My Tangled Skeins Book Reviews

Spotlight: Take A Look At Me Now by Robert P. Crane

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Mon, 12 Jan 2026 07:00:00 +0000

Bubby Welter’s family life changes when his mother Carrie suffers a mental breakdown, leaving their household unbalanced and uncertain. As Carrie withdraws, Bubby struggles to navigate adolescence without stability or guidance.

His own missteps—humiliation, fractured friendships, and misplaced trust—compound his growing anger. Each experience reinforces his sense of being untethered, unsure where he belongs or how to move forward.

Turning toward the mystery of his absent father, Bubby seeks answers that have long been withheld. Take a Look at Me Now explores emotional standstill, unresolved loss, and the quiet tension of growing up when the past refuses to stay buried.

Amazon: https://bit.ly/4iOClQ5

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/220290155-take-a-look-at-me-now

Robert Crane is an American writer who writes literary fiction: short stories, novels, plays and poetry. Boone is his previous novel.

Book Amplifier Tour: The Standout by Laurel Osterkamp with excerpt and guest post by author

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Wed, 15 Oct 2025 20:44:00 +0000

What if the biggest threat in your life was coming from behind a screen—and inside your own head? The Standout, Laurel Osterkamp’s chilling psychological thriller, follows a woman whose chance at success turns into a surreal descent into sabotage and self-doubt.

Robin Bricker thinks The Standout, a ballet-meets-fashion reality show, is her opportunity to reset her life. But the moment she joins, she receives a warning: dump your fiancé or lose everything. Then a venomous website appears, devoted to ruining her. With mounting paranoia, manipulative competitors, and ghosts from her past resurfacing, Robin is left questioning her allies, her memories, and her own sanity. Her only support—her brother Ted and fellow contestant Zelda—may not be enough to protect her from what’s coming.

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3K59vh2

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27281023-the-standout

Excerpt:

The last time I saw my old sex-buddy Robert was years ago, when he ran from Clara’s tree house, but this morning he texts me with a picture attached. He’s sprawled on his bed, wearing nothing but a suggestive pose and a cowboy hat. What’s even more horrifying is the message: I’ve been thinking about you too.

Never mind how uncanny the timing of his text is. No. My first reaction is repulsion; how could I ever have slept with a guy who’d send a picture like this? The hat is so tacky! But after I get over his poor taste in accessories, I realize there are multiple reasons to be disturbed. The feathered cowboy hat is just the tip of the pornographic iceberg.

What if Nick had been around when I’d gotten that text? How could I possibly explain it away? And why did Robert decide to text me now, with everything else that’s been going on? It has to be more than a coincidence.

So I text him back. Can we talk? Today?

Sure, he responds, and sends me his work address.

His single-story office building is on the edge of downtown and I wait outside during lunch hour. At 11:52 I spot Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome walking out and heading straight for the Jimmy Johns. I step into his path.

“Hi, Robert.”

His face has aged little in the last few years. Unlike Clara’s mother, Robert seems virtually unchanged by tragedy.

“Robin.” He smiles like he can picture me in nothing but a lacy thong. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m fine, good actually. I’m getting married.” I dig my heels into the sidewalk and hug my arms to my chest. The wind whips through me but I’ll make it clear: I do not want him warming me up. “I’ve never been happier and I can’t imagine EVER doing ANYTHING to jeopardize that.”

“Congratulations.” He tugs at his tie and the realization that I’m not going to sleep with him skips across his face. “Look, it’s great seeing you but I’m pressed for time—”

“This won’t take long. I’m sorry to hear about Clara.”

Robert’s finely chiseled jaw goes rigid. “Thanks. But we separated years ago, pretty much right after she found out about you and me. I mean, it’s terrible that she’s missing, but—”

“Missing? Her mother said she’d died.”

“She’s presumed dead.” Robert’s nostrils flare but his shoulders sag. “Clara was traveling in Greece and there was a bus accident. Lots of bodies were burned. It was pretty gruesome. But they looked at dental records and her body was never found.”

“Oh.” Images flood my mind: a bus tumbling down a cliff and erupting into flames, Clara’s beautiful face melting in the ashes, or perhaps, Clara getting up and walking away?

Robert raises his hand as if to pat my shoulder but then he changes his mind. “Sorry, Robin. I really do need to go. Good luck with your marriage; I’m sure you’ll need it.”

He’s almost become a blur on the sidewalk before his comment sinks in.

What a jackass.

Guest Post:

Exploring the Places That Inspired My Novel

I live in Minneapolis. Nearly twenty years ago, my best friend moved from California back to Kansas City (we both grew up in Lawrence, Kansas.) When she moved, we decided that once a year, we’d meet up in Des Moines, IA, which is almost equidistant from our homes. We’d book a hotel room, and spend uninterrupted time going for walks, talking about our lives, eating out, and drinking wine. This time with my friend is invaluable, but I also enjoy the alone-time that this trip affords me almost as much.

Because, I often get there first, just for the chance to explore a place where no one knows me, and where I can be invisible for a while.

So, over the years I’ve gotten to know Des Moines well. My favorite suburb is West Des Moines, home to Jordan Creek mall. The houses in that area seem nice, but not cookie-cutter, where they’re all built from the same design. West Des Moines is a suburb with sidewalks, trails, and parks. The backyards are spacious and there’s a ton of stuff nearby.

Thus, it’s no coincidence that Robin—the main character in three of my novels—is from Des Moines. So is her extended family. While my decision to put Robin in Des Moines wasn’t random, it wasn’t something I mulled over either. I’d already set a couple of novels in Minneapolis, and I wanted somewhere different, but also where I could write from an informed perspective. Des Moines seemed like the perfect spot, and now it almost feels like a second home.

Tomorrow, I leave on my annual pilgrimage to visit Des Moines and to see my best friend. It’s always one of my favorite weekends of the year! One of the first things I’ll do upon arriving is walk alone through West Des Moines’ neighborhoods. I’ll imagine Robin and her extended family living in the homes I go past, like they’re real people and I’m paying them a visit. (Or just peeking through their windows. Don’t worry—that part is all in my imagination!) It’s a wonderful chance to live inside my own head for a while, and explore a fictional life that might have been my own.

About the author:

Laurel Osterkamp is the award-winning author of The Next Breath, Beautiful Little Furies, and Favorite Daughters. Her work blends suspense, literary fiction, and deeply emotional storytelling.

A Minneapolis-based writer and former high school teacher with an MFA in writing, Laurel is known for crafting emotionally resonant stories centered around strong, complex women.

Her novels have earned Kindle Scout selections and top spots on Amazon charts. She balances life as a full-time writer, mom, runner, and audiobook enthusiast.

Discover more on her website or follow her on Instagram.

Book Amplifier Tour: Miss Moon by Alan Ramias with Q&A and Excerpt

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Thu, 02 Oct 2025 03:30:00 +0000

Here’s a new book that blends poetry and storytelling into a moving reflection on the human experience.

In Miss Moon, Alan Ramias delivers a luminous collection of stories-in-verse that explore the fragile, powerful, and fleeting nature of life. From quiet moments of reflection to sharp glimpses of family, longing, and loss, these narratives transform the ordinary into unforgettable portraits of what it means to live, love, and remember.

Drawing from his own lived experiences — including his time as an Army reporter in Vietnam — Ramias creates pieces that are at once intimate and universal. His writing blurs the line between poetry and prose, offering beauty, honesty, and resonance in every page.

Amazon: https://bit.ly/3Iw54eM

Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/236955918-miss-moon

Excerpt:

The first night of guard duty was typical: uneventful, boring, hard to stay awake. That’s what it was like for seasoned soldiers. But for the newly initiated, it was the ultimate in ceaseless terror: every noise, every movement, every shift in the breeze, every change of lighting brought ominous imaginings. Everything looked swollen, enlarged, animate. The skin could tingle so strongly it felt hot. The eyes strained until they throbbed and the vision turned watery. Sitting in a watch tower, glancing at the moon’s progress. Two hours on, four hours off, performed twice over a twelve-hour shift. Trying to sleep during the hours off was impossible even for some veterans; for the newcomer, not a chance. So it was for Tinkerbell.

There were three guards who took turns. He got the first shift—6 to 8 p.m.—and the fourth—12-2. The only difference from the ordinary routine was that instead of being alone in the tower, Tinkerbell was accompanied by LaPointe, who kept up a steady patter of instructions, observations, cautions, jokes and homesick talk.

Still, by the end of that first shift, Tinkerbell looked sweaty, pale and shaky as he came down from the tower where LaPointe had already descended and was waiting with the second-shift guard. After LaPointe gave a quick sitrep he guided Tinkerbell to a nearby tent with cots draped in mosquito netting, one of which was occupied by the third-shift guard.

When shaken two hours later, Tinkerbell got back up looking even worse. He opened his canteen, tipped it and pulled clumsily at the water, spilling some on his fatigues.

LaPoint, watching him stonily, said, “For chrissake, man, relax. We just gotta do this for two more hours. You’ll never make it at this rate.”

Tinkerbell looked at him dubiously. “You think something’s going to happen? We gonna get shot at?”

Q&A with the author:

Who was the hardest character to write?

I struggled to get the right voice for the narrator of the story, Miss Moon. I seldom attempt first-person stories because I tend to slip into autobiography, which limits my imagination. So I gave the character of Jerry a poor grasp of grammar and vocabulary. It was a trick to remind me Jerry wasn’t me.

What’s your favorite compliment you’ve received on your writing?

One reviewer said that reading my book was like having a conversation with a “dear friend”.

Several reviewers have said they felt they were in the story with the characters.

If your book became a movie, who would star in it?

For the main character, Jerry, I would cast Casey Affleck. With his intensity and expressive face, he would do a terrific job of projecting Jerry’s loneliness and conflicted feelings. For Stan, I would choose Owen Wilson. He would be the perfect amiable, gentle not-quite-handsome lover of Miss Moon.

And for Miss Moon herself it would have to be Gong Li. Gorgeous beyond words. All of these folks are too old for the roles but hey, this is Hollywood and it’s my fantasy, okay?

What do you like to do for fun?

I am taking acting lessons and participating in improv. I harbor no delusions about becoming a professional actor. I’m doing it because it’s lively, fun, incredibly challenging and occasionally terrifying. I’ve seldom felt more alive. And it’s making me a better writer.

About the author:

Alan Ramias served as an Army reporter in the Mekong Delta during the Vietnam War, where he documented the daily lives of soldiers and civilians in a world marked by uncertainty. Those experiences became the foundation for The Bridge, a story about connection, loyalty, and the unexpected friendships forged in the shadow of conflict.

After the war, Alan earned degrees in English, Philosophy, and an MBA, and built a distinguished corporate career helping organizations improve performance around the globe.

Today, he draws on both his military service and decades of working with people from many cultures to create fiction that explores the complexities of human relationships, memory, and the moments that stay with us.

Book Amplifier Tour: The Great Dick and the Dysfunctional Demon by Barry Maher with guest post and excerpt

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Mon, 29 Sep 2025 16:22:00 +0000

I’m excited to feature Barry Maher’s novel, The Great Dick and the Dysfunctional Demon, a supernatural thriller that refuses to sit neatly in one category. It’s dark and terrifying, yes, but also slyly funny, playing with the tension between skepticism and belief as its reluctant hero is dragged into a world he cannot explain away. For readers who love stories that weave horror, mystery, and a touch of satire into something wholly original, this one deserves a spot on your list.

In this wickedly funny and unnerving supernatural tale, Steve Witowski is a failed songwriter on the run from both the law and his own mistakes. When he impulsively steps in to save a woman named Victoria from a vicious assault, he expects trouble—but not the kind that comes with her newly purchased church, a decaying relic steeped in darkness. What begins as an uneasy alliance quickly spirals into rituals, grave robbing, and the unsettling attention of a desperate demon. Steve insists it’s all fantasy, even as the face of the man he once killed begins to appear on his arm and the line between delusion and reality frays beyond repair. Blending macabre humor with pulse-pounding suspense, this is a story where the past refuses to stay buried and survival carries a terrifying price.

Excerpt:

Back in the 60s . . .

On Wednesday October 13th, 1968, a faculty panel recommended the dismissal of Professor John Harris—in absentia, as no one at Harvard had seen or heard from him in weeks. Harris later bragged about delivering his final lecture on “one shitload and a half of LSD.” According to the recording made available to the faculty panel, this was the sum total of that lecture:

“Good afternoon. Wow. American Literature, hunh? Let’s see. Moby Dick today. Right?”

“Moby Dick?” asked a confused voice. “No. What happened to The Scarlet Letter?”

“Right. Moby Dick,” Harris continued. “Great book. None of you have read it. None of you are going to read it. Nobody ever does. What you need to understand is that as far as I’m concerned—and I’m the fucking professor—Moby Dick is the same story as The Great Gatsby, which some of you may read. I call it, ‘the half-assed struggle of the individual to put their world to rights in the face of a failure that threatens to define their life.’ I think that’s from my thesis. Though maybe it’s not pretentious enough.”

Harris laughed. “Hey! How about this? Great Gatsby/Moby Dick: same story, different era, right? So, if someone someday tries to write that story for this generation, they should call it The Great Dick. That’d be perfect, wouldn’t it? The Great Dick. Alright, that’s got to be almost fifty minutes. See you next . . . whenever. Wow.”

SUNDAY, MARCH 21, 1982
Two Women and One Corpse

“Any fool can tell the truth, but it requires a man of some sense to lie well.”
—Samuel Johnson

CHAPTER 1

Okay, let me start out by admitting that I was an asshole. I know that. The ludicrous amount of fame and acclaim and money I’ve had dumped on me since that time only makes it more glaring. The fact that we lived in a different world back in 1982 is no excuse. It was the same world. It just wasn’t the world we thought it was.

I remember it was a Sunday night. Sundays always feel different. Looking back now and Googling a 1982 calendar, I’d guess it was Sunday, March 21st. I remember waking up and within minutes making the decision to leave. Quickly, before I could change my mind, I eased myself out of the rickety hide-a-bed.

Immediately, Maria rolled over into the spot I'd just vacated, breathing loudly through her nose and mouth, not quite snoring. I hate to say it, but she looked every minute of her thirty years. Her thick dark hair clung damply to her face; her heavy arms stretched outward. The cast on her left wrist looked like a giant manacle.

The grandfather clock beside the cigar store Indian read 1:37, though a few minutes before, it had chimed four times. That made as much sense as anything else in my life. I was thirty-five years old, a Harvard grad who’d spent the previous two years faking his way through a $13,500 a year job as a territory rep for the Richmond Tobacco company. That $13,500 was the most money I’d ever made. You’re probably thinking that when you adjust for inflation and translate that $13,500 into today’s dollars, it’s a lot more impressive.

No, it’s not.

I slipped on my jersey and my jeans and gathered the rest of my things in my old gym bag. Fortunately, enough moonlight crept in around the edges of the tattered drapes to give the room a dim glow. I wondered if it would be safe to hitchhike out of there, or if Indiana had already notified the California Highway Patrol that I was wanted.

My situation was bad. But not bad enough to, say, crawl into a grave with a rotting corpse.

That would come later.

Guest Post:

Where Do You Get Your Ideas from?

