved Austen characters in the present day, fans of Austen will enjoy reading another novel inspired by her romances.

 

 

Amazon

 

 

Excerpt

 

ON THE ROAD

 

“No friend is as true as a book.”

Hemingway

 

– Get a grip, honey. Hurry or you’ll miss your flight!

Daddy’s urging made me anxious. Of course, I took it well when he got to the airport. The rain poured down. The city commute on public transport wouldn’t have been a pleasant experience. I couldn’t have any hand to hold the umbrella because of my luggage. I chose not to respond, ignored my ancestor’s warning, and maintained my speed. Whenever I’m in a hurry, I leave something important at home. Something that causes pain when separated for two weeks.

While a fortnight isn’t an eternity, there are specific things I cannot exist without. For instance, I concealed Dorian’s photo in the interior pocket of my denim jacket. My hand is on my heart. The object emits a pleasant warmth that heats my palms. My favorite book is also among the essential things. When I can’t sleep, I read a few chapters of it in the evening. The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway lay beside my bed this time. Despite its brevity, I was curious why I still didn’t finish reading it. I had a hard time empathizing with Santiago’s suffering, which left me feeling frustrated. I sensed the story was about the unlimited potential of the human soul, but I didn’t feel eager when I opened the book that evening.

Come on, come on, you’ll end up staying at home! – I had to obey my father’s urging, while I glanced in the mirror, he grabbed my suitcase and headed towards the door. Mom waved me out of the kitchen. Her farewell was simple, with no hugs or forehead kisses. Later, she’ll cry thinking about how much she misses me while I’m away. Now it’s simpler this way for both of The chill in our relationship is nothing new to us. I waved her back in and we finally walked out. Dad stood at the bottom of the stairs. I remained at the top; I called for the elevator. We easily caught up. He loaded my things into the trunk and gave me the option to sit in the front.

At twelve, I reached the height by pulling myself out. I first sat beside him in my life and I first watched Pride and Prejudice then on TV. Just two years later read it. When the cops came, my dad told me, “Just pull yourself out, pull yourself out, honey,” and I didn’t understand what was going on. Looking back, I now realize he was concerned for my safety. Now I didn’t have to keep my spine straight at all costs. I grew already much taller than I had been before.

But buckle up! Despite the car beeping, I was so lost in thought that I couldn’t hear the sound, so he warned me not to ignore it. “Okay,” I replied, and he stepped on the gas pedal, and we made our way to the airport.

 

 

About the Author

 

My name is Zita Murányi (1982, Budapest). I am a Hungarian writer and poet. I graduated from the University of Szeged with a degree in communication. My first novel, entitled Tükörpalota, was published in 2003, for which I received the Sandor Bródy Prize in 2004. They awarded this prize to the best debut authors.

I have had three books of poems and three novels published in Hungarian so far.

On Mr. Darcy’s sofa is my debut novel in English, published by Inovie Books.

 

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Posted in excerpt, Historical, Thriller on February 9, 2024

 

 

Synopsis

 

Lest you think I have started writing erotica, I should explain that the title comes from an actual CIA operation of the same name. Operation Midnight Climax was a subset of the better-known MK Ultra project that tried to use psychedelic drugs as a form of mind control. Midnight Climax involved two CIA-run brothels, one in New York City and the other in San Francisco, from the mid-1950s into the 1960s that used prostitutes to lure unsuspecting ‘clients’ in and then dosed them with psychedelic drugs to study their effects. I first learned about this strange tidbit of San Francisco history from a column my friend, Gary Kamiya, wrote several years ago in the San Francisco Chronicle. When I first read it, I thought oh my god, there is a story here! You can find Gary’s original piece here!

Now, here’s what MIDNIGHT CLIMAX is about–

Kats, Molly, and Shig return in an all-new adventure set in 1959, some 15 months following the events of HUNTERS POINT. We find Kats and Molly happily together, though they will be facing some questions about their relationship. Molly has become the entertainment manager at Ann’s 440, and Shig, of course, remains a fixture at City Lights Bookstore.

This story will expand on Kats’ past as we learn what happened to him after the Battle of Vosges, where he was injured. His connection to that time during the war will come full circle as elements from that past find him in his present-day San Francisco.

As with Hunters Point, there are several historic figures that play important parts in the story. As a writer, I find those elements super exciting to craft.

 

 

Amazon

 

 

Excerpt

 

Kats moved slowly toward Epps. “I’m not with them,” he gestured to the men scattered on the ground. “I’m a friend of Dr. Turier. Do you remember Dr. Turier?” he said in his most calming voice. “I want to take you to him. We can make everything OK.” Kats wasn’t sure if the words were even registering, but the man didn’t move to attack or retreat. He was about to take another step forward when he heard a siren echo from up the street.

At the sound, Epps’ face twisted, and he surged forward toward Kats. Even though he was ready, Kats was shocked at how fast the man was. He pivoted to the side, like a matador with a charging bull, and as Epps passed by, Kats fired a fist into the man’s lower back, straight into the kidney. The strike should have disabled the man, but Epps barely grunted and whipped around with such speed and ferocity that Kats was immediately on the defensive. Epps shot his right fist toward Kat’s head. Instinctively, he raised his left arm to block the blow, saving himself at the cost of his arm. He rocked back, feeling like he’d been hit with a baseball bat, and his arm fell to the side, numb and lifeless. Kats had fought men who were stronger than he was. He’d also fought men who were faster. But he’d never fought someone stronger and faster. He dropped to one knee trying to gather himself as Epps turned again and charged.

As the wild-eyed man came at him, Kats knew his only chance was to redirect that savage energy, so as Epps raced forward, he welcomed him in and rolled backward, using his good arm to pull the man over him, actually accelerating his charge into the concrete wall behind him. The man met the wall with an audible grunt, and Kats had a moment to gather himself, but only a moment. Within seconds, Epps was again on his feet, facing Kats, seeming to seethe with power. Then from the garage entrance a flashing red light appeared, and a siren echoed up the walls. Epps spun toward the light and, seeing the approaching police car, bolted toward the open wall. Reaching the second-floor wall, he leaped over it in one smooth motion. Kats raced forward in time to see that Epps had landed safely and was already running down the alley toward a chain-link fence. Reaching the ten-foot fence, he appeared to run up the barrier in one long step and then was over and gone in one swift, near superhuman move. As Kats stood there, his chest heaving and his arm throbbing and hanging uselessly at his side, he wondered how he could possibly stop this living science experiment.

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Peter Kageyama is a third-generation Japanese American. He is a former Senior Fellow with the Alliance for Innovation and the author of four nonfiction books on cities and urban development. Peter was a finalist for the 2023 Roy Peter Clark Literary Award. He lives in downtown St. Petersburg, Florida, with his wife, award-winning architect Lisa Wannemacher, and their dog, Dobby.

 

 

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Posted in excerpt, mystery on February 5, 2024

 

 

Synopsis

 

Whidbey Island’s peaceful, bucolic lifestyle is invaded by a deranged psychopath intent on poisoning a significant portion of the population.

The O’Malleys join Deputy Roger Wilkie, world-renowned microbiologist Dr. Andie Saunders, and friends from past episodes in a battle of wits with a dangerously clever adversary.

With unpredictable twists and turns, the challenge of apprehending the evildoer is thwarted by the storm of the century, further challenging the amateur sleuths as they match wits against the formidable villain.

It’s another tongue-in-cheek adventure featuring the retired designers and their faithful German Shepherd.

 

 

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Read for Free via Kindle Unlimited

 

 

Praise for previous books in this series

 

“Adventures with Kevin and Jenne are always riveting and this one is no different. The story is told through so many characters and their perspectives. You think you know the whole story but the way it is written keeps you reading just one more chapter. It is a very enjoyable read.” – Maynana (Amazon reviewer), on Punch Down

“Little Dirt Road is a fast-paced story that will leave you with loose ends but by the end of the book Ted ties everything together. It was a great read and Ted is a very talented author.” – Alicia’s Forever Booked (Amazon Reviewer)

“This was a great read, and Ted Mulcahey did an excellent job in developing his characters. I really appreciated the banter between the O’Malleys. Made me smile. Whidbey Island is my home, as well, so I thoroughly enjoyed the way Mr. Mulcahey included so many of our island locations, and wove them into his story. I would highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a light, well written book.” –Island Gal (Amazon reviewer), on Juiced

 

 

Excerpt

 

One

 

He waited until the Duke Water treatment truck backed down the gravel road that served the concrete reservoir. It was five p.m. on April 20th on Whidbey Island, and he still had to wait three hours until it would be dark enough.

Concealment was not an issue here in the thick pine and fir forest, and his excitement trumped any boredom that might have crept in. With clear skies, the temperature fell quickly, even at this time of year; he was glad he’d worn his jacket.

After intermittently watching the tank for almost a month, he’d gotten used to the routine of the monitoring company. They came once a week, on Tuesdays, and always between four and five p.m. Sometimes, she would be there for half an hour and sometimes only ten minutes. Today, it took longer, so he had to wait behind the deadfall from one of the fierce winter storms.

At a shade under five-ten, his slight build and unremarkable features were excellent attributes for a man who preferred to remain overlooked. A closer inspection would reveal very dark eyes that were perhaps just a smidge too close together and a thin-lipped mouth with a perpetual cruel smirk leaking from the right corner. Wispy brownish hair of medium length was concealed by a generic ballcap absent of any logo.

As dusk turned to twilight, he made his way to the access ladder at the rear of the 35,000-gallon reservoir. He thought it comical that the drinking water for a hundred or more homes had little or no security, but hey, tough shit for them, he figured.

With his Mini Maglite between his teeth, he climbed the rusty steel ladder twenty feet to the top, where the vent pipe and the access port were located. He would be here all night if he had to remove the rusted bolts from the cover; fortunately, the vent pipe was all he needed.