A while back, I was speaking on an Asian cruise when I realized I could no longer figure out what the hands of the clock meant. The next day, during a session, I introduced the ship’s captain. Twenty minutes later I picked him out of the audience and asked him what he did for a living. (The uniform did look a tad familiar.) That same day, I gave up trying to understand foreign currency. Even American money was getting tricky. In Viet Nam, I handed a vendor two hundreds and a five for a $7.00 baseball cap. It was a very nice cap.

Back home, the first thing my doctor did was have me draw a clock face at ten to three. The second thing he did was take away my driver’s license. Then he sent me for an immediate MRI. The nurse there wouldn’t comment on the results, but when I asked where the restroom was, she said, “I can’t let you go in there alone.”

I explained that bathroom visitation was a particular expertise of mine.

“Like telling time?” she asked. “You need to talk to your neurosurgeon.”

“I have a neurosurgeon?” Just what I always wanted.

I also had a brain tumor—the size of a basketball. Or maybe the neurosurgeon said “baseball.” I wasn’t tracking too well at that point. Still, I quickly grasped he was planning on carving open my skull with a power saw.

“I don’t really need to tell time,” I said. “Or I can just buy a digital watch.”

Everyone said my neurosurgeon—or, as I thought of him, “Chainsaw Charlie”—was brilliant. My problem was that I’ve spent my life around intelligent people, and I’ve always believed human intelligence was overrated. To me, on a scale of everything there is to know in the universe, the main difference between Einstein and Koko the Wonder Chimp was that Einstein couldn’t pick up bananas with his feet. (As far as I know.)

Still, I went under the knife—or in this case, the power saw. Maybe I had a seizure. The doctors weren’t sure. That might explain what happened. Because I came out of the surgery with Lady Gaga singing non-stop in my head and an unforgettably vivid story, like a memory of something that I’d just witnessed.

Reacting to the intrusion, I suppose my brain could have given me Citizen Kane or a nice rom/com or a few episodes of Seinfeld. Instead I got open crypts, bizarre spells, sudden death and the Ralph Lauren version of the Manson Family. “How did my operation go? Well, I’m doing well, but the people in my head—or wherever they were—they went through Hell.”

Lady Gaga went away after a day or so. But the story stayed with me. And when I was able, I spent a couple of years putting it all down, working it out, trying to get it just right. And that became The Great Dick: And the Dysfunctional Demon.

About the author:

Barry Maher has lived a life as colorful and unpredictable as the stories he tells. He’s been an award-winning (if modestly so) poet, a journalist with bylines in dozens of magazines, and a man who once literally lived on the beach, sand and seagulls included.

As a speaker, his client list is a Who’s Who of major corporations and associations, and his syndicated column Slightly Off-Kilter showcased the same wit and irreverence that now animates his fiction.

His work has been featured in outlets like The New York Times, USA Today, and The Wall Street Journal, and he’s appeared on The Today Show, CNN, and CNBC.

Learn more on his website or connect with him on Facebook.

Amazon: https://bit.ly/41Vv4a6

Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/239608581-the-great-dick

Book Amplifier Tour: Madman by M.F. Gross with review and excerpt

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Wed, 27 Aug 2025 04:01:00 +0000

Sometimes truth is darker than fiction—and the past more terrifying than memory allows. In Madman, M.F. Gross unearths a real-life crime that once gripped Florida’s Gulf Coast, then all but disappeared from history.

In Madman, M.F. Gross delivers a gripping work of historical true crime that reads with the intensity of a thriller and the depth of a cultural study. Set in the simmering summer of 1949, the book follows the harrowing aftermath of a brutal home invasion and murder in the sleepy town of Crystal Beach, Florida. The suspect—John Calvin “Rastus” Russell—was an escaped convict and former asylum patient whose violent rampage would spark a sprawling, chaotic manhunt that lasted over a month and spread fear across the Gulf Coast. But this is far more than a tale of crime and capture. Through richly textured scenes, deep research, and an unflinching eye, Gross reconstructs the mood of a town pushed to the brink and the lives of those caught in the crosshairs of history. It’s a story of resilience, vulnerability, and how one moment of violence can ripple through time.

Amazon: bit.ly/47jCHui

Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/235731573-madman

Excerpt:

Context: It's August of 1949, Crystal Beach, Florida. A handsome, charismatic, young stranger has entered the house of Norman and Anne Browne - a retired couple from New Yorkmy Review. The stranger claims he is interested in seeing the Browne's house - as it is for sale. The Browne's invite him in for coffee. It's early on a Sunday morning. The following transpires...

Rattlesnake Road has not been named arbitrarily.

The climate and landscape of Florida’s Gulf Coast offers ideal living conditions for the venomous reptiles. The animals thrive in the area’s warm, subtropical environment and diverse ecosystem. The abundant availability of prey and variety of ample hiding spots makes Norman Browne’s backyard – and, in fact, most of Pinellas County, a prime habitat for rattlesnakes to call home.

For residents of Crystal Beach in 1949, this most often means Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnakes or the tiny but potent Pygmy Rattlesnake. The former is the largest venomous snake in North America, with specimens in the South often reaching six feet or longer.

While residents rarely see the slithering reptiles, a thriving population infests the wooded area around Norman Brown’s secluded home. Also inhabiting the woods around Crystal Beach are ample populations of raccoons, opossums, and coyotes.

As such, Norman keeps two shotguns on hand for encounters with unwelcome wildlife on his property. In fact, the retiree recently killed a six-foot Diamondback not far from the house. Inside the female snake, he found twenty-two eggs*

On this day, one of the weapons leans innocuously in a corner of the Browne’s bathroom. Rastus Russell has just disappeared behind the bathroom door. When he emerges, the visitor is gripping Browne’s loaded .12-gauge shotgun in his rugged, farm worker hands. And he’s not examining it for purchase. He raises the weapon and points it at Norman Browne’s chest.

“What’s the idea?” Browne demands, seated at the dining room table.

Irritated, Russell smashes the coffee cup and saucer out of Browne’s hands with the butt of the weapon. The cup crashes to the table, breaking off a piece of porcelain and staining Mrs. Browne’s white tablecloth with hot, dark coffee.

“I’m a desperate man!” he tells Browne as he explains his situation.

He tells the terrified couple that he is connected to a Chicago drug smuggling gang looking for a hideout. He threatens that if anything happens to him, his gangster pals will “take care of it.” He then demands to know where the Brownes keep their money.

When the Brownes state they have no money, Russell becomes agitated. He continues to argue with the couple, repeatedly asking about the money. The Brownes try to convince Russell they are telling the truth.

Rastus Russell isn’t buying it. He tells Mr. and Mrs. Browne he is going to tie them up while he looks for it. He asks if they prefer to be tied up in the bedroom or their garage. Apparently making the decision himself, the lifelong criminal marches the couple out to the back porch, down the steps, and takes them on the short walk through the yard to the garage.

The Brownes obediently comply – the powerful weapon pointed at their backs.

Inside the tiny, wooden, dirt floor structure, the Brownes breathe the trapped, familiar air smelling of earth, mildew, and mouse droppings. The intruder finds some spare rope. Between old cardboard Crisco boxes, light wood bushel baskets, and Norman Browne’s push-powered grass cutter, Rastus Russell binds the couple by the hands and feet. He then tosses the rope over the wooden beam in the ceiling, pulling the couple’s hands over their heads, tying the rope tight. Leaving the Brownes restrained in the garage, Russell closes the dual, barn-like doors and locks them with the outside deadbolt, securing a steel hasp.

He vanishes into the house.

Norman and Anne Browne hear their captor rustling through their home, searching for money he is convinced is inside. After a short time, Rastus Russell exits the house and, unexplainedly, climbs back into the Ford and drives away.

Traumatized but relieved, the Brownes believe their ordeal is over.

My Review:

I dived into this book without knowing anything about this crime, the criminal, or the author of this book. It is not my usual genre, I tend to gravitate towards fiction, but this caught my interest and I was eager to read it.

I have missed feelings about the book itself. It was nit a writing style I am accustomed to, so it took me a while to get into the story. I came across a sentence that needed some kind of punctuation to make it understandable. I had to read it several times before it made sense and my brain was hung up on it for much longer than it should’ve been.

That aside, the story itself is intense and quite interesting. It boggles my mind that there are people out there that can do this type of thing. I understand it was a different time, but I still can’t believe the way the man was in and out of jail, prison, and mental health facilities repeatedly before this horrible crime was committed by him. The fact he broke out of places multiple times, but still was not locked up more securely, just doesn’t make sense to me at all.

I have not finished the book yet due to my work schedule being crazy revelry, but it am enjoying the read and can’t wait to get back to it. Even without having finished it, I can highly recommend it to anyone that enjoys reading about true crime. The book draws you in and really makes you wonder what exactly goes on in the minds of the people around you.

And the scene with the baby almost made my heart stop. Spoiler: it is a short scene and ends without the worst happening. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

If I had to give it a star rating, I would say 4 out of 5 stars. It’s difficult for me to rate a nonfiction book because it isn’t my typical genre and I often am not a big fan of the writing style in nonfiction. This book is gripping though and, while there are things I don’t particularly like about how it is written, I am quite enjoying the book, even though it is about a crime committed by a madman.

About the author:

M.F. Gross is a writer and historical researcher with a deep fascination for the forgotten stories that shape a region’s identity. Before turning to narrative nonfiction, he worked as a financial writer, where he honed his analytical skills and instinct for truth beneath the surface.
With Madman, Gross spent more than a year combing through dusty archives, forgotten newspaper clippings, court records, and firsthand oral histories to resurrect a crime that had all but vanished from public consciousness. What emerges is not just a chronicle of violence, but a meditation on justice, fear, and the resilience of small-town America. A longtime resident of Florida’s Gulf Coast, Gross brings an insider’s understanding and emotional clarity to every page.
Visit him at his website and on Instagram.

Book Amplifier Tour: The Side Project by Laurel Osterkamp with Guest Post by Author

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Mon, 23 Jun 2025 17:10:00 +0000

Laurel Osterkamp’s The Side Project is a love story—but not just between two people. It’s also a love letter to storytelling itself, and to the complicated lives we lead behind the narratives we tell.

For Rylee, life in Bemidji, Minnesota, feels like a long pause. She once imagined herself in California, publishing her own work and chasing creative dreams. Instead, she’s held in place by the past—caring for her younger brother and holding tightly to her father’s unfinished novel. Carson, her former boyfriend, made a clean break a decade ago when fatherhood came early and unexpectedly. When they’re reunited in a fiction-writing class and paired as partners, it reopens more than old memories. What starts as a way to mine their pasts for literary material becomes something riskier—a “side project” that draws emotional lines too blurred to follow. As they create stories together, they must navigate their own unresolved truths and ask whether some endings can—or should—be rewritten.

Amazon: https://bit.ly/4dUmpJJ

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/218561154-the-side-project

Guest Post by Laurel Osterkamp:

How My Grad School Experience Influenced The Side Project

When The Side Project opens, it’s Rylee’s first day of her graduate creative writing program. She’s frustrated to still be in Bemidji, rather than at USC with her on-again/off-again boyfriend Jack, who’s a darling in literary fiction circles. She hides the truth from him, that she writes and self-publishes romance novels. Because that’s just not something you admit to people who are serious about writing literary fiction.

Like Rylee, I had already self-published several novels when I began my MFA program. Also like Rylee, I didn’t share that information with my classmates. I wasn’t actively keeping it a secret, but part of me was nervous that they’d judge me for it.

So, Rylee becomes torn between seeking validation and following her own path. One of the stories she writes for class is something I came up with while in grad school. And it just might be my favorite thing I ever wrote.

The story is called “You and Jane.” It’s written in second person, as if the reader is a modern-day, parallel universe Charlotte Bronte. She and her husband are receiving genetic counseling because she’s pregnant, and Charlotte (who everyone refers to as Jane, as in Jane Eyre), must reveal her family’s incredible history. The whole thing grows more and more absurd. I was inspired by David Barthelme’s “The School,” an absurdist short story that I read for another grad school class.

Anyway, when I shared the story with the rest of the class, some people loved it. Others did not. It wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I liked to think it was a nice hybrid of literary and genre fiction. Accessible and funny, yet unique.

And, I got it published! You can read “You and Jane” here, in Abandon Literary Journal.

Let me tell you, getting short fiction published in a reputable literary journal is almost as difficult as finding a publisher for your novel. I’d sent out “You and Jane” to a lot of places, and received a couple of really nice, personal rejections. Months later, when I finally received the acceptance from Abandon, I squeaked with joy. My son was in the room, and he thought I’d received bad news!

By that time, I was already done with my graduate program. The same was true for when I found a publisher for The Side Project. But it was really fun, incorporating “You and Jane” into my novel. Like I could let go of my need for validation.

Spoiler alert: by the end of The Side Project, Rylee also releases that need, but she does it in a much grander way than I ever did.

The best part? Letting your protagonist learn from your experiences is an awesome experience in itself!

Osterkamp writes contemporary fiction that’s character-first and emotionally grounded, capturing the quiet transformation that can come from grief, heartbreak, and unexpected connection. Her bestselling books, including Beautiful Little Furies, are celebrated for their wit, intelligence, and heart. A Minneapolis native, Laurel juggles writing with teaching, motherhood, and negotiating domestic peace treaties between family members and their finicky cats. Her work resonates with readers who believe that fiction isn’t just entertainment—it’s a mirror, and sometimes, a second chance. Learn more at laurellit.com and follow her at@ laurel_osterkamp.

Book Tour with Excerpt and Review: Luna's Veil by Wes Verde

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Fri, 28 Jun 2024 10:06:00 +0000

In the depths of despair, Leonard Burton must unravel the eldritch mysteries surrounding his wife's death before he is consumed by the malevolent forces lurking beneath Luna’s Veil...

Title: Luna's Veil

Author: Wes Verde

Publication Date: June 29, 2024

Pages: 328

Genre: Horror

Leonard Burton wakes up to find his life in ruins. His wife is dead, and no one believes his story about what killed her – he’s not even sure he believes it himself. Now, in jail for the crime and with no friends, his prospects are bleak. That is, until he is rescued by Dr. Cecil Gainor, an enigmatic investigator and perhaps the only other man who knows what unnatural horrors are really at work.

Unfortunately, more questions arise when Cecil’s partner disappears while chasing the same dark forces responsible for the death of Lenny’s wife. The two men realize they must follow the trail themselves, or many other lives may be at risk.

What follows is a race against time to clear Lenny’s name and find the real killers before the full moon. The death and destruction that has already been suffered is nothing compared to what will occur beneath Luna’s Veil.

You can check out his book at Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D1LK45JH

My Review:

First of all, I really like the cover of this book. It takes me back to my childhood, watching horror movies on Saturday nights before the channels shut off for the night. Yes, I am that old!

It also makes me think of the horror stories I loved to read back then, and still love reading. Books that often had just two words, one of which would be The. Loved those books so much! Would stay up way too late, reading them under my covers with a flashlight and then trying sleep afterwards with every noise amplified and images in my mind of creatures lurking outside of my windows, just waiting for me to glance out. Ah, those were the days!

Anyway, back to the book!

When I first started reading the book I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to get into it. The prologue was interesting, but didn't quite grab my attention.... at first. The next thing I know, I had been reading for an hour or so and made my way through multiple chapters without a break.