Keeping his gloves on, he removed his backpack, still securing the LED light with his teeth, and removed the tools he needed to complete his task: A saw, a PVC fitting and cement, his respirator, and three quarts of a unique blend he’d been working on.

He used the saw to cut off the three-inch “U” at the vent termination and stuffed it in his pack. Next, after taking the flashlight from his mouth and placing it on the concrete surface, he securely fastened his mask and dumped the contents of the quart bottles into the tank via the vent. After placing the empty bottles in his pack with the sawn-off fitting, he swabbed the vent pipe and fitting he’d brought with PVC cement and immediately twisted them together.

Standing back to admire his handiwork, he removed the mask. The risk of airborne transmission was remote, but the virulence of his creation made the additional precaution necessary. The vent stack was now several inches shorter, but no one would ever notice. Making sure nothing was left behind, he climbed back down and walked to East Harbor Road. Traffic was sparse; even so, he took care to avoid any cars. Several passed by during the time it took to get back to the truck, which he’d parked at a seldom-used trailhead, but he avoided them by stepping into the brush long before their headlights reached him.

Getting back inside his ten-year-old Toyota Tacoma pickup with the heater cranked up felt good. Now, all he had to do was wait a few days. He was confident of his calculations, and soon, there would be illness in the small community on the east side of Holmes Harbor. He relaxed and listened to the reggae sounds of Bob Marley on the twenty-minute drive back to his home.

 

 

About the Author

 

Ted Mulcahey has lived throughout the US, the past 35 years in the Pacific Northwest. He’s an Army vet, sales and marketing VP, entrepreneur, business owner, avid reader, one of nine children, former caddie, and lover of dogs and golf. The last twenty-five years were spent in partnership with his wife Patte, as the owners of a highly respected and published hospitality interior design firm in the Seattle Area. They’re now living on Whidbey Island and enjoying its rural bliss.

Ted writes about things he’s seen and places he’s been. He tries to incorporate personality traits of people he’s known into his fictional characters, although none of them exist in reality. Many of the locations are real but the names have been changed.

 

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Posted in excerpt, Short Story on February 3, 2024

 

 

Synopsis

 

This is a short, sharp collection of well-told stories by Jim Bates who once again brings us some evocative writing with a strong literary voice. We meet a plethora of characters, each with their own concerns and triumphs. They face life’s challenges and often have to turn situations around. Will they succeed? Will they make their lives good again?

In this collection of flash fiction and drabbles, Jim packs a lot of story into a few words.

 

 

 

Amazon

 

Read for Free via Kindle Unlimited

 

 

Excerpt

 

Desert Wind

 

Dave was grateful for the final emotional push as he clamored up and over the edge of Lizard Peak onto the top, a large flat area.

“Thanks, man,” he said to Lyle, his life companion for the last forty years. He was nearly out of breath.”I needed that.”

Lyle was also his best friend, and Dave fought back an urge to give him a nostalgic hug. They’d been making this climb for all of those forty years, and right now it felt good to be with him.

Dave walked over to the edge, took off his day pack, and turned to admire the view. He never tired of it: The half-mile wide spot in the Colorado River known as Lake Havasu; its namesake, Lake Havasu City, a few miles away to his right stretching up into the Sonora desert foothills; the serpentine flow of the Colorado River and, beyond it, the mountains of California rising west into the distance as far as the eye could see. It was a view he never tired of. Birds and hawks and eagles, even the occasion condor, were often seen soaring close enough to touch. Lyle had loved it up here just as much as he did. It was their special place. In fact, it was the first place they’d ever kissed and declared their love for each other. Forty years ago. A lifetime of love, was how Dave looked at it. Their lifetime together now over.

He opened his pack and took out the container that contained Lyle’s ashes. He’d died less than a week earlier after a mercifully short battle with brain cancer. Dave had been by his side throughout and was there when Lyle had briefly regained consciousness, squeezed Dave’s hand and said, “I’ll always love you, man.” Then, after a few moments, added, “Take me to the desert.”

He knew exactly what Lyle had meant.

Dave held the container reverently. There was so much to say that he didn’t know where to begin. Finally, he spoke to the wind, saying all that was needed, “Lyle, I’ll love you forever, my friend. I’ll never forget you.”

He moved right to the edge, six hundred feet above the desert floor, opened the lid, and waited. When the wind was right, he tilted the container and watched the ashes spill out, caught by a sudden gust as if it had been waiting for just that moment; Lyle’s ashes swirling away out over the desert that had formed the backdrop for their lifelong love. Then he put the container away and made ready to climb back down, already planning for his next trip when he would scale the mountain once again to stand in the wind overlooking the land and be with Lyle and tell him again how much he missed him and again how much now and forever he would always love him.

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Jim’s stories and poems have appeared in nearly five hundred online and print publications. His collection of short stories, Resilience, is published by Bridge House Publishing. Short Stuff, a collection of flash fiction and drabbles is published by Chapeltown Books. Periodic Stories, Periodic Stories Volume Two, Periodic Stories Volume Three – A Novel, and Periodic Stories Volume Four are published by Impspired. Dreamers, a collection of short stories, is published by Clarendon House Publishing. Something Better, a dystopian adventure novella, and the novel, The Alien of Orchard Lake, are published by Dark Myth Publications. In the fall of 2022, his collection entitled Holiday Stories was published by Impspired as was his collection of poetry, Haiku Seasons. In February 2023, Periodic Stories Volume IV was published, as was his collection of poems, The Alchemy of Then, both by Impspired. In June 2023, a collection of flash fiction, Dancing With Butterflies, was published by Impspired.In July 2023, his YA novella The Battle of Marvel Wood was published by Impspired. His short story “Aliens” was nominated by The Zodiac Press for the 2020 Pushcart Prize. His story “The Maple Leaf” was voted 2021 Story of the Year for Spillwords. He was voted December 2022 Author of the Month for Spillwords. He also reads his stories for Talking Stories Radio and for Jim’s Storytime on his website. He lives in a small town west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

 

Website

 

Posted in excerpt, Historical, Review on February 2, 2024

 

 

 

 

Synopsis

 

What if a woman ruled Germany in 1914? This alternate history explores that very question. An elaborate attempt to rid Germany of the Hohenzollerns has left a young sole heiress, Christiana, to take the throne of the German Empire. But this is no typical princess, hidden away in a gilded cage. This college educated, expert fencer, and accomplished equestrienne is not the meek little girl the politicians think they will be able to control. She has her own ideas how to rule!

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Anna, Christa, and Louise Margaret retired to the sitting room in their guest quarters. A light snow was just beginning to fall, but the Prince of Wales had assured them that the weather would be clear enough for their travel to the English mainland in the morning.

“So, Christa,” began Maria Anna. “What do you think of Queen Victoria and her family?”

“Oh, Mama! They are all so very nice. The Queen is the most amazing woman! To think that she rules over one-quarter of the entire world! It is staggering! Mossy, as you know, is my best friend but I will be writing to the English princesses as well.” Turning toward her elder sister, she added, “And of course I will write to you and my niece, Margaret, and to little Arthur and Patricia when they are older. They are all so sweet.”

“What did you think of the young princes?” asked Louise Margaret.

“The sons of the Prince of Wales, Albert Victor and George, were very kind to me when we went shooting,” answered Christa diplomatically. “The other boys also were pleasant but, aside from croquet and a few other pastimes, they pretty much stuck together and played their own games away from the girls.”

“Christa, come sit with your sister and me,” said Maria Anna, sitting down on a divan, patting the space next to her. Christa could not help but note the somewhat serious tone in her mother’s voice, as if she was about to discuss an important matter. Christa glanced at Louise Margaret with an inquiring look as her elder sister took a seat in a plush, winged chair nearby, but her older sister gave no response.

“What did you think of Prince Henry?” asked Maria Anna.

“Henry?” Christa frowned. “Why do you ask about Henry?”

“You are getting older, Christa,” responded Louise Margaret. “In a few short years you will be presented at court and then…” Christa’s sister looked over at their mother.

“You will need to begin preparing for your eventual engagement and marriage,” finished Maria Anna.

“Marriage?” answered Christa slowly, with a puzzled expression. A moment later it struck her. “Oh, Mama! You cannot possibly mean to Prince Henry!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet and biting her lower lip, her fists clenched at her sides in agitation.

“Christa, calm yourself! Lower your voice and sit down!” insisted Maria Anna. Christa stubbornly remained standing.

“Sister, it is the duty of parents of the high born to arrange appropriate marriages for their children,” put in Louise Margaret, soothingly. “Surely you understand this.”

“Henry is a prince of the British royal family,” added Maria Anna, archly. “You are both of equal station and he is an entirely appropriate match.”

“B-but to Henry? Why, the boy absolutely loathes me, Mama! And I think he’s a nasty little fool!”

“Christa!” exclaimed both her mother and sister.

“He doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry him!” continued Christa. Another thought popped into her head. “Wait, does Henry know about this?” she asked accusingly. Her mother and sister glanced at one another, but neither responded. “Well, no wonder he hates me! He blames me for this arrangement,” murmured Christa, answering her own question.

“Henry will do his duty as a royal prince, as you must do as a royal princess,” responded Maria Anna, haughtily.

“Mama, I am telling you right now that I will not, under any circumstances, marry Henry of Edinburgh!”

“Christa!” exclaimed her mother once again.

“Well then, if not Henry, whom do you think you are going to marry?” asked Louise Margaret.

“I have not yet decided if I will get married,” answered Christa, calmly.

“What?!”

“Oh, I may marry and have children someday, but first I have other plans.”

Louise Margaret and her mother again looked at one another. “Such as?” asked Christa’s older sister.

“I plan to attend university.”

“Oh, Christa! Don’t be absurd!” exclaimed her mother.

“Christa, women cannot attend university in Germany,” pointed out Louise Margaret. “Not even those of noble birth.”