The writing flows along smoothly, drawing you in without you even realizing it. The characters are interesting and the story itself was unique and kept me reading. It was a pretty solid four star read.

The book was not quite what I was expected, though I didn't have any real expectations or ideas of how it would go. I really enjoyed that it feels like a reading a mystery while keeping in the horror genre. I enjoyed being taken along on this mysterious and creepy journey.

I would recommend this book to anyone that enjoys a good horror story.

Book Excerpt:

Prologue:

“Wait here, please.”

It was a simple enough request, if unexpected. They had invited him, why make him wait now? Lacking for other options, he complied, but kept still to avoid appearing nervous. Much was at stake.

After several minutes of nothing, it occurred to him that impersonating a statue for this long might arouse suspicion in itself. And so he began pacing. As more time passed without any sign of his host, his feigned boredom became genuine and he took account of the vestibule.

It spoke of wealth. The immaculate white tiles were surely mopped following the passage of each visitor. Damask wallpaper with raised patterns that might have been real silk covered all four walls. The doors leading to the house proper were intricate and solid and – to this visitor’s mild discomfort – locked for some reason. He could not say for certain that he was trapped since he had not attempted return to the street, but such an act might have tipped his hand.

It mattered little. He would not allow himself to leave yet.

As his nerves got the better of him, he touched his cheek, recently shaved for the first time in months and the smooth skin felt foreign. To make matters worse, it occurred to him that in his haste, he neglected to put the razor away back home. At least he was confident the other parcel was secure.

This was all wrong. Really, he shouldn’t be here alone, but there had been no time to send for Cecil. Events were happening quickly and so he had been forced to act.

His discomfort notwithstanding, they needed this lead. The missing persons were a matter of concern unto themselves, but the reason behind the disappearances was quite another.

For want of better options, he examined the room’s central feature in more detail and quickly decided that he would never understand art. The clever drawings advertising soda pop or ice cream were about the extent of his appreciation.

This piece was something beyond. It was possible, he supposed, that he lacked the ability to comprehend the subtle nuances or else it was exactly as it appeared.

The room’s only piece of furniture was a table that might have cost more than a modest car, but atop it was a sculpture of a man. Or at least, it was a human of some kind. That was part of the confusion. While skillfully executed, the figure was twisted into a shape that no circus contortionist could possibly get into without snapping one’s spine. The face and posterior were somehow contrived within inches of each other.

A complete lack of genitalia was apparent and a mirror provided view of the opposite side along with this visitor’s expression of mild disgust. Noticing himself, the agent carefully relaxed his face. In his fifty some years of life and unique line of work, he had been jaded by things that defied both reason and standard decorum. The macabre contortionist perhaps bothered him more than it should have and it took a moment to realize why.

His eyes were drawn back to the mirror. As a young man, hunting in the Pine Barrens, he had developed a sense for movement and of being watched, a skill which he had honed to a sixth sense. When he detected such now it put his hairs on end. But in looking up, he saw nothing.

Staring for perhaps a full minute without any sign of movement or other smoking gun beyond his own reflection, the feeling nonetheless persisted. Knowing he was being watched was not in itself unsettling, but in the interim he had cause to ponder the summation of oddities.

A provocative art piece in the middle of an otherwise empty room would surely draw attention as would the mirror deliberately placed behind it. A mirror that he was now sure was a one-way observation window. This left him with the question that rattled him: was he meant to understand the fact that he was being watched?

The door clicked with the manipulation of the lock from the far side. The butler reappeared and wordlessly motioned for him to proceed.

Following, they soon arrived in a dining room, just as fine in quality as he had come to expect in this house. A long table lined with chairs and place settings occupied most of the space.

“Are we meant to have an early dinner?” he asked the butler. The hour was wrong, but he felt compelled to make some kind of sound. The silence inside the house was pressing.

When the butler made no response, save to ask him to wait again, the agent’s eyes were drawn back to the table. Judging from the chairs, it was likely a work of art in itself and something that a man would want to show off. The tablecloth was strange.

The click of a shutting door momentarily broke his concentration and he realized that he was once again locked-in.

Does he suspect something? he wondered. Thus far, he had managed to resist niggling doubts, but the fact that he was being drawn further into this house was difficult to overlook.

He took a breath, counted to four and considered the fact they had not patted him down for a weapon. The one way mirror also came to mind; surely there were similar means of surreptitious observation in this room as well and he took care not to glance at his ankle. The .380 Colt pressed reassuringly against his skin. Six rounds were not much, but he had faced worse odds before. Of course, that was years ago.

The table. Odd that it was covered. Odder still what it was covered with. What at first appeared to be squiggly lines refined into text upon closer observation. Pages from a book. There was no telling for how long the host would make him wait this time and no sense in appearing anxious if he was in fact being observed. He read the nearest line.

And when he was out of the ship, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit.

“Is that…?”

He read another line. Then another page. He examined the rest of the table and found the pages were similar. It was no simple reprinting, but an actual tapestry of paper pages. He inhaled.

One… two… three…

His face remained as stone. This was another provocation, he was sure. A tablecloth made from Bible pages was sure to elicit a wide range of emotions. Would the subject show revulsion? Offense? Perhaps amusement. And all of it discretely observed from somewhere out of sight. Surely, it would tell his yet-to-be-revealed host any number of things about his state of mind. Or at the very least, get under his skin.

The agent opted to refrain from any emotional display at all only to realize that such a withdrawal was itself a reaction of another kind. Then in the next moment, wondered if that was a mistake to reveal that he was onto the game. Surely, it would only give the mysterious tycoon cause to double his efforts at subterfuge.

He had come to this house thinking himself a cat, only to discover with increasing certainty that he was in fact the mouse.

Hands at his side. Level breathing. Conscious of his body language, he took great care to avoid fidgeting or revealing his distress. There was still a job to do and if he failed in this meeting there was no telling how many more would suffer for his bungling of an opportunity. It was almost enough to make him long for the simpler days of decorating cakes.

A new door opened. This time it was not the butler but a new man. He did not have the understated, borderline meek demeanor of household staff, but quite the opposite. Half a head taller than the agent and broad in shoulder, he was anything but subtle. Security?

The guard did not acknowledge the man in any way, but merely held the door and looked off to a neutral spot on the wall. Lacking for options, the agent obliged the tacit request to continue and braced for what would surely be another test.

It was a living room or perhaps a library. They were surrounded by books, but built with comfort in mind. It smelled of old paper, leather, and – strangely – Lysol. His footfalls muffled by a deep pile carpet, he approached the only furniture present. Two chairs took up the center of the room, facing each other.

This time, he was not forced to wait long at all. Muffled giggling, indistinct and somewhere from the depths of the house could be heard in the otherwise still room. Without speaking, the guard moved to a door on the opposite side of the room and opened it precisely in time so the new arrival and his companion did not even need to break stride as they entered the library.

It was surreal, seeing this face in person for the first time. Until now, this handsome jaw line and wavy, dark hair had only existed in newspaper clippings and photographs taken from afar. He had a charming, easy way about him. So much so that the agent had to remind himself of what this target was capable of.

Hens. Eggs.

“Mr. Crenshaw,” the young man greeted. “So glad you were able to accept my invitation.”

It was the name the agent had provided during their correspondence and was, of course, a pseudonym.

The agent replied automatically, but was not sure what to make of his host’s companion.

“Happy to do it, Mr. ah…”

“Please. Make yourself comfortable. Sit.” He made no move to introduce the woman, or even acknowledge her presence.

She followed, but as there were only two chairs, it was not clear where she was meant to sit. On his host’s insistence, “Crenshaw” took his seat first. Considering the size of the room, the seats were placed unnecessarily close together. He thought about sliding backward, but did not want to draw attention.

This would be the most delicate part of the operation.

To say they sat across from each other would imply there was some kind of gap, but their knees were practically touching and then the young woman took her seat on the host’s leg.

Ten years a widower and Crenshaw had seen few women in that time. Of those, none were as lovely as this one. Such was their proximity that her perfume wafted over him. The younger man had still made no overt indication that he was even aware of her presence, keeping his eyes patiently and resolutely fixed upon Crenshaw.

“I must say, I was intrigued by your proposal,” the host went on. “Your story really touched my heart.” The very edge of a grin curled up one corner of his mouth.

Then, the woman started bouncing. Her giggling never quite rose high enough to drown out the conversation, but teased at that threshold. She sensed the precise level at which it would become impossible to ignore and deliberately stayed below it.

Had he been a younger man, he might have been too stunned by the proximity and her state of dress to think clearly, but thankfully Crenshaw had achieved that enlightened age where the female form had lost just a bit of its mystery. Nonetheless, he was stumped in another way.

This is another test. How best to proceed then?

The host motioned for him to speak, as though there were no reason he would not do so. It helped to avoid looking at the girl, despite the fact that her exposed legs were now brushing against his pants. For a moment, he struggled to remember his cover story. He cleared his throat to buy a few more seconds.

“I’m glad that it did. Your philanthropy is rather famous in certain circles.”

“A man does what he can. What did you say was the name of your establishment?”

He paused. “St. Theresa’s Home for Children. We’re a rather small organization and so it hasn’t appeared in any of the registries as yet.”

“I see.” He narrowed his eyes for the span of a breath and then relaxed again. “I’ll confess I do have something of a soft spot in my heart when it comes to orphans. Comes from not yet having any children of my own, I suppose. May I assume that you would be looking for some kind of financial contribution?”

Crenshaw resisted the urge to bite his lip.

“Actually, I was hoping you might share your secret.”

He stared blankly, long enough for the girl to bounce two times before he responded.

“And what secret would that be?”

“You have a great skill at finding homes for your wards. According to the Home for Children in Jersey City, you relocated no less than five in the span of a month. Our organization is somewhat smaller, but we are blessed with contributions. What we lack is your reach and influence and – most unfortunately – facilities to house them all. At the worst of times our charges must share two or even three to a bed. It’s an untenable situation.”

“Homes,” he repeated. Working his jaw in thought, he placed a hand on his companion’s leg. She responded with a flash of concern before stopping and then switched to slowly wiggling her hips back and forth. “Yes, I think that’s something we could accommodate. About how many are you currently trying to move?”

“Six would be a good start. But of course, all twelve would be ideal.”

“And their ages?”

“Between seven and eleven.”

“I see. This is fortunate. As it happens, I was recently speaking with a colleague of mine who knows several interested families. How soon?”

“Immediately. If you provide an address, I can have them transported tomorrow.”

The host blinked. “Don’t trouble yourself. I have an associate who can pick them up from your facility. Where are you located?” He tapped the girl and she resumed bouncing on his leg, apparently relieved.

Crenshaw forced a smile. “Sir, you do too much. Your help is already more than enough and I couldn’t ask you to provide transport on top of that.”

“Are you opposed to visitors, Mr. Crenshaw?” His eyes narrowed and his tone dropped.

“Nothing of the sort. We just-”

“That is not his name,” interrupted a voice from somewhere unseen. “And he lies.”

This time, the woman stopped moving entirely as a look of real fear crossed her face. Annoyed, the host pushed her off his lap. Heels clacking, she fled the room and the young man leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Already close, now they bordered on intimate.

“Concerned about a break-in perhaps?”

The situation was tenuous, but perhaps salvageable despite the Crenshaw moniker being compromised. He thought of the gun, but down near his ankle it was effectively blocked. Perhaps there was still a way to recover.

His head began to itch, but he fought the urge to fidget and cleared his throat instead.

“Certainly not. We have nothing worth stealing. We simply find that it’s best to avoid too many unfamiliar faces. For the sake of the children.”

“He lies again,” said the disembodied and foreign voice. The high back of the chair prevented Crenshaw from looking around. “This is the same presence I felt at the office.”

Crenshaw’s heart sank. They knew about the office? How was that possible? He had been meticulous in covering his tracks.

He recovered his composure, but with the host sitting so close and no girl to hide behind, the damage was done.

“Been mucking around in places you ought not be?”

Things had soured beyond recovery and not-Crenshaw considered his options. He had but one card left to play. With as much strength as he could muster, he kicked against the opposite chair, sending the young man skidding backward to a safer distance. At such speed, it snagged on the lip of the rug and he flipped onto his back.

In the same motion, he pulled up his pant leg and reached for the .380. Recalling the guard in the corner and how many locked doors were between this room and the outside, he had no delusions about escape. This mission had just turned into a one-way trip. At least he would cut the head off the snake; not an ideal trade, but one he would pay gladly.

Only he never got the opportunity.

Both his arms were seized at the exact same time. He never even got a full grip on the Colt. He looked up at two expressionless faces as the pair of goons hauled him from the chair and shoved him into the floor. In their eyes was something impossible, but they pinned him facedown on the rug before he could think about it.

Overpowered and overwhelmed, not-Crenshaw struggled for a moment before the reality of the situation became impossible to ignore.

Breathing into the carpet, the bristles roughed up his freshly-shaved cheek and he grit his teeth. Things went still then. The host, having composed himself once more, crouched beside him.

“Who else knows you’re here?”

No one. He left notes back at the stilt house office, but they only contained the false address, which led to an innocuous building from which he was ferried here. Anyone who followed his footsteps would arrive at a dead end. And even then, there was no telling how long someone from the Organization would be in checking in on him. By then it would be too late.

“My whole team,” he answered instead. “Where you live. What you’re up to. The Cult of Dagon. You’re finished.”

Another pair of shoes stepped into view. “He lies again. No one is coming.”

“Well spotted, brother. We’ll dump his body in the river. Food for the Deep Ones.”

“Not just yet. You stole a book – a diary – from the office, yes? Where is it?”

He said nothing.

“Hm. Perhaps he might benefit from the Seed.”

The host exchanged an uneasy look with the unseen speaker.

“Are you sure?”

“He stole some of our secrets. Why not return the favor?”

And with that, Crenshaw’s head went into a bag and he saw no more.

About the Author

Wes Verde is an engineer by trade, a busybody by habit, and a lifelong Jersey boy.

A fan of nature, he spends as much time outside as possible.

His latest book is the horror/action novel, Luna’s Veil.

Author Links

Website | X (Twitter) | Facebook | Instagram | YouTube

Release Blitz: Midnight Whispers by P. Rayne

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Thu, 20 Jun 2024 05:32:00 +0000

Midnight Whispers by P. Rayne is now live!

A dark, contemporary, billionaire romance featuring anti-hero, secret society and close proximity tropes from USA Today Bestselling duo P. Rayne.

I spend my nights slinging drinks at Black Magic Bar or taking my clothes off at the local strip club. After my father passed, my stepmother gave me no other choice.

But when I break free of the chains binding me to my family estate, I find myself with nowhere to go. Until Nero Voss, the youngest of the billionaire Voss brothers, offers me a room at Midnight Manor. Now, I’m under his watchful gaze and enjoying it more than I should.

I shouldn’t give in to temptation, he is my stepsister’s ex-fiancé after all, but the pull toward him grows stronger by the day. I fight, but I’m losing the battle.

Nero is keeping secrets, though.

What he doesn’t know is that I’m keeping secrets, too.

Download today or read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited

https://books2read.com/mwpr

Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3W2ldwL

Meet P. Rayne

The darker side of USA Today Bestselling Author, Piper Rayne.

Connect with P. Rayne

Website: https://piperrayne.com/p-rayne
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Blog Tour with excerpt and review: This Exquisite Loneliness by Richard Deming

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Fri, 14 Jun 2024 05:30:00 +0000

Synopsis (from Amazon):

At an unprecedented rate, loneliness is moving around the globe—from self-isolating technology and political division to community decay and social fragmentation—and yet it is not a feeling to which we readily admit. It is stigmatized, freighted with shameand fear, and easy to dismiss as mere emotional neediness. But what if instead of shying away from loneliness, we embraced it as something we can learn from and as something that will draw us closer to one another?

In This Exquisite Loneliness, Richard Deming turns an eye toward that unwelcome feeling, both in his own experiences and the lives of six groundbreaking figures, to find the context of loneliness and to see what some people have done to navigate this profound sense of discomfort. Within the back stories to Melanie Klein’s contributions to psychoanalysis, Zora Neale Hurston’s literary and ethnographic writing, the philosophical essays of Walter Benjamin, Walker Evans’s photography of urban alienation, Egon Schiele’s revolutionary artwork and Rod Serling’s uncanny narratives in The Twilight Zone, Deming explores how loneliness has served as fuel for an intense creative desire that has forged some of the most original and innovative art and writing of the twentieth century.

This singular meditationon loneliness reveals how we might transform the pain of emotional isolation and become more connected to others and more at home with our often unquiet selves.

Amazon: http://amzn.to/3KjjgFd

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/75665889-this-exquisite-loneliness

Praise:

“Loneliness is everywhere these days. But this book will chase some of it away, and maybe replace it with connection.” —Patton Oswalt, Emmy and Grammy winning comic

"This Exquisite Loneliness is a beautifully written, informative, intimate, and insightful meditation about working with loneliness, a central and intrinsic feature of human existence, and not through it.” —Psychology Today

"...Rich and sensitive...[Deming's] ability to limn loneliness and isolation, and trace the ways in which his six subjects explored them, is one that Mr. Deming comes by honestly." —The Wall Street Journal

My Review:

It is difficult for me to review nonfiction books. I don't particularly like nonfiction but I found the topic interesting, so I thought I would give it a listen.

I appreciate that the author narrated the audiobook himself. I always feel that this gives the audiobook a little something extra, makes it more special or more personal. He did a good job narrating the audiobook and did not make it sound like someone reading their work, but more like he was telling us his story. I liked that.

The subject of loneliness is a touchy one for many people. Even when we are lonely, we often will not admit it, as if admitting it makes it more real somehow or that it makes us weak to feel that way. I feel that everyone feels lonely at some point in their lives but not everyone experiences loneliness but that is a tangent and I am not here to get into my beliefs about, or experiences with, loneliness.

I won't try to rate the book the same way I would a fiction book. I will say that I feel that the writing was good. It flowed nicely and didn't leave me feeling like I had read something written for an essay or journal. It felt more personal, like listening to an autobiography and not an emotionless piece that tells you dry facts. It is interesting and I think that most people can benefit from reading it or listenting to it.

Excerpted from This Exquisite Loneliness.

From Chapter Four: The Art of Being Invisible

During the worst period of my active addiction, I was a black-out drinker because I wanted to make myself disappear. The loneliness that I have wrestled with since I was a little kid stood at the core of my substance abuse. Where Zora Neale Hurston found visions as a means to navigate the pain of loneliness, I found instead drugs and alcohol. Even before the drinking, I had come to feel that I was a ghost haunting my own life. Looking into a mirror was like seeing a shadowy figure pass by an empty window atmidnight, and the drinking and the drugs were a way to either propel myself through that emptiness or to slip inside it, as if stepping into that mirror.

Many nights during some of my worst, most vulnerable times, I roamed the streets of Boston with a flask of Jack Daniels tucked in my coat sleeve, asking random strangers what time it was. I never asked more than that, never tried to prompt a conversation—it was a form of existential sonar. I sent out waves that people bounced back to me, proving, at least provisionally, that I did exist. Other nights I might sit in the apartment and call random phone numbers.

“Is Paul there?” I would ask, pleasantly, my tongue slushing the last word around in my mouth like a sloppy peppermint. I didn’t actually know anyone named Paul, but, of course, that wasn’t the point.

“There’s no one by that name here,” or, more pointedly, “fuck off,” the voice that answered would explain. Sometimes a Paul would in fact come on the line and I would have to sputter out that I must have had the wrong name. No call lasted more than thirty seconds. I would repeat this process several times in succession, and then I would drink myself into oblivion.

The pattern was clear: a need for connection, no matter how anemic; a frustration with the transience of that unsatisfying connection; a retreat into a state of radical, profound disconnection between myself and a world that I thought had no interest in me, i.e. blackout drunkenness. That, as became clear to me, as I am reminded all the time,was not sustainable. In the years of my sobriety, I’ve sought out new methods for understanding and reframing that recurring feeling of being outside-it-all. If I had to live with loneliness, I wanted to, needed to discover what it had to teach me.

What I have learned about loneliness from Walter Benjamin is, in part, that it can actually heighten one’s sense of attention. Feeling outside of things can offer a widened perspective on what surrounds us all the time. If we try to burrow into the hidden lives of things, for instance, rather than hide out, or pretend to be asleep, or get drunk or high, there’s a chance of uncovering a sheer volume of meaningfulness. That insight can create some sense of connection between a person and his or her or their surroundings, a tether to hold onto, even when it feels like we’re hurtling ever outward. If loneliness is ultimately an affliction of perception, then the task is to find ways to work with perspective.

+++

During my nightly journeying across Berlin, from time to time came rushing back to me those evenings years before when, drunk and high, I had stumbled through the streets of Boston, milling around the then shabby (and now stringently gentrified) Kenmore Square, lying in the shadow of Fenway. I’d slip (without ID) into the Rat, the rough-hewn punk/new wave club, hustle past the homeless encampment under the Bowker Overpass, maybe pausing to score some pills or hash, then head up to Tower Records. There were clear differences between these experiences of loneliness, however. In Berlin, later in life, after years of sobriety, I could still feel that keen pang of wanting to belong as I drifted along, but instead of dulled and blurred, objects and people became distinct, vivid, even in their distance. I felt as if I was seeing the city—the lights, the cars, the people using small spoons to make tight circles in their espresso cups. It appeared to me with sudden acuity, as if everything was a vehicle for meaningfulness not despitebut becauseof its ordinariness.

Once, just past 1 AM on a brisk night at the end of March, I sat in a fairly empty subway train barreling through the heart of Berlin. There were small pockets of people, but mostly, here and there, solo riders such as myself. I looked to my left and saw a nattily dressed businessman asleep, his left eye half-open and lolling up and down. The light on the roof of the car flickered and I turned toward a young woman wearing combat boots, her face covered in piercings, talking to a small brown dog at her feet.

“Blumen, Blumen,” she was saying to the terrier mix, the word for “flowers,” as she dipped her head and stroked the animal’s chin. For a moment, I imagined calling out women’s names, one after another, until she turned her head in acknowledgment. At a stop in Kreuzberg, the more bohemian part of the city, I got off and passed a ground-floor apartment with its wide window opened onto the street. On a table inside sat lemons sitting in a bowl full of water and wafts of cigarette smoke drifting into the folds of the curtains. A few blocks on, in an American-style diner, sat two gray-haired women eating toast and jam, a neon sign trembling above them.

I had no specific place to go, so I just kept walking, and looking. It was while walking the streets of that same city that Walter Benjamin arrived at the conclusion: “Solitude appeared to me as the only fit state of man.” Berlin, Boston, Columbus, London, Buffalo, Cuernavaca, New York, Singapore: I think of all the cities I have walked deep into the night, all by myself. At night, in the corners, there’s the same thrum of loneliness. Perhaps it isn’t that urban spaces, when empty, create a feeling of palpable absence, but rather, when they are empty, we can catch the hum of the feelings of abandonment and isolation that crisscross like power lines below the paved surfaces and concrete.

In the mid-1970s, Robert Weiss, a sociologist then on the faculty of Harvard’s Medical School, posited that there are six key social needs that, if unmet, in part or altogether, can lead to feelings of loneliness. They are attachment; nurturance; a sense of ongoing, dependable relationships; counsel in intense, emotional situations; and a reassurance of one’s value or worth. If we combine what Benjamin and Weiss have said, perhapsthe key to navigating loneliness is to look at spaces, and people, the way an artist does—not as beautiful, but as rewarding attention with significance. The path to that feeling of a sense of worth can come from this: being the one who sees the everyday meaningfulness in that which is perpetually overlooked due to the intensity and buzz of life in a city, no matter its size.

Author bio:

Richard Deming's first collection of poems, LET'S NOT CALL IT CONSEQUENCE (Shearsman Books, 2008), won the Norma Farber Award from the Poetry Society of America and was a finalist for the Connecticut Book Award. He is also the author of Listening on All Sides: Towards an Emersonian Ethics of Reading. In 2012, he was awarded the Berlin Prize by the American Academy in Berlin. He is currently Director of Creative Writing at Yale University.

Visit Richard at his website: https://www.richarddemingbooks.com/

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Book Tour: The First Girl by Jennifer Chase with interview, excerpt, and review

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Wed, 12 Jun 2024 13:29:00 +0000

Detective Katie Scott stares in horror at what she and her K9 Cisco have discovered: seven shallow graves, the bodies of young women each wrapped carefully in a blanket and buried in makeshift coffins in a rural area.

Title: The First Girl: Detective Katie Scott Book 11

Author: Jennifer Chase

Publication Date: December 19, 2023

Pages: 354

Genre: Crime Fiction/Thriller

Detective Katie Scott stares in horror at what she and her service dog Cisco have discovered: seven shallow graves, the bodies of young women each wrapped carefully in a blanket and buried in makeshift coffins. Miles of abandoned farmland stretch out from the treeline behind her. Has Katie uncovered the horrifying graveyard of a monster who has been stealing Pine Valley’s daughters for years?

Katie quickly identifies one of the victims as Abigail Andrews, a beautiful young woman who disappeared fifteen years ago. Katie is heartbroken that she’ll have to tell Abigail’s mother her darling girl is gone.

When Katie is ambushed working late at the scene, fired upon by an unknown assailant, she knows she must be close to finding the killer. But the shooter vanishes into thin air. And when a new young woman is taken, dark haired and dark eyed like the others, Katie realizes her time is running out. Can she stay alive long enough to track down this twisted murderer before another young life is stolen too soon?

“Fast paced, characters intelligent and had each others back. The plot was a bit harrowing, but from what plot entailed I was confident one of the main protagonists, Katie had the situation under control. At least the best of her capabilities as the situation warranted. This ebook was fresh, tasteful and powerful. It was a boon to read about a female with military experience who maintained a level head and who put her knowledge to practice.” ~Amazon

“AMAZING characters (including Cisco of coarse) & suspense in a twisty plot that sucks you in & never lets you go. Highly RECOMMEND the entire series for some great reading.” ~NetGalley

“AMAZING characters (including Cisco of coarse) & suspense in a twisty plot that sucks you in & never lets you go. Highly RECOMMEND the entire series for some great reading.” ~Goodreads

The First Girl is available at Amazon & Other Retailers.

Book Excerpt:

The soft breeze blew through the open bedroom window, ruffling the sheer curtain. The evening was still warm from the sizzling day and was now gently cooling into the July night. The crickets played a harmony of music that filtered around the farm and across the acreage.

Lara Fontaine suddenly awoke, a loud sound interrupting her sleep. She sat up in bed and looked around the small bedroom but wasn’t sure what she had heard. In the other twin bed, her best friend Desi was still asleep and breathing evenly. What had disturbed Lara? Her first thought was to wake her friend because it was Desi’s house and she might have some idea what the sound had been, but she decided against it. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, where they dangled, not quite reaching the floor. Still contemplating if she should go investigate, she stared at the closed bedroom door. Even though she was twelve, almost thirteen, she had developed a curious mind and wanted to know the answers to so many things. Everything she saw in her world made her more inquisitive.

Lara stood up, feeling the wood floor against the soles of her feet—it too was warm, like the evening air. Wearing only a white cotton nightgown, she decided to explore. Glancing back at Desi, who was still sound asleep, she went to the door and slowly turned the knob. To her relief, the door hinges were well-oiled and didn’t emit any sound.

A breeze hit her as she stepped into the hallway, which seemed strange. It was as if someone had left a door or a window open. She didn’t slow her pace as she moved forward. For the first time since she woke, she heard a noise, as if a chair was sliding across the floor. It was high-pitched and had an eerie quality about it.

As if being pulled by an unknown force, Lara crept toward the sound. She headed down the hallway, passing closed doors, to the kitchen. The farmhouse plank floors creaked beneath her slight weight. She stopped and listened. Leaning her body toward the sound, stretching on her tiptoes, she assumed she would hear more, but it remained quiet. As Lara let out a breath, her previous curiosity had now diminished, she decided she would return to the bedroom and try to go back to sleep.

But suddenly a strong arm grabbed her around the waist and clamped a hand over her mouth. She instantly struggled, but the man’s strength easily overpowered her as he carried Lara to the back door. She could smell stale cigarette smoke on him and some kind of whiskey. The more she struggled against him, the more she weakened. Her whimpers were the only thing she could express.

The outside air hit her. She kept struggling, hearing her attacker’s rattled breathing next to her ear. Realizing they were heading toward the large barn, she tried to put her legs out in front of her to stop their progress, but it was no use.

“Stop fighting,” hissed the man directly into Lara’s ear. “It’ll be over soon.”

Those words resonated in her mind.

What did he mean?

The crickets abruptly stopped.

Silence.

Holding Lara with one arm, the man pulled open the barn door. The hinges made a terrible squeak, interrupting the quiet.

“Stop!” Lara managed to say. “Please, don’t…” Her arm felt as if it would break.

They moved deeper into the barn.

Lara could smell the hay and the alfalfa. But there was a low murmuring sound that she didn’t recognize. She was forcibly put into an old metal chair and immediately her hands and ankles were secured, and a piece of duct tape covered her mouth.

It was difficult for Lara to focus through her tears, but she forced herself to look around. There were wooden crates filled with metal items, tools, and miscellaneous parts from various pieces of farm equipment. Then she saw her.

In a corner, there was a dark-haired young woman. She too was tied to a high-backed chair, unable to free herself. Her arms, legs, torso, and neck were secured. Her eyes were wide in terror, swollen from crying, and blood ran down her arms and neck from struggling against the restraints.

Lara locked eyes with the woman. So many emotions gripped her. Panic. Desperation. Fear.

The man moved around the area, he was dressed in jeans and a white, stained T-shirt. He appeared to be conflicted, confused, and even a bit panic-stricken as he ran his hands through his hair. Moving back and forth, he went from one box to a table, and then back to another box until he decided what he wanted. He carefully plucked out a long instrument that appeared to be some type of sharp, thin knife and stared at it with curiosity and wonder as if seeing it for the first time.

To Lara’s horror, he turned and approached the woman. With his back to Lara, he attacked the woman with vicious intent. She heard muffled screams as the woman writhed in her seat.

Lara could barely breathe. She thought she would pass out, but her unrelenting terror kept her awake as she shook violently in her chair, watching the horrifying ordeal until it finally came to an end.