“No, but they can in Great Britain and France. There are even proposals to open Austrian universities to women. It is only a matter of time before German universities admit women as well. Please excuse me, Mama, Louise Margaret,” concluded Christa. “We are departing early in the morning and I must prepare for bed.” With that, Christa ended the discussion by striding purposefully out of the room. Maria Anna and Louise Margaret stared at Christa in astonishment as she departed, and then turned toward each other with stunned looks on their faces.

“What am I going to do with this child?” moaned Maria Anna.

“Oh, Mama,” soothed Louise Margaret, reaching over and patting her mother’s hand. “Christa is still young. She will come around.”

“Oh, no, my dear. You do not know this girl as I do. She is the epitome of stubbornness,” sighed Maria Anna. “There is too much of your father in her.” She stood, walked over to the window, and watched the tiny snowflakes waft in the frosty breeze.

“Perhaps she shouldn’t marry,” mused Maria Anna, with a bitter chuckle. “I think she probably would drive any future husband mad.”

 

 

Guest Review by Nora

 

What do you do when everything in your life changes in one fell swoop? When do you go from being a forgotten royal way down in the line of succession to being the queen? This is the question that confronts Christiana in the book, ‘Iron Maiden,’ by J.T. Maicke, and the question that she will have to answer all on her own.

For much of her life, only one thing was expected of Christiana: to marry a prince and have children. As a daughter of the royal house of Hohenzollern and cousin to the Kaiser, Christiana’s family considers her well-behaved so long as she does not bring any embarrassment to the family.

However, in this, Christiana does not always succeed.

Rather than wanting to marry and serve as a bargaining chip for her cousin in international politics, Christiana—or ‘Christa,’ as she is called by her family—wishes to carve her own path in life.

From a young age, she enjoys pursuits that many people in that time would not have thought fit for a young woman of her social standing. She hunts, she fights, and, worst of all, she wishes to go to University.

Christa chases her dreams and finds herself securing many of them, becoming college-educated and regularly winning saber duels, but her carefree lifestyle is abruptly shattered when tragedy knocks at her door one chilly Easter morning.

The Kaiser and his entire family are assassinated, wiped out simultaneously in what becomes the bloodiest day in German history. Utilizing her unique training, Christa escapes her own assassin, becoming one of the only members of her family to survive. As one of the few royals left—and the only one eligible to become queen—Christa must step up and lead the country through the many dark days ahead.

‘Iron Maiden’ is a knockout of a novel that I found myself absolutely loving! If you love alternative history, like me, you will definitely love this book! I’m giving it five stars across the board!

 

 

About the Author

 

A self-described Germanophile, J.T. Maicke writes historical fiction novels that take place in Germany or among German-American communities in the Midwest. He has spent most of his life studying German history, geography, language, culture, customs, and cuisine. Maicke also spent several years living in and traveling throughout Central Europe, and he has visited many of the locations depicted in his novels. Maicke’s debut novel was ‘The Humble Courier.’

 

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Posted in excerpt, Short Story on January 31, 2024

 

 

Synopsis

 

In the early summer of 2022, an idea came to me. Why not write a collection of stories using holidays as a theme? I took out a calendar and selected the first ones that came to mind, coming up with thirteen. These became the focal point for the subsequent thirteen chapters in the book. I wanted to link the stories together so I devised a family and introduced them with the first story set on Valentine’s Day, 1954. I was off and running. The project took on a life of its own as the characters were fleshed out with each subsequent chapter, becoming more and more alive as the book progressed. I found out that for this family not all holidays were enjoyable, but thirteen of them were certainly memorable. I hope you enjoy reading about them.

 

 

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Excerpt

 

From Orange Juice the first story in the collection “Holiday Stories.”

Back then, Mom was what you would call a little sensitive to things. Seeing new babies or puppies or kittens made her tear up. Same with certain shows on television. Holidays, too.

She loved to get gifts, and it’s my belief that she knew Dad had planned on doing something special for her on that day, the day I spoiled so momentously when I’d heaved the orange juice at Eric. She just didn’t know what it was that he planned to do, and my behavior spoiled the surprise. In her mind, she saw a nice, mellow, trouble-filled day (mostly with my dad) and I’d ruined the mellowness part of it. Who knew? It was my first exposure to how complicated life really was.

But on the day of the orange juice incident, I had no idea about any of that stuff. All I knew is that I’d made Mom sad and I wanted to do something about it. So, I did.

After Eric and I got back from skating, I went to our bedroom and got out some color construction paper and sat at desk (on a pillow for my sore butt) and went to work. Eric didn’t even bother me. He must have known I was serious because I was. I made Mom a Valentines’ Day card. It was the first one I’d ever made, but once I knew it was Valentine’s Day, I remembered seeing pictures of them.

The card I made was on white paper that I folded in half. On the front I glued concentric construction paper hearts I’d cut out, starting with a big red one and then filling it in with smaller and smaller cut out hearts colored, green, yellow and blue. Inside I used a red crayon and printed, Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom! I love you!! I signed it with my name, Ben.