The man turned slowly, his shirt soaked in crimson. He looked at Lara as if he wondered why she was there. Still with the bloody tool in his hand, he slowly moved toward her. The weapon was still drenched with the woman’s blood.

“No…” Lara tried to say.

He stood in front of her like a monster, reaching out.

Lara took a short breath. It was the last thing she remembered before passing out.

My review:

I’m going to have to give this a five star rating. This is the second book I’ve read in the series and now I need to go back and read them all. I never know what to expect from the story but I think it’s safe to say that I know I can expect good writing, engaging characters and storylines, and twists that leave you gasping, anytime I pick up one of Jennifer Chase’s books!

I recommend you read this is you enjoy a good murder mystery or thriller. I love reading about Katie and Cisco chasing down clues and solving crimes. Cold cases have always been fascinating to me, so this series really appeals to me.

This series makes me feel all the emotions. I still remember the first book I read in this series pretty clearly and I read that one three years ago. I have a feeling this one will stay with me at least as long, if not longer. Jennifer does an amazing job at sucking you into the story and making you care about the characters.

Interview:

What attracted you to the crime fiction genre?

The thrill of the chase of course! Actually, I had a neighbor that stalked and tried to terrorize me for two and half years. From this experience, I met various people in law enforcement and was up close to a textbook psychopath. It intrigued me—the criminal mind. Why they do what they do? Why do they commit certain crimes but not others? I have always loved crime fiction and now I get to write them.

Your book, The First Girl, is the 11th book in the Detective Katie Scott series. Is this your last one or will there be more?

No, I just turned in the 12th book in the series with my publisher and there will also be a 13th book. At this point, negotiations will happen to see how many more books. I'm excited!

Can you give us your book blurb so others can find out what your book is about?

Of course!

The cold night breeze slams the barn door shut with a sickening crash. The girl curled in the corner wakes with a start. Her gold butterfly necklace catches the pale moonlight as she clutches it tight, thinking of her family. Will she ever escape? Or is his the last face she’ll ever see?

Detective Katie Scott stares in horror at what she and her military service dog Cisco have discovered: seven shallow graves, the bodies of young women each wrapped carefully in a blanket and buried in makeshift coffins. Miles of abandoned farmland stretch out from the tree line behind her. Has Katie uncovered the horrifying graveyard of a monster who has been stealing Pine Valley’s daughters for years?

Katie quickly identifies one of the victims as Abigail Andrews, a beautiful young woman who disappeared fifteen years ago. Katie is heartbroken that she’ll have to tell Abigail’s mother her darling girl is gone.

When Katie is ambushed working late at the scene, fired upon by an unknown assailant, she knows she must be close to finding the killer. But the shooter vanishes into thin air. And when a new young woman is taken, dark haired and dark eyed like the others, Katie realizes her time is running out. Can she stay alive long enough to track down this twisted murderer before another young life is stolen too soon?

Do you write in any other genres?

Not officially. I do enjoy horror and historical fiction, so I might try one of those genres one of these days.

How can readers discover more about you and your work?

Where can readers buy your book?

The First Girl is available on Amazon (e-book, audio, and paperback) as well as other book retailers.

What’s next for you?

I just finished book #12 so I will be writing book #13 soon. But, first I will be taking a little bit of a break and doing some research with SWAT (procedures, equipment, and maneuvers) and bomb K9 teams.

About the Author

Jennifer Chase is a multi award-winning and USA Today Best Selling crime fiction author, as well as a consulting criminologist. Jennifer holds a bachelor degree in police forensics and a master’s degree in criminology & criminal justice. These academic pursuits developed out of her curiosity about the criminal mind as well as from her own experience with a violent psychopath, providing Jennifer with deep personal investment in every story she tells. In addition, she holds certifications in serial crime and criminal profiling. Her latest book is The First Girl.

Website & Social Media:

Website -> https://authorjenniferchase.com/

Twitter -> https://twitter.com/jchasenovelist

Facebook -> https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJenniferChase

Instagram -> https://www.instagram.com/jenchaseauthor/

Goodreads:->www.goodreads.com/author/show/2780337.Jennifer_Chase

Release Bltz: Unleashing Chaos by Crystal J. Johnson & Felicity Vaughn

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Tue, 11 Jun 2024 19:24:00 +0000

Desideria is looking for true love…

Jace’s heart is shattered and guarded…

Cannon wants everyone to be happy…

Unleashing Chaos, an all-new spicy, forced proximity, fake dating, paranormal romance from bestselling authors Crystal J. Johnson and Felicity Vaughn is now available!

Desideria is looking for true love…

When your father, the king of demons, tells you to find an eternal partner in ninety days, you do it—because the alternative is worse.

Jace’s heart is shattered and guarded…

All I asked for was a quiet roommate to help with the bills; instead, I got a sassy demon princess.

Cannon wants everyone to be happy, but …

Sure, I want to help my friends, but I’ve got ambitions too.

Infernis help them.

A visit to the human realm is Desi’s last-ditch effort to find the partner of her dreams—she wants to marry for love—but with only three months to fall head over heels and take someone home to her chaotic family in Infernis, it seems impossible.

When every date Desi goes on ends in disaster, she enlists the help of her two handsome roommates. While one is friendly and fun, willing to help in any way he can, the other is stern and impenetrable, resolute in his theory that everlasting love isn’t possible. But as much as she’d like to deny it, Desideria is an agent of chaos, and she quickly starts knocking down walls and crossing boundaries–in every aspect of her romantic life..

Maybe it was kismet that landed Desi in Denver, but the choice she and her new friends have to make will define not only their futures, but that of an entire realm.

Start reading today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3ruo199

Amazon Worldwide: https://mybook.to/unleashingchaos

Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/459bZjw

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3EXHIcw

Google Play: https://bit.ly/3EXHYbM

Target: https://bit.ly/46mTut0

Add Unleashing Chaos to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3REeCXk

For more information about Crystal J. Johnson, Felicity Vaughn, and their books, visit their website:

https://crystalandfelicity.com

Book Tour with Guest Post, Review and Giveaway: Deception Is Our Remedy by Alexandra Gavranovic

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Fri, 07 Jun 2024 10:20:00 +0000

Book Details:

Book Title:  DECEPTION IS OUR REMEDY by Alexandra Gavranovic
Category:  YA Fiction (Ages 13-17), 412 pages
Genre: YA dystopian; YA survival stories; Sci-fi Fantasy
Publisher: Dumetella Press
Release date:  March 2024
Content Rating:  PG: Some minimal fight scenes and acts of violence

Book Description:

What if everything you thought you knew about the world - and yourself - was a lie? What would you do?

For 17-year-old Callista, growing up in a world stripped of all its color after the great climate crisis, every day looks the same in her Neighborhood. There are no other kids her age except for her best friend, Reggie. There are no events or activities. And there is no leaving. Cal rarely even steps outside her house except to pick up the month’s worth of dry, rationed food courtesy of the Government or for her routine trip to the doctor, which always leaves her feeling groggy and depleted.

And while she knows that she should just accept this life, she can’t help but wonder if there is something she isn’t being told. From whispered conversations she overhears of her parents to nightmares that feel more like memories jarring her awake in the middle of the night, Cal finally decides to find out for herself if there is something beyond the towering gates of her Neighborhood. Something that can provide answers.

But what she finds is more shocking than she could have imagined. When a giant floating object of immense light transports her to an abandoned city, Cal meets more people her age who also grew up in Neighborhoods. And, like the orb of light she can suddenly summon with her mind, these other people are also gifted with special abilities.

Before she can determine what is going on, they are all herded to a special Academy for the gifted, where they will learn to hone their abilities with other students just like them.

But as Cal unravels her nightmares, everything she thought she knew about her former life starts to rip at the seams. And, as she spends more time with her fellow students in the Academy, she begins to wonder if she really escaped the Neighborhood at all.

Deception is Our Remedy is a fast-paced, dystopian adventure that will leave you guessing at every turn.

Guest Post by Author Alexandra Gavranovic:

From an Album Cover to a Story: An Author’s Inspiration

Writing and publishing my novel, Deception is Our Remedy, took four years. I started in February 2020 and published it on March 17, 2024. It is funny for me to look back at how it all started. I get my story ideas from my imagination. Sometimes, it’s just a thought that passes through my mind as I try to fall asleep. Other times, it’s through dreams. My personal favorite way of getting inspired is through the album art of different song artists. For example, Callista’s story was inspired by the album art of the various songs by the EDM artist LIONE. I saw a vision through the cover art that grew and changed from there. This cover art gave me the ideas for Callista’s ability, the setting, and the Academy uniforms. From there, my writing process starts. Once I get my basic idea down, I let it sit for a while. I try to combine my methods of inspiration by thinking about the idea and the album art when I’m trying to fall asleep. Since I know this is one of my most creative times, I can think of expansions for my ideas and sometimes end up dreaming up more ideas.

The hardest part of the writing process for me during my first time writing was not coming up with ideas. It was creating a plot that connects them all seamlessly. My writing process was sort of the opposite of what I thought it was “supposed” to be. Once I had the ideas from the albums, I didn’t do much planning. I just wrote until I ran out of ideas. This left me with a story full of plot holes and lacking the character development I wanted to create. After my editor pointed out some of this, I had to go back and pretty much rewrite the entire story. This led to my manuscript over doubling in size. I learned a lot from the process, though. I found my creativity and learned to value my methods of inspiration. Now, when I have a late-night epiphany, I try to expand on it right then rather than just write it down. While the idea is still fresh, I let it flourish. I can’t believe that an album cover led to me being a published author. But if I had a choice, I wouldn’t change my path at all.

My Review:

What would you do if you were stuck in a never-ending bland existence yet feel like there should be more to life?

This is how the story starts, with the young Callista being quite cognizant of the fact that things are not what they appear to be. She feels that she is being lied to and, because of this feeling, she finds it difficult to trust those around her.

I won't go into what happens but I will say it is a pretty quick paced story right from the start. I enjoyed reading about teenage characters that actually acted and reacted the way you might expect teens to. I read a lot of YA books where the teen characters read more like middle aged people, so it is always a treat when people act their age in books.

I enjoyed the dystopian setting as well as the abilities that the characters have. The story moves along well and it didn't really feel like I had read over 430 pages when I finished it. The writing draws you in and the characters keep you engaged.

I would say this is a solid four star read. I would recommend it to anyone that enjoys a dystopian setting, characters with special abilities, a cast of characters that keeps you guessing on who you can trust, and a plot that keeps you reading to see how it will end.

BUY THE BOOK:
Amazon
add to goodreads

Meet the Author:

Alexandra Gavranovic lives in Georgia where she is studying Public Relations. She has been writing and crafting stories since she was a young girl, and enjoys the process of being creative. When she’s not studying for her college classes, Alix enjoys spending time with her two cats and her dog, reading dystopian novels, and playing video games. She is also an avid pianist with 12 years of experience. Deception Is Our Remedy is her first published novel.

connect with the author: website ~ instagram ~ tiktok ~ goodreads

Enter the Giveaway:

Book Tour with Review, Guest Post, and Giveaway: The Ghosts of Rathalla by Matthew K. Perkins

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Mon, 03 Jun 2024 06:55:00 +0000

Book Details:

Book Title:  The Ghosts of Rathalla by Matthew K. Perkins
Category:  Adult Fiction (18+), 200 pages
Genre: Epic fantasy
Publisher: Resource Publications
Release date:  February 2024
Content Rating:  PG-13: Some swearing and violence.

Book Description:

Set in a world that is dominated by a vast desert, two friends are caught in the middle of a civil war. She’s a warrior. He’s a musician. When they discover that the crux of the war is a prophesied newborn baby that one side will do anything to destroy, they become the only people capable of saving the child’s life—all that stands in their way is an active volcano, a barbarian army, and a cunning assassin with motives of his own.

BUY THE BOOK:
Amazon ~ B&N
add to goodreads

Guest Post:

Curiosity and Influence

My dad was such a big influence for me when it came to discovering and loving fantasy as a genre. He’s retired now, but he taught middle school language arts for thirty-two years. He read Lord of the Rings for the first time in 1977 and loved it so much that he made it a ritual to reread it once a year thereafter. For many Christmases, my mom gifted my dad a Lord of the Rings calendar for the upcoming year. This was well before the movies, and each calendar had incredible(!!!) artwork by a lot of great artists. Well, my dad saved all this stunning artwork from each calendar, and then, as a teacher, decorated his classroom with it. As a kid, I spent a lot of time in my dad’s classroom—before and after school—waiting for him to finish working so I could get a ride home. In a typical, annoying-kid kind of way, I would get bored, and I would go around the room and point to each picture, What’s this one? What’s this one? What’s this one?

That’s Eowyn battling the Witch-King of Angmar. That’s the fellowship stuck in a storm on Caradhras. That’s Gandalf and the Balrog on the bridge of Khazad-Dum.

Then of course, the follow up questions from me: Who’s Eowyn? Why are they traveling in the mountains with that much snow? What, pray tell, is a BALROG!?

In hindsight, my dad probably just needed to get some papers graded so that we could go home for the day, and the last thing he needed was to answer every question I had about this world I knew nothing about. But he did. He answered every question I had patiently, and thoroughly. And every character, setting, and history, was so exact, and so real in the way that he talked about it. I could tell that he loved it, and it made me love it. I think I loved fantasy before I ever read a word of it.

My Review:

This one is difficult for me to rate.

Overall, I was a bit disappointed. This might be a bit spoilery, but I was wondering how anything in the book related to its summary for the first 170 pages of its 191 page length. Only the last 21 pages made sense with most of the summary.

I found the two characters interesting enough, though I never really came to care for them that much. I didn't feel connected to them or their journey through most of the book. I enjoyed reading the parts that had more action to them and found myself kind of skimming over some of the other parts, especially the historical add-ons.

The last 20 pages made me realize that I was more invested in them then I had realized. While I still wasn't emotionally connected to the characters or with what might happen to them, I still found myself rooting for them and hoping they would have a positive end to their journey.

I found the writing style interesting. The book didn't have chapters as I am accustomed to. It did have three parts, though I am not sure why. Maybe they were to highlight the different parts of the journey?

I think I would have to rate this a three star rating. I wanted to know how it ended but I felt no strong emotion about the story or its characters until the very end when I felt a small touch of sadness. I wish there had been another part to it. I found the ending a bit unsatisfying.

I am not sure who I would recommend this book to. It isn't overly filled with action but has enough to keep it interesting, so I can't say that action lovers will enjoy it. It isn't full of fantastical happenings, so I can't say fantasy lovers should read it. There is no romance or even a mystery.

I guess I would recommend this to people that enjoy reading about the journey. They travel through some demanding terrain, meet with multiple people, some good, some not, have to fight for their lives against both people and the elements, and they have an interesting travel companion. She was probably my favorite character, and gave me the biggest surprise of the book, and she wasn't even a human!

Meet the Author:

Matthew K. Perkins is a proud Wyoming native, where he completed an MA in English Literature from the state’s lone university. He currently lives in Denver, Colorado, with his wife, three sons, and two dogs. He is the author of two novels, 'Saint in Vain' (2018) and 'The Ghosts of Rathalla' (2024).