I gave it to her later that afternoon when Dad went to get Aunt Bea. In spite of my behavior, Mom and Dad were still going on their special outing, I guess out to eat at some hotel in Minneapolis.

“Here, Mom,” I said, handing her my card. I’d even found an envelope for it. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and smoking one of her ever-present Kools.

She set her cup down and looked at me. “What’s this?” she asked, surprised. She snubbed out her cigarette and took my card in her hands. She smiled when she realized what it was and held it carefully, like she was holding a valuable gemstone. She grinned. “Oh, Ben. Whatever have you done?”

“It’s for you, Mom,” I said. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Then I shuffled my feet, hung my head and added, “And I’m sorry about the orange juice.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she said. Her face broke into a huge smile, and she gave me a big hug. “Thank you so much.”

It made me happy to see her happy. Which was a valuable lesson I learned that day: It was good to make people happy. I didn’t always remember that as I got older, but I tired.

“Open it,” I said.

And she did. She read the words and she cried, but they were tears of joy this time. I sat with her while she read and re-read my little card.

I gave her a handmade card every year after that. Even last year. And you know what? It always makes her happy. I know because she always cries. Tears of joy.

Sometimes I do too.

 

 

About the Author

 

Jim’s stories and poems have appeared in nearly five hundred online and print publications. His collection of short stories, Resilience, is published by Bridge House Publishing. Short Stuff, a collection of flash fiction and drabbles is published by Chapeltown Books. Periodic Stories, Periodic Stories Volume Two, Periodic Stories Volume Three – A Novel, and Periodic Stories Volume Four are published by Impspired. Dreamers, a collection of short stories, is published by Clarendon House Publishing. Something Better, a dystopian adventure novella, and the novel, The Alien of Orchard Lake, are published by Dark Myth Publications. In the fall of 2022, his collection entitled Holiday Stories was published by Impspired as was his collection of poetry, Haiku Seasons. In February 2023, Periodic Stories Volume IV was published, as was his collection of poems, The Alchemy of Then, both by Impspired. In June 2023, a collection of flash fiction, Dancing With Butterflies, was published by Impspired.In July 2023, his YA novella The Battle of Marvel Wood was published by Impspired. His short story “Aliens” was nominated by The Zodiac Press for the 2020 Pushcart Prize. His story “The Maple Leaf” was voted 2021 Story of the Year for Spillwords. He was voted December 2022 Author of the Month for Spillwords. He also reads his stories for Talking Stories Radio and for Jim’s Storytime on his website. He lives in a small town west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

 

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Posted in Action, Adventure, excerpt, Giveaway, Historical, Review, romance on January 29, 2024

 

 

 

 

 

 

Synopsis

 

When Defending the Homeland Means Defending Your Heart.

Siberia 1581. When Umey, a young outcast woman, stumbles on a ravaged village, she uncovers a plot that threatens to devastate her beloved homeland. It’s furs—soft gold—the invading Cossacks crave, and the greediest of them is Yermak, the man who saved her life and raised her.

Armed with fearsome muskets, the Cossacks plunge deeper into the Siberian forest, crushing the tribal folk who stand in their way. Although prejudices are arrayed against her, Umey emerges as a tribal leader, albeit a reluctant one. She and Alexey, a Russian soldier who has seen too much war, are soon caught in an unfolding crucible of destruction where their courage and incipient love will be tested in a final collision with Yermak and his horde.

 

 

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Praise

 

“I was immediately drawn in by the atmospheric and descriptive effort that Czech put into his writing to bring the wilds of Siberia to life. I was fascinated by the customs and tribal people as well as the beauty of nature … Umey’s gentle but unwavering courage makes her a protagonist whom you grow to feel deeply for during the adventure. Overall, Kiss of Frost and Flame is a work that fans of historical adventures and cross-cultural writing are sure to enjoy as much as I did.”-K. C. Finn, author of Caecilius Rex and The Book of Shade 

 

 

Excerpt

 

The first metallic rays of the rising sun peeking above the hilltops caused Umey to stir, but it was the low, husky warble of a snow bunting that woke her. Perched on a bare branch a few feet away, the little white and black bird tilted its head as if to say, you do not belong here. When she stretched, it flew away.

Outside of her cedar tree shelter, the sun glinted from a dazzling layer of hoarfrost that coated the bare boughs of birch and poplar with a delicate skin of purest white. Thick, snowy shawls mantled the scattered pines and cedars. Against the azure sky, the awakening world resembled a crystal palace like the kind found in the tales of ice castles and princesses that Mama had once told her.

Umey studied her surroundings. White-clad peaks loomed to the north, while snow-covered ridges and valleys lay to the west. If she followed the ridges and valleys, she was certain she would eventually reach the flatlands where reindeer roamed. With luck, she might even stumble across a trail left by the herders. Luck! That was her Russian half thinking of such. Samoyeds did not believe in luck. They believed in skill and patience.

A horse neighed from far behind her, the sound carrying in the still air. Umey shaded her eyes and scanned the horizon. A single horse appeared, tiny in the distance. From the animal’s movements, its rider seemed to be following the path left by her skis. They would lead him to where she had bedded for the night, and after that he would find more telltale tracks.

Mother Forest! It had to be one of the Cossacks. What if Bugatov or Ivan Koltso tracked her? Whoever it was, he must have left the Cossack camp while she slept and made up ground on her.

Umey maneuvered along the next ridge. Using her ski pole as a sort of rudder, she glided downhill. The bottom of the ridge formed into a ravine. She glanced at the next slope. Too steep to climb. Better to stay down here.

Cattails poked out of the snow on the ravine’s floor. Animal tracks led in and out of the cover provided by the long stems. Water trickled at the base of the ‘tails and splashed over her boots. The ravine appeared to be the bed of a half-frozen stream.

The height of the ravine’s walls began to diminish. She took her eyes off its floor for a moment to look behind her and missed the thick, broken tree branch poking through the snow. Her ski hooked the branch, and with a loud cracking sound sent her sprawling. The contact with the frozen ground drove the wind from her. Pain knifed her chest and she clawed at the snow in agony until her breathing returned. She kicked out of the bindings and discovered her left ski had snapped near its tip. Muttering a Samoyed curse, she tossed the useless slats aside.

The horse neighed again, now much closer. She had laid in the snow for too long. Escape from the horseman would have to be on foot.

“Umey! I am coming for you!” the rider called, his words echoing among the hills.

Bugatov! That grating voice belonged to Stefan Bugatov!

Umey began to run. The wet snow dragged at her boots and slush speckled her trousers. The ravine’s floor widened and opened to a vast, flat, white expanse that glistened under the sun. She skidded to a stop. An ice-covered lake stretched into the distance. Patches of wind-driven snow laced its surface.

“Mother Forest, protect me,” she murmured as she dashed onto the lake, her arms twirling for a moment to keep her balance. Under her, the lake’s glazed surface groaned. The ice she slid over appeared grayish-white, not the stronger clear layer needed to support much weight. Bubbles, looking like boiled eggs, hung suspended inches below the surface. She knew what it meant. The combination of water from the stream flowing under the ice, the warm caress of wind, and the bold eye of the sun had weakened the lake’s coating in this area. Gray ice, soft and deadly.

From behind her, the crunch of the horse’s hooves as it broke through the crusted top layer of snow at the lake’s edge sent her heart skipping.

The wind carried Bugatov’s raucous shout of triumph. “Umey! Stop, or I will shoot you.”

She spun about to face him, her hands clenched. In his heavy bearskin coat, he appeared more beast than man. Frost rimed his beard and snot had frozen in his mustache. He clutched a pistol in one fist and held the leash in the other. Foam flecked his horse’s jaws and neck; a loop of saliva hung from its mouth. Gouts of white air blew from its nostrils and its whicker more a whimper of pain. Bugatov had ridden it hard to catch her. She doubted the poor horse was strong enough to carry him back to Koltso.

“Go ahead and shoot me,” she cried. “Then you can explain to the tsar what happened.”

 

 

Guest Review by Nora

 

A masterpiece of fiction from author Ken Czech! ‘Kiss of Frost and Flame,’ is a novel of pure genius from an author who always writes such wonderful books. Czech has a talent for atmosphere and setting that is unparalleled! I noted this when reading his last book, ‘The Tsar’s Locket,’ and time has only improved his craft.

‘Kiss of Frost and Flame,’ takes place in Western Siberia, in the year 1581.

Living on her own in the forest, Umey’s only thoughts are of survival and hunting. Though this is not always how she has lived, she finds the freedom edifying, and prefers to make her own rules and live in her own way. However, it is into this relatively peaceful life that chaos comes knocking.

Umey accidentally stumbles across a village that has been burned down, it’s people slaughtered.  Almost as soon as she discovers the village, she is attacked by what she thinks are Tatar warriors. Barely managing to escape, she is hit by a musket ball and almost dies before being taken in by a nearby village of Voguls.

As the Voguls care for her and nurse her back to full health, Umey believes that she owes them a debt of gratitude. She agrees to find out everything that she can about the attack on the village. In doing so, she travels to a nearby Russian army outpost, where she meets the man that will change her life forever.

Although he is not really guilty, Alexey Danilov was tried—and nearly executed—for treason against the Tsar. After being saved at the last second and sent to fight in the wilderness, Alexey knows that he must follow the rules if he is ever to earn back his rank of Lieutenant.

But falling in love with Umey is not in his game plan. Of course, things don’t always go as planned.

This story is not just a romance, but an action-filled historical novel that will keep any reader guessing from start to finish!

 

 

About the Author

 

Ken Czech is a retired history professor whose passion has turned to writing fiction.

His previous novels include BEYOND THE RIVER OF SHAME (All Things That Matter Press, 2017); LAST DANCE IN KABUL (Fireship Press, 2018); and THE TSAR’S LOCKET (Fireship Press, 2020). As a member of the Historical Novels Society, he has attended HNS conferences and workshops.