Enter the Giveaway:

Release Blitz: Heart of Night by Angelina J. Steffort

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Fri, 31 May 2024 10:11:00 +0000

Title: Heart of Night (Wings of Ink, 2)

Author: Angelina J. Steffort

Genre: NA Fantasy Romance

Cover Designer: Fantastical Ink

Publication Date: May 31, 2024

Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Blurb:
“I will find you. And if it takes a lifetime, I will find you.”

Ayna has just escaped death, only to crash head first into a new curse. This one is made by men.

Heart still bleeding, Ayna fights to keep strong. But how can she, when she is in the brutal hands of the very traitor who killed Myron? Especially when he is working with a man who has made it his mission to see her pay for her father’s crimes.

With her magic gone, Ayna is trapped and shipped off to her childhood world, where she uncovers plans at work that eclipse even Ephegos’s revenge—and an enemy who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.

If only Ayna knew that her king survived, she might cling to a brittle hope. But Myron is fighting his own battles in the search for his queen. Each one leads him a little closer to death’s door.

As they both plan their escape, they must make unlikely alliances and heart-wrecking choices—because this time, neither of them can rely on their magic to save them.

The curse on the Crows is broken, but all hope is lost. Will Ayna and Myron find each other and freedom, or will they end in a cage worse than death?

Full of intrigue, secrets, and heartbreak, Heart of Night is the second book in the sizzling epic romantic fantasy series, Wings of Ink and is perfect for fans of A Court of Thorns and Roses, From Blood and Ash, and Beauty and the Beast.

NOW LIVE!

"Chocolate fanatic, milk-foam enthusiast and huge friend of the southern sting-ray. Writing is an unexpected career-path for me."

Angelina J. Steffort is an Austrian novelist, best known for her

Wings Trilogy, a young adult paranormal romance series about the impossible

love between a girl and an angel. The bestselling Wings Trilogy has been ranked

among calibers such as the Twilight Saga by Stephenie Meyer, The Mortal

listed among angel books for teens by bloggers and readers. Her young a

Instruments by Cassandra Clare, and Lauren Kate’s Fallen, and has been

tdult fantasy series Shattered Kingdom is already being compared to Sarah J. Maas’s

Throne of Glass series by readers and fans

Angelina has multiple educational backgrounds including

engineering, business, music, and acting, and lives in Vienna, Austria with her

husband and her son.

Author Links:

Amazon | Goodreads | Web | Facebook | Instagram

Reader Group | Bookbub | Pinterest | Twitter | Newsletter

NOW LIVE!

Blog Tour with Review and Excerpt: Holliday by Matthew Di Paoli

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Tue, 21 May 2024 09:31:00 +0000

Synopsis (from Amazon):

Holliday follows the infamous 1880s gambler, dentist, and gunslinger, Doc Holliday. From the outset, Doc has been diagnosed with tuberculosis and is told to head to drier climates and imbibe to prolong his life. He has also heard of a spring located somewhere along the frontier that could cure him—what he believes to be the mythical Fountain of Youth.

The novel portrays Holliday as a rock star, a living legend, increasingly hounded by paparazzi, enamored by death, cards, booze, and women. Doc is a mixture of Clint Eastwood and Jim Morrison, and though he is able to help his friend, Wyatt Earp, exact revenge, his condition worsens, traveling from Arizona to Denver, and finally dying in a sanatorium in Colorado with his boots off. A slow and unfitting end for such a bombastic outlaw.

EXCERPT

Chapter 1: Every Day Is Exactly The Same

Dallas, 1874
Four Years Earlier

The saloon was a long, thin room. The bartender stood behind the pine on the right, doling out booze to morning drunkards and, in the back, a loud faro game carried over from the night before; the beleaguered dealer seemed relieved to see Doc. Doc sat down at a table fit for one, but with two chairs. He ordered three shots, an antelope steak, and buckwheat cakes. He ate with an acute awareness of his mustache.
He cut his antelope steak into cubes and ate each one a half minute apart, enjoying the dry sting of the whiskey in between bites. A tall man with a crusted scar above his lip and his holster showing walked over from the faro table and sat down across from Doc. He recognized the man from a game earlier in the week.
“Why Harrison,” said Doc, “I don’t think I have enough for the both of us.” His chalky Southern accent still contained a boyish lilt.
“That’s ok. I take it bloody anyways.” Harrison grabbed one of Doc’s drinks and chugged it down. “You owe me from the other night, Holliday.”
“That’s funny,” Doc placed a cube of antelope on his tongue, “I remember winning the other night.”
“You cheated.”
“So did you. It appears I’m simply better at it than you are. Replace my whiskey. It helps my condition.”
“I don’t take orders from no lungers.” Harrison clenched his thick, hairy fingers on the table.
“Now why would you say something hateful?”

All the eyes in the bar and at the faro table fell on Doc. He felt rock quiet. He remembered the sound of chimes in Georgia and how one night when there was no wind, they stopped. He imagined his rounds as freedom—wheeze and squeal of the chamber. He smelled the powder and burnt flesh. They followed him like a prayer.
“I heard you was a dentist anyway. What’s a dentist doing getting himself into card playing and trouble like this all, Doc?” said Harrison.
“Call me John Henry. It’s more formal.” Doc swigged down his last whiskey and called the bartender over for another. The bartender remained frozen. “The service is just terrible here.”
“Just gimme my money fore I end you, Holliday.”
“You know, Harrison, it seems to me that you haven’t given enough thought to what that end means really. You’re a misfit, God’s regret. Or maybe you don’t believe in anything more than the soil they scatter on you. Are you Godless, Harrison?”
Harrison reached down and gripped his gun in his holster. He peered back at the faro table and then straight into Doc. “You don’t ever question a man’s God, lunger. I’m right square with God at this moment. I’ma better man than you.”
Doc smiled. His mustache curled up like horns. In one concise swipe, he snapped his pistol from under the table and buried two shots square in Harrison’s scruffy neck. “I’m convinced.”

Harrison strained and thrashed to cover the holes as the blood spurted and poured down onto the table; Doc lifted his buckwheat cakes. After a few seconds of gurgling, Harrison’s head dropped to the table, and his hat rolled off and down toward the bar.

“What’d you go and do that for, Doc?” said the barkeep, still teetering behind the bar. “You’re not gonna be welcome here.”

“Self-defense. Clear as day.” Doc had made a few friends in this town, and as he searched the room, he didn’t see any of them. “I’ll bring back the plate,” he added, walking out with his meal and his gun.
Doc’s face simmered with new blood as he walked the streets of Dallas. He always felt less human after he’d killed someone. Like the little bit of himself that he still kept from home bled out as they did. His mother had taught him to calculate risk, anticipate every outcome, and he always did, as if it preserved her in some way; but there remained that primal moment just before the draw when he could let it all scatter to the floor. He felt nothing but the sugary drip of death in the back of his throat.
The only reason he’d headed out west in the first place was that he’d heard rumors of a wellness spring that could cure him of his consumption. Every cowtown he went to though, they always said it was in the next one. But they’d all heard of it. Linwood he’d heard it called, but it wasn’t on any map. He always got closer, but never close enough to smell the hot salt or taste it in his aching throat. The only thing he tasted in the Dallas streets was shit.
The springs went by many names as they had throughout history, much greater men had followed the path and grown old and died before ever reaching their destination. Some claimed south: in the land of the Ethiopians, or in the Caribbean, but Doc knew that his salvation lay due west. His mother taught him about this spring. The Age of Exploration, she called it. But John Henry believed wholly in his own exploration. Its restorative powers fascinated him as a child, and he actively read about Ponce de Leon, the writings of Herodotus, and Alexander the Great. However, none of them understood that this spring, this "fountain of youth," as they'd called it, would only accept desperation. Only a man at the last twist of his knot could unearth it.

My Review:

Most of you are already going to know that this is not my typical genre. With that said, I want to admit that I do not know how to rate this book. It was difficult for me to get into and I did not feel a connection with any of the characters. The writing style isn't my favorite either. Regardless, I think that this book is going to be a hit with a lot of people.

Doc Holliday is one of those people that many people have heard of, many around my age or younger are going to know the name mostly from movies. I feel that he is one of those characters that people tend to romanticize. This book does not make him out to be some misunderstood romantic character and I appreciated that.

Holliday by Matthew Di Paoli shows "Doc" Holliday in a more realistic light. The book shows a man who is frail and sickly and just wants to drink and gamble all day. He is looking for a cure and stumbles into a lot of sticky situations while doing so. It is grim and dirty and depressing.

I did enjoy how he was so popular in the book. He had many reporters and fans eager to see what he would do next. The ending made me tear up a bit, even though I knew what was coming. I don't know how that man survived as long as he did!

While I did not enjoy the book as much as I had hoped to, I didn't dislike it either. I think this could be a great book for anyone interested in a more gritty western filled with drugs, alcohol, sex, and violence. I recommend it to anyone that enjoys the stories surrounding the dentist that became the legend known as "Doc" Holliday.

Author bio:

Matthew Di Paoli has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize three times including 2020. He has won the Wilbur & Niso Smith Adventure Writing Prize, the Prism Review, two Elizabeth’s, and Momaya Review Short Story Contests. Matthew earned his MFA in Fiction at Columbia University. He has been published in Boulevard, Fjords, Post Road, and Cleaver, among others. He is also the author of Killstanbul with El Balazo Press.

Website: https://www.matthewdipaoli.com/

Twitter: @MatthewDiPaoli

Instagram: @ruggedemu

Author Marketing Experts:

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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/184163597-holliday

Release Blitz: The Accidental Siren by Lexi Blake

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Tue, 30 Apr 2024 13:00:00 +0000

The Accidental Siren by Lexi Blake is now live!

Joshua Barnes-Fleetwood is the prince of Willow Fork, Texas, but not all is right with his world. He’s the heir to a multimillion-dollar company, has a family he adores, and his best friend at his side. He can’t figure out what is missing until Nicole takes a job at Christa’s Café. The pretty waitress is a mystery he needs to solve. He’s never been so attracted to a woman, and after one night in her company, he’s sure she can handle his needs. Unfortunately, he’s also sure she’s lying to him.

Jared “Grim” Burch found a home with the Barnes-Fleetwood family when he desperately needed one. With support from his newfound family, Grim beat all the odds and became a veterinarian. In Willow Fork, however, there are still people who are suspicious of him and his past. When he sees Nicole, he knows she’s the perfect woman for him and Josh, but he wonders if he has the right to bring her into his sometimes dangerous circle.

For Nicole Mason, Willow Fork is nothing more than a pit stop. Once she can save up the money to fix her car, she’ll do what she’s been doing for the last several years. Run. Framed for her husband’s murder, she can never stop looking over her shoulder. There’s always someone on her trail, and she can’t let them bring her back to the real killer. Getting to know Josh and Grim makes her dream of the life they could have together. If only she could trust them with her secrets.

When their past catches up to them all, they’ll find out that even a small town can be big trouble.

Download today on Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, and Kobo!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3OWRxx0

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3wsVgMt

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Kobo: https://bit.ly/49rNErR

Google Play: https://bit.ly/3UPm9UI

Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/4bLsl6l

Meet Lexi

New York Times bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband and three kids. Since starting her publishing journey in 2010, she's sold over three million copies of her books. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn't until she started writing romance that she found success. She likes to find humor in the strangest places and believes in happy endings.

Connect with Lexi

Website: www.lexiblake.net
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5124235.Lexi_Blake
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Blog Tour with Excerpt: Till Death by Miranda Lyn

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Fri, 26 Apr 2024 20:15:00 +0000

“A deliciously sinful experience centered around a show of life and death at the hands of the Maiden.”

Fans of Kerri Maniscalco’s Kingdom of the Wicked and Stephanie Garber’s Caraval will love this story of the Death Maiden’s one chance to defy Death himself, combined with a searing romance that adds an irresistible layer of passion.

Till Death, an all-new romantic fantasy from bestselling author Miranda Lyn is now available!

Her only hope to give something back to the world is to find the missing Life Maiden.

Beyond the realm of gods, two cities stand at the brink of despair, and a dark destiny awaits Death's newest Maiden.

Long ago, Requiem was plagued by war and abandoned by the gods but Death saved the suffering people, giving each soul a hundred years of immortality. With that grace, he also sent two Maidens. One of Life, for healing and comfort, and one of Death, the only person in the world with the ability to kill.

Generations later, the Life Maiden is missing and Princess Deyanira is nothing more than a trained weapon. A hunter. A murderer wrenched into Death's dark court to have the name of her next victim seared onto her palm.

She is the enemy of this land. But, when she's given the chance to bring peace through marriage and finally show her father's kingdom her worth, she is viciously tricked into marrying the wrong man, ruining the future of the damaged realm. Her only hope to give something back to the world is to find the missing Life Maiden.

Now, eternally bound to her enemy and dragged into the dark burlesque show her new husband is enslaved to, she must fight to keep herself free. And her heart. Especially when she becomes the hunted.

Start reading today!

FREE in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon Worldwide: https://mybook.to/tilldeath

Add Till Death to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3NVIawX

Keep reading for a look inside Till Death!

I’d sliced a blade across so many throats, if not for my diligent tracking, I couldn’t give a number.

Three hundred and seventy-four.

I knew two facts. One: a gasp, no matter the state of the victim, would always follow the slice. They may sputter or gag on the blood filling their esophagus, but still, they gasp. And two: they won’t die unless I’m the one holding the blade.

I didn’t know a person could smell worse than the sodden alleyway behind Lady Visha’s brothel. Something putrid wafting off Death’s appointed target had proven me wrong. It was either him or the blonde prostitute hanging off his good arm. Based on his stumble and the perfect cadence of her gloriously high heels, he was a good bet for the lack of hygiene. Her patron must have paid very well, even though he didn’t have a pot to piss in. That, or she’d found herself in severe debt to Lady Visha.

I didn’t need to lean over the wrought-iron railing circling the rooftop to see where they were going, nor rely on Death’s magic to guide me. Thomas Vanhutes had been the object of my obsession for days. Since the night Death delivered his name, I knew where he lived and where he found pleasure. He slept on a stained mattress older than he was, with no linens, and his crumbling apartment boasted a leaky faucet. Not surprising for someone living on Beggar’s Row. At least he had shelter, which was more than most in that district. Including the giant black crows that hounded the vagrants. They were always watching. Perth’s most notorious plague.

I leaped from the rooftop, avoiding the puddles that inundated the narrow alleyway like an incurable illness, clinging to the shadows along the close brick buildings. Crossing the uneven brick road to stay close to Thomas, I quickly scaled the next building, digging into the dilapidated edifice I’d grown so familiar with. Most dwellers of the twin kingdoms could navigate these roads in pitch black. The water reflected enough of the streetlamp’s cool glow to guide the way.

The birds pecking at the gaps between the bricks scattered when Thomas stumbled by. And, though he wobbled, and his company clacked, I was as silent as the deaths I delivered. A weapon. Honed and sheathed for as long as I could resist the magic.

A woman’s faint pants echoed through the next alleyway until she grew to a fake climax, satisfying her third patron of the night. The red-haired woman had perfected those moans, and Lady Visha had likely become even more wealthy because of it. As I passed, she held her breath. As if she’d felt me from above, Death’s Maiden, like a promise of deliverance from her plight. There was hope in that breath. A wish, though she’d never know I was there, having honed my skills by the age of thirteen. Some miserable souls were just more desperate than others.