 

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Giveaway

 

This giveaway is for 2 print or ebook copies; print is open to the U.S. only. The ebook is open worldwide.

This giveaway ends on Feb 8, 2024, at midnight pacific time.

Entries are accepted via Rafflecopter only.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

 

 

Posted in Biography, Book Release, excerpt, Historical on January 27, 2024

 

 

Synopsis

 

Set in the author’s homeland, Colombia, this is the heartbreaking story of Leonor, former child soldier of the FARC, a rural guerrilla group.

Paula Delgado-Kling followed Leonor for nineteen years, from shortly after she was an active member of the FARC forced into sexual slavery by a commander thirty-four years her senior, through her rehabilitation and struggle with alcohol and drug addiction, to more recent days as the mother of two girls.

Leonor’s physical beauty, together with resourcefulness and imagination in the face of horrendous circumstances, helped her carve a space for herself in a male-dominated world. She never stopped believing that she was a woman of worth and importance. It took her many years of therapy to accept that she was also a victim.

Throughout the story of Leonor, Delgado-Kling interweaves the experiences of her own family, involved with Colombian politics since the 19th century and deeply afflicted, too, by the decades of violence there.

 

 

Amazon

 

 

Excerpt

 

From Chapter 8

 

After Mercedes whipped her, Leonor lost track of the number of nights that she slept on the street. Having learnt the lesson from her father’s behavior, Leonor dressed like a boy, and she believed it was insurance against men touching her. But by her dainty hands and her walk, and by her small waist (and perhaps she already possessed that habit of hers, of coquettishly swaying her shoulders), it was easy to tell—even by her voice—that here was a beautiful girl.

On the street, Leonor met Redhead. He was a boy her age—she called him “el pelirojo”—because he had paprika-like freckles sprinkled on his cheeks and hair like the head of a matchstick. To know that Redhead—though lanky and feeble—kept a piece of a broken bottle within his grasp consoled Leonor. She was sure he would protect her, and so she followed his lead, and they squatted inside deserted buildings. With him securing the space, she was able to give in to slumber for a few hours.

Some days, Leonor and Redhead sold slices of watermelon at streetlights. They were employed by an old woman who had approached them. But Leonor was often starved, and she devoured the watermelon, its juices jetting down her chin and arms. The woman slapped Leonor when she came back without money, and so Leonor went car-to-car begging drivers for pocket change. Most cars were scraps of tin, spewing dark smoke. Once or twice, a luxury car, overdone with tinted windows, shiny hubcaps and immense headlights, circled the neighborhood. As Leonor approached the cars, the drivers rolled up the windows. She stood by the car windows, and the drivers looked elsewhere or pretended to fiddle with the radio. She caught glimpses of her reflection on the cars’ side-view mirrors, and she was repulsed by her tattered clothes and soiled face.

Redhead was shrewd, and one day, he returned with plates loaded with mountains of rice and arepas. By word of mouth, he discovered they would be offered food if they showed up at FARC camps located in Mocoa’s jungle periphery. Feeling faint, aware she could not go another day without food, Leonor ventured into FARC camps to be fed. She accepted seconds of rice, beans, and lentils, and soon, she helped herself to them. She became a regular at the encampments, and she began thinking of FARC members as friends and allies, compassionate to her situation. A FARC nurse disinfected the wound on her leg, from her mother’s beating, and covered it with bandages after white pus oozed from it.

Some nights, Leonor lingered by the fire in the middle of camp while someone strummed a guitar and others sang. It was then she was able to sleep uninterrupted, without worrying whether Redhead and his broken glass were watching over her.

Members of the FARC intermingled in the daily life of her town and of the entire area, and many of them were people she knew. Some locals wore FARC fatigues, others didn’t—but nearly all of Mocoa’s residents were sympathetic to the group’s Communist roots. For Leonor and for many teens in Colombia’s southern communities, the FARC camps offered diversions. There was booze, and sometimes there was dancing, and there was also the thrill of being allowed to handle a gun. The camps were akin to a right of passage, a way to rebel against parents.

Mercedes kept the door of their home locked. When Leonor strolled by, Sergio rushed to the window and waved kisses at his sister.

 

 

About the Author

 

Paula Delgado-Kling holds degrees in comparative literature/French civilizations, international affairs, and creative writing from Brown University, Columbia University, and The New School, respectively. Leonor, for which she received two grants from the Canadian Council for the Arts, is her first book. Excerpts of this book have appeared in Narrative, The Literary Review, Pacifica Literary Review, and Happano.org in Japan. Her work for the Mexican monthly news magazine Gatopardo was nominated for the Simon Bolivar Award, Colombia’s top journalism prize, and anthologized in Las Mejores Crónicas de Gatopardo (Random House Mondadori, 2006). Born in Bogota, Colombia and raised in Toronto, Canada, Delgado-Kling now resides in New York City.

 

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