I crept away, eyes focused once more. She’d wipe the remnants of that man from between her legs with a dirty rag and move on to the next within the hour. There was no saving her. Though that was not my job. The twin kingdoms were full of dark merchants, crime lords, thieves, and brothels. Every person needed to be rescued from something, even the Perth king’s daughter. I’d sooner fall under the thumb of a crime lord than endeavor to save the world.

I stalked Thomas from the apartment rooftops, crouching and watching my victim carry on, his silhouette elongating as he neared his favorite alehouse. Every third night, he stopped at the Badger Hole for one final nightcap, and I preferred to avoid the street rats that swarmed outside.

He hesitated for only a second before letting the prostitute tug on his good arm, probably eager to end her suffering. Like most dwellers of Beggar’s Row, she didn’t flinch at the rodents outside his home. They were more welcomed in this city than the failing king.

Heel to toe, I paced along the adjacent rooftop, placating the magic with my movements; not to grant Thomas a final tupping before his ultimate demise, but to give the woman time to pay her debt. A mercy for him, perhaps.

The door would squeak if I opened it. Lifting or pressing down on the handle wouldn’t stop the squeal, so I opted for the window when Death’s magic became too strong to resist. The bars had rusted away long ago, and I fit easily. Aside from the snoring, the space was eerily quiet. The prostitute had never left, but I wasn’t expecting to find her naked, and on her back, tied to the kitchen table, a look of boredom on her face.

The leaky faucet dripped into a puddle on the piss-stained floor, and the woman lay spread open with Thomas passed out in the corner. Based on the scene, he’d had far bigger plans than his drunken stupor would allow. As I neared him, the visions began. Death’s magic showed me all the ways I could kill this man. Breaking every bone in his body until his tortured screams were no longer audible. Slicing him from nose to navel, letting his innards slink to the floor, leaving him to drown in his own blood.

Hand gripping the knife strapped to my waist, I fought the power that would eventually win long enough to free the whimpering woman. She rolled away with a groan before scrambling until her back hit the wall as realization sank in. My presence in the dead of night meant only one thing.

“Deyanira.” The chokehold of shock rippled over her trembling features.

I didn’t begrudge her for neglecting to use my title. Folding my arms across my chest, I let the blade of my curved knife show. “Is the debt paid?”

She held an arm up to count the red bands before nodding.

“You can stay and watch, but he’ll be here in five minutes.”

Dull brown eyes rimmed in smeared mascara widened, followed by the first authentic gasp of the night. She didn’t say another word, only grabbed her clothes and hurried out of the apartment, naked, the squeal of the door, the final goodbye.

“I don’t blame you,” I managed, unable to fight the magic any longer.

A silent slice and the second gasp, the one I’d anticipated, satisfied the power throbbing through my body. A name given; a body delivered. That was my true role. That of a harbinger. A lone assassin in a world of none. Death’s Maiden.

The gargle was hardly audible over the sound of the shrill ringing in my ears, the eerie retraction of magic leaving traces behind, reminding me I was still human, though every kill carried me one step closer to Death’s court.

Three hundred and seventy-five.

For more information about Miranda Lyn and her books, visit her website:

https://www.authormirandalyn.com

Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow: Review, Interview

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 24 Apr 2024 13:00:00 +0000

The Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press (April 8, 2024)
Category: Mystery/Suspense, Murder Mystery, Female Amateur Sleuth
Tour Dates April 22-May 30, 2024
ISBN: 978-1509254194
Available in Print and ebook, 312 pages

Description Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow

A Buddhist nun returns to her hometown and solves multiple murders while enduring her dysfunctional family.

Ivy Lutz leaves her life as a Buddhist nun in Sri Lanka and returns home to northern California when her elderly mother suffers a stroke. Her sheltered life is blasted apart by a series of murders, which she attempts to solve with the help of a smitten detective.

She understands why someone might want to kill her stepfather, who it turns out to be is a smuggler on the run, but what about her mother? Is Ivy’s unstable sister right that she was murdered, too? Ivy struggles to live by her Buddhist principles and employ her mindfulness skills, and discovers they both hinder and help in her search for the truth.

Review Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow

Since Reading ‘Murder For Liar’, last year, I knew that I was going going to enjoy another Verlin Darrow novel, and I was correct! 'The Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth,' has everything that a mystery lover could want in a novel. Intrigue, passion, twists and turns that you won't see coming, and a satisfying conclusion that makes you say, “Of course!” right out loud.

But here is a brief synopsis, just to give you a taste to whet your appetite:

Ivy Lutz returns home from her years living in Sri Lanka as a Buddhist nun to be by her mother's side as the woman passes away. Ivy's mother had a stroke, and, sadly, does not wake from her coma to see that her daughter has come back to her before passing.

As she is dealing with her grief, Ivy's sister, Jan tells Ivy that she believes that their mother was killed by her husband, their step-father, Dennis. Ivy is surprised by this, as she has never met the man and doesn't believe anyone could have had murderous intentions against their mother.

Without even being sure how she got into this mess, Ivy agrees to investigate Dennis herself and soon learns that the man has a lot more skeletons in his closet than anyone knew. However, he ends up dead as well.

Along with the police, Ivy looks into several murders surrounding her mother's death that led her to realize that all was not the same as she left it when she traveling to south Asia.

As I said, I have read Darrow's work before and loved it, so I had strong feeling that I was going to love this book, too. Ivy is such a fun, intelligent main character and relatable despite leading a very unconventional life.

I really enjoyed reading along as she solved the crimes and found out the ways that she was uniquely qualified to do so.

This is a great read, and one that I cannot recommend highly enough!

Interview with Verlin Darrow and Suzie

Susie: Thanks so much for agreeing to do this interview, Verlin. Welcome to My Tangled Skeins Book Review!

Susie: Please tell us something about the book that is not in the summary. (About the book, character you particularly enjoyed writing etc.)

Verlin: In The Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth, Ivy’s confusion and disorientation upon her return to secular life is drawn from my own experience. In my case, I didn’t have to struggle to live true to my values in an unfamiliar context while I tried to solve murders, of course. But it’s hard to know what to hang onto and what to jettison when external circumstances change drastically. For me, it took a couple of years. Ivy has to figure it out in a couple of weeks. And stay alive.

Suzie: What other inspirations do you draw from?

Verlin: This is kind of a convoluted answer. I am inspired by my previous self—the guy who wrote my first four books. He learned the hard way that to make his life work, he needed to write—to create. Regardless of what happened to any of his manuscripts, the process of writing rendered his days meaningful. If I lose track of this, if I don’t stay tethered to the example he set, I’m simply not happy.

Suzie: What brought Ivy to become a Buddhist Nun in Sri Lanka?

Verlin: As she explains at one point, Ivy was once quite depressed, and scared to truly be in contact with the world around her. Therapy hadn’t worked for her since she wasn’t able to be present enough in the room for what happened there to have sufficient weight to shift her. So, she became a spiritual seeker, seeking a remedy for her problems rather than engaging in an open-ended search for truth. She started in India, making a tour of teachers, and ended up in Sri Lanka in a Buddhist temple, where her teacher helped her abandon her spiritual materialism and just live in the moment as a kind person. Of course, like everyone else, she’s only able to do this imperfectly.

Suzie: What is your favorite scene in the book? Why?

Verlin: There are several scenes with Ivy and a Bulgarian gangster—Dimitri. His poor impulse control, fractured English, and strange opinions delight me. I also like how Ivy decides to respond to what he’s doing, never having encountered anyone like him before. The reader has access to her thought process as she tries to get information from him while he’s trying to get a date with her.

Suzie: What draws you to this genre?

Verlin: Dialogue and plot fall out of me. My brain is just oriented that way. All the rest takes a lot of work. So, when I first sat down to write, I sought genres that highlighted the elements I was good at, and mysteries certainly fit the bill. Unlike a lot of mystery authors, I do almost no planning, relying on whatever flows from one idea and one character. It’s fun to write myself into corners, not know who the good or bad guys are, and rely on my subconscious to help me wrap everything up at the end. Once again, mysteries are ideal for this.

Suzie: What are you currently working on?

Verlin: I’m shopping a breezy thriller with lots of quirky humor—Kinney’s Quarry. Similar to a mystery, but on a grander scale, this one leans even more heavily on dialogue and plot. If you’re trying to stop corrupt politicians from starting a new US state, you don’t care what they’re wearing. I’m also a good ways into the first draft of a crime novel in which two dimwitted crooks are chased by an outside-the-box state cop and a woman he meets on the road. I think I’m attracted to new, related genres because the challenge of mastering these keeps me motivated enough to actually finish manuscripts. (Mostly.)

©VerlinDarrow

About Verlin Darrow

Award-winning novelist, Verlin Darrow is currently a psychotherapist who lives with his psychotherapist wife in the woods near Monterey Bay in northern California. They diagnose each other as necessary.

He is the author of Blood and Wisdom, Coattail Karma, Prodigy Quest, and Murder For Liar. Two of these won major book awards. Verlin is a former professional volleyball player, country-western singer/songwriter, import store owner, and assistant guru in a small, benign cult.

Before bowing to the need for higher education, a much younger Verlin ran a punch press in a sheet-metal factory, drove a taxi, worked as a night janitor, shoveled asphalt on a road crew, and installed wood floors. He barely missed being blown up by Mt. St. Helens, survived the 1985 Mexico City earthquake (8.0), and (so far) he’s successfully weathered his own internal disasters.

Website: https://www.verlindarrow.com/

Buy Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow

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Enter the Giveaway Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow

This giveaway is for 3 print or ebook copies. Print is open to the U.S. only. ebook is open worldwide. This giveaway ends on May 31, 2024 midnight, pacific time. Entries accepted via Rafflecopter only. a Rafflecopter giveaway

Follow Not Quite Enlightened Sleuth by Verlin Darrow

Teddy Rose Book Reviews Plus April 22 Excerpt
Sal Goodreads Apr 23 Review
Suzie My Tangled Skeins Book Reviews Apr 24 Review & Interview
Gud Reader Goodreads April 26 Review
Ellen Goodreads May 1 Review
Kathleen Celticlady’s Reviews May 7 Guest Review- Laura & Excerpt
Liam Goodreads May 9 Review
Denise D. Amazon & Goodreads May 15 Review
Bee Book Pleasures May 16 Review & Guest Post
DT Chantel Amazon & Goodreads May 17 Review
Teddy Rose Book Reviews Plus May 20 Mark- Guest Review
Linda Goodreads May 21 Review
Leslie StoreyBook Reviews May 23 Guest Review- Nora & Excerpt
Mike M Goodreads May 24 Review
Bookgirl Amazon & Goodreads May 27 Review
Gracie Goodreads May 28 Review
Smitty Goodreads May 30 Review

Pre-Order Blitz: The Last Lost Girl by Casey L. Bond

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Tue, 23 Apr 2024 11:00:00 +0000

Title: The Last Lost Girl

Author: Casey L. Bond

Genre: New Adult Fantasy Romance (Peter Pan Retelling)

Editor: Stacy Sanford/ The Girl with the Red Pen

Cover: Melissa Stevens/ The Illustrated Author Design Services

Publication Date: May 3^rd, 2024

Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Blurb:
Welcome to Neverland. Where shadows consume and magic is frighteningly real.

Ava is struggling to provide for herself and her sister, who slips further into insanity with each passing day. Raving about Neverland. Obsessed with a Second Star that Ava can’t see in the black, velvety sky. Until the night Belle succumbs to the terrifying shadows plaguing her and sweeps Ava away to a land that is only supposed to exist in storybooks.

Neverland is real. And so is Peter Pan.

He's grown from boy to man, wielding a terrible power he uses to rule the island. When he senses Ava’s presence and sends his Lost Boys to collect her, a dashing captain with a silver hook for a hand comes to her defense. He offers her protection aboard his ship, and the help of his crew to find Belle before Peter and his Lost Boys do. But what he asks for in return might be more than she or her sister can possibly pay.

Belle once stole something invaluable from Peter Pan, something Hook and his crew need if they’re ever to escape the cursed island’s thrall. And despite their undeniable attraction, Hook will do anything to claim it before Pan can.

“An utterly enthralling retelling that will leave you breathless and begging for more!” – Jenny Hickman, author of A Cursed Kiss

NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER!

Tropes:

A glorious, morally gray anti-hero

Allies to Lovers

Pirates

Shadow magic

Touch her and die

Dark curses

Forced Proximity

One Bed

Betrayals

Lost Memories

Ancient Evil

Dark Secrets

Fantasy Creatures

Deadly Flora

Triggers: Suicide ideation of secondary character, death, violence, gore, adult language, consensual sexual content, kidnapping and captivity, brief and vague reference to history of child abuse of minor character.

Casey Bond lives on a rural farm in West Virginia with her husband and their two beautiful daughters. She writes phoenixes – gloriously flawed and morally gray characters that fiercely rise from the ashes of their circumstances. World building is one of her favorite hobbies, along with stamping metal jewelry, swimming, and enjoying the beauty of nature. She thinks thunderstorms are better than coffee and that watching a meteor shower is the closest thing to magic you might ever see. She’s a firm believer that every amazing book needs a world you want to wrap yourself in, a character you want to win, and a love you would fight for.

Casey is the award-winning author of When Wishes Bleed, Gravebriar, and House of Eclipses.

Author Links:

NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER!

Book Tour with Excerpt and Review: Raising the Dead by Jayne Lisbeth

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Mon, 22 Apr 2024 08:30:00 +0000

Raising the Dead is the journey of a naive young woman who grows to maturity through the love and mentoring of friends, both living and dead.

Title: Raising the Dead

Author: Jayne Lisbeth

Publication Date: August 15, 2023

Pages: 330

Genre: Paranormal Fiction / Supernatural / Mystery

A naive 20-year old bride, Emeline, is grief stricken after the deaths of her beloved parents. She believes she has made a grave error in moving with her husband 3000 miles from her beloved California Delta childhood home to Charles Town, Virginia, to be closer to her husband, Randy’s, mother. Emeline is bereft in sorrow, marooned in grief until a mysterious woman, Felicity, wanders into her life and changes her world forever. When Felicity disappears as mysteriously as she arrived, Emeline is determined to unearth her older friend’s whereabouts. What she ultimately discovers forces her to question her sanity, world, memories and newfound joys.

REVIEWS OF RAISING THE DEAD

Author: Jayne Lisbeth, Cover Artist: Tim Gibbons

Publisher Austin Macauley: “Raising the Dead is a deep and emotional account of Emeline’s introspective journey, with a wholesome, spiritual supernatural angle. An inspirational, assured novel that is sure to resonate with the target audience. The poignant plot, very well-structured, the assured writing style and the events that unfold unveil a strong narrative arc Ultimately, it is thought to be a worthy addition to the genre, sure to appeal to a wide audience.”

Mary Lea McKennan, Idaho: 5 Stars:

“I just now finished the final pages of Raising the Dead!! ‘Awww’, is what I said aloud along with shedding a few precious tears of joy! The characters within this book have rekindled the love in my heart for all of my own friends and family, current and past, who are there to guide us and teach us throughout our lives. You’ve done a wonderful job of weaving the ups and downs of everyday life into a heartwarming tale that will strengthen all who read it.”

Roberta Flowers Dillman, St. Petersburg, FL: 5 Stars:

“Raising the Dead is like a delicious layered dessert. Just when you think you got to the best part you turn the page to a more delightful part. I loved this journey and I love a deep read that’s easy to read. Raising the Dead is both. Great work, Jayne.”

Howard Gordon, Eugene, Oregon, 5 Stars: “Blew me away”

“This book was given to me by a friend and when I began reading my first impression was that it was too descriptive. Details, details, details. As I continued to read I found that these details as the story goes on formed a basis for an intriguing story of thoughtful and surprising characters. It turns out that I couldn’t put the book down. I was bounced from sadness to joy to wonder at the author’s use of words and changes of mood. I was then flummoxed by the addition of a second story contained within the book which made everything crystal clear. I had read Ms. Lisbeth’s previous book, Writing in Wet Cement, and this one convinced me that there is an upcoming bestseller in the future.”

Paula Stahel, Breath and Shadows Productions, Tampa, FL

“A Lovely Read“” Jayne Lisbeth has conjured a sweet story of a young, naive newlywed whose world opens to new ideas, skills, and the discovery of fulfilling friendships after an unexpected mentor literally walks into her life. And ultimately comes to understand the lasting power of love.”

Click here to read more reviews.

Buy Links:

Amazon | B&N | Kobo | BooksAMillion

My Review:★★★★☆

I will first admit that this is not my typical genre. I am not sure what urged me to sign up to read and review it. A story about a grieving young girl that meets a new friend and then that friend disappears? Sounds too depressing and not that exciting. I am glad I signed up though. It turned out to be a really good read!

I tell you what though, this book is so much more than just that short synopsis. Yes, there is a grieving girl that has moved to a completely different part of the country. Yes she matures through the mentoring of her friends. This is more a story of love than it is about maturity and growth I think, though without the love then I guess the growth wouldn't have occurred.

I think the best part of the book for me was watching the characters bloom and grow. I really thought I was not going to like the majority of them that much but, as the story went on, they developed into such interesting and multifaceted individuals.

I warn you, you might cry while reading this book. I didn't expect to but, boy howdy! I found myself almost weeping over a story the main character reads in this book. I had tears dripping off my chin onto my pages as I blinked furiously, trying to clear my eyes to continue reading! I am reminded why I tend to read e-books. Their pages don't become tear-stained!

I am not sure what else to say about the book. I enjoyed the story. Really loved the growth of the characters. I came to care a lot about the main character, Emeline, although I didn't think I would like her at all.

The writing style is not my favorite. At times I found it a bit laborious to read, but it was worth it. While it did not make it to a five star rating from me, four stars is a really good rating, and I definitely will be recommending this book to people.

Book Excerpt:

One hundred and fifty-five years after Mildred Hanson's death, Randy Upswatch carried his bride, Emeline Jannison Upswatch, across the threshold of Cabin #25. Randy gently set Emeline down on the heart pine kitchen floor. The windows let in bright splashes of the morning light through the wavy old glass. An antique black wood stove squatted in a corner, next to a small fireplace with an open hearth. The original porcelain sink had been retained but over the years the plumbing had been modernized. Across the room, an old gas stove nestled adjacent to a vintage Frigidaire. A scarred wood plank shelf was built into the wall between the stove and refrigerator, with drawers installed beneath. Knotty pine cabinets and shelves provided plenty of room for Em's collection of antique bowls and pitchers. Next to the fireplace, a pantry with floor to ceiling shelves completed the kitchen, empty storage begging to be filled.

Emeline's heart lifted, then sank, when she remembered the days she and her mama, Cleo, had filled their own pantry shelves. Mother and daughter would process their Sacramento Delta crops into jeweled jars of vegetables, relishes, jams, pickles and chutneys. Her eyes teared up, which she quickly hid from Randy. She scolded herself. Damn, girl, it's been two years since Mama's passing...[TG1] isn't it time for you to move on? She thought to herself.

"Sure, wish I'd paid more attention to Mama's cooking," she said aloud.

"What?" Randy asked.

"Oh! I didn't realize I said that out loud. Just thinking that Mama always needed my help with jamming and canning, but never taught me to cook. She really wanted her kitchen all to herself."

But Randy didn't hear this response as he was busily exploring the rest of the cabin. "Holy Shit, Em, lookit this!" he exclaimed. Emeline followed Randy down a central hallway leading to other rooms. At one end of the central hall was a large bedroom. Windows sparkled as lacy light fell through the trees surrounding the cabin. A smaller bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway seemed forlorn. A large tree shadowed the room, darkening the interior. In the center of the hallway and next to the kitchen was a small bathroom boasting an enormous clawfoot tub. A window over the tub with a deep sill would be perfect for African Violets and geraniums, Em thought.

Off the center of the long hallway was the living room. It was just big enough to hold their old couch, her mama's ancient Lincoln rocker, and two end tables. An old black stove, sitting on a raised platform of bricks was nestled in a corner of the room. At the far end of the room were glass French doors, obviously an addition to the original structure of the cabin. Throughout the cabin, light scattered through many antique windows. Emeline pushed Randy aside and walked through the French doors. "Randy, it's the best part of the cabin!"

Through the doorway, she had spied bookshelves. Views of the surrounding pastures were idyllic portraits framed in the old windows. Directly in the center of the room was another door to a back garden. It would be perfect for cross ventilation when both the kitchen and library doors were opened. Wildflowers of all colors were woven into the bucolic pasture in the distance. The flowers gently danced in the spring breezes from the surrounding hill, transporting the outside world into this inner sanctum. Shadows from a large willow tree quivered as the tree shook its slender green leaves on delicate branches, nearly touching the ground. Em was reminded of children around a maypole, all wearing long green dresses. "Oh, Randy, there's a window seat!"

The cozy seat under the large window was laced between the bookshelves. A stone fireplace beckoned in the corner. Em lifted the lid of the window seat and a smoky scent of old fires wafted up to her. It was the most peaceful room in the cabin, exuding warmth and history. Em imagined the hours other occupants had sat on this window seat, immersed in a book. She walked to the door. "Randy! It's a Dutch door!"

"A what?"

"A Dutch door, see, the top and bottom open separately. We can just open the top and get the breezes and leave the bottom latched. Oh, I've always wanted a Dutch door!"

Em turned to Randy and enveloped him in her arms. "It's a perfect home for us. It's beautiful. This room is where I bet I'll be spending my time. It's the jewel of the cabin. What a special place. It's a library, Randy."

"Oh, yeah. My mom told me the lady who built all these cabins insisted her people led educated lives. She had a little school where she taught the kids how to read. Imagine that, teaching slaves to read, even giving them places like this to live. Mom said everybody in the town thought the old lady was nuts. They couldn't stand the way she treated her slaves. She didn't even call them slaves! She actually paid them, as her 'employees'. That was 200 years ago. Things have certainly changed since then," Em said thoughtfully.

Emeline felt as though she were in the middle of a pumpkin with the cabin's knotty pine walls, the colors of burnt sienna and sunsets. She felt the rooms had been warmed by years of sunlight, woodsmoke and the fingertips of many inhabitants, completing the warm embrace of each room.

Emeline caressed the beautiful wood paneling as she returned to the living room where Randy stood next to the small Franklin stove. "I had no idea these cabins were so lovely. Mom just said they were old. She didn't tell me anything about what great shape they're in." The glow on his face helped to light up the room.

"We should set up our bed and try it out in our new home, don't you think?" Randy said with a bright smile.

Em's mind was elsewhere, busy with all she would do to make their new home a nest she could feather with her dreams.

They returned to a slower examination of all the rooms. The antique pine floors creaked beneath their feet. In her mind's eye, Em began placing their furniture in each room.

She lingered in the smaller of the two bedrooms as Randy left to retrieve boxes from their U-Haul. The entire cabin was infused with rainbows of light except for this small room at the end of the hallway. This room was darker, more somber. An enormous tree towered above this end of the cabin, blocking out the sunlight. The room seemed more silent than the others, with their creaking floors and squeaks. This room had a sad, lonely, uninhabited feel to it.

--Excerpted from Raising the Dead, by Jayne Lisbeth. Austin Macauley, U.K., 2023. Reprinted with permission.

About the Author

Jayne Lisbeth was born in NYC and continued her life’s journey from Long Island, to New Jersey, Massachusetts, Vermont, California and Tampa, all places featured prominently in her writing. Her first book, a memoir, Writing In Wet Cement has been published internationally by London based publisher, Austin Macauley. Jayne’s second book, Raising the Dead, a work of historical fiction, mystery, friendship and the supernatural, was published in 2023, also by Austin Macauley. Ms. Lisbeth publishes monthly “Food for Thought” blogs on her website, Jaynelisbeth.com. Her “Food for Thought” blogs are based on her reflections of life, friendship, love, and topical subjects of interest. Ms. Lisbeth’s non-fiction, poetry, and short stories have been published from Vermont to California to Tampa, Florida where she has received awards at the local level. She has been published locally in Pages of Our Life, volumes I and II which is currently part of the USF, Tampa, Geriartic Studies Programs. Ms. Lisbeth’s short stories have been published in the LEC Phoenix Anthologies, 2015-2023. Jayne’s interests include writing, reading, exploring, traveling, calligraphy, gravestone rubbing, entertaining and cooking. Jayne’s author’s website is Jaynelisbeth.com.

Ms. Lisbeth and her artist husband, Tim Gibbons, are the owners and founders of Funky As A Monkey Art Studio, providing art in public places and launching new and emerging artists in exhibiting their art.

Author Links

Website | Amazon Website | Publisher’s Website | Facebook | Instagram Booksigning Event at The Corner Club

Release Blitz: The Veiled Kingdom by Holly Renee

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Tue, 19 Mar 2024 11:00:00 +0000

The Veiled Kingdom by Holly Renee is now live!

From USA Today Bestselling Author Holly Renee, author of the Stars and Shadows series, comes a scorching new fantasy romance that ignites the pages with relentless danger, forbidden passion, and the intoxicating allure of enemies to lovers.

Fleeing my father's cruelty, the wicked king who robbed me of a future, I face death in the streets, caught between a rebellion and a tyrant's reign.

Captured by those sworn to kill me, the rebels remain blind to my true identity-the missing daughter of the despised king. Faced with an impossible choice, I stand before them: join the rebels or face their blades.

Yet, Dacre, the son of the ruthless rebellion commander, becomes torn between suspicion and a desire that mirrors my own. He allows no one to touch me, tries to protect me, yet threatens me at every turn.

As secrets are weaved beyond our hidden realm, a fierce battle unfolds within me. As I get closer to the rebels, and their cause, my loyalty to my kingdom clashes with my undeniable devotion to Dacre and the burning connection between us.

In a world where love and hate are two edges of the same blade, I find myself caught in a delicate dance between forbidden desire and my looming destiny.

Download today or read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3vYfM7q
Standard Hardcover: https://bit.ly/3OqpllM

This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition includes an alternate cover and bonus content including digital signature and exclusive interior art.

https://bit.ly/49jpAXI

Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/47kWea7

Meet Holly

USA Today Bestselling Author, Holly Renee brings readers a pinch of angst, an indulgence of heat, and the perfect amount of heart in every book.

Born and raised in East Tennessee, she is a married mom of two wild children. When she's not writing, you can find her reading, pretending to be a dragon for the hundredth time that day, being disgustingly in love with her husband, or chilling in the middle of the lake with her sunglasses and a float.

Holly is a lover of all things romance, Mexican food and yoga pants.

Connect with Holly

Website: www.authorhollyrenee.com
Goodreads: https://geni.us/GRHollyRenee
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Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorhollyrenee
Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/HollyRenee/
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Blog Tour and review: The Ryder of The Night by Eden Eaves

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Mon, 18 Mar 2024 12:00:00 +0000

Welcome to the First Kingdom.

The Ryder of the Night, an all-new fated-mates, enemies to lovers, fantasy romance from debut author Eden Eaves is now available!

I am half of a whole.

A dragon without a ryder.

My kind are on the brink of extinction, I should be out there fighting, leading the flyers of the First Kingdom. But without my ryder I’m grounded.

She was the key to my magic and my future. But as soon as I found her she was stolen away, hidden somehow from even our bond’s pull.

I’d searched the Twelve Kingdoms for over a decade and lost all hope. Until my brother discovered her—living in a cult in the middle of nowhere, growing the very poison that’s killing my kind.

Raised with no knowledge of magic or creatures like me, she thinks I’m a monster from her nightmares come to life.

Admittedly, kidnapping her probably wasn’t my best move, but I had to get her out of there.

Now I need to convince her the life she knew was a lie, but time is slipping away. If she doesn’t accept who she is and learn to harness her power, it will consume her—leaving me ryderless again.

She wants to go back to that lie of a life I rescued her from. Too bad we didn’t leave anything to go back to. But the more she refuses the truth, the closer I get to losing her again. So I make her an offer she can’t refuse.

Only, I don’t know how I’ll keep my end of the bargain, because I can’t let her go now I’ve found her. She is more than just my ryder.

But that’s a secret for another day. We have training to do.

Lesson one: Ryde or die.

Welcome to the First Kingdom.

My Review:

★★★★☆

I am in love with this book so I don’t know what is holding me back from giving it five stars. I love fantasy. I love dragons. I love interesting characters. I feel like this book has it all, but it didn’t quite make it to five stars for me. Maybe if I read it again in the future my rating will change. We will see.

I very much liked the characters. I enjoyed all of their interactions, actions, and reactions. The story was unique and there wasn’t an overwhelming amount of world building.

I wasn’t anticipating what happened in it regarding the bad guy. I won’t say who, when, or what happened because I don’t want to give anything away. There were parts that made me smile, parts that made me want to cry, and parts that made me say “WHAT?!” and “WHY?!”

If you enjoy dragons, cults, lies and misinformation, betrayal, intrigue, daring rescues, strong women, alpha males, charming friends, armies full of daring individuals, and an interesting fantasy world, you will enjoy this book.

I can’t wait to read the next one in the series!

I received an ARC in order to review it on my blog. As you all know by now, all opinions are my own and are in no way influenced by how I got the book.

Start reading today!

FREE in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon: https://mybook.to/TheRyderOfTheNight

Add The Ryder of the Night to Goodreads: http://tinyurl.com/trotnee

Keep reading for a look inside The Ryder of the Night!

The air shifted, and the strange noise returned. Like the beating of birds’ wings, only…magnified. I turned in a circle, seeking the source of the shriek. This wasn’t the cry of children at play but blood-curdling screams. They grew closer, striking fear into my bones. My heart hammered in my ears as the cries grew louder.

My blood ran cold when I laid eyes on the carnage.

I couldn’t process the scene. Huge, winged creatures, like those of my nightmares, darted through the air, igniting our small village and the surrounding fields with streams of fire that poured from their ferocious mouths.

This couldn’t be real. Had I fallen into a fever dream? But even my nightmares had never been this terrifying.

I stood rooted in place, fear keeping me in its clutches. Crops burst into flames all around me and the storehouse exploded, finally pulling me from my catatonic state.

“Our crops!” I gasped. We would lose everything if we didn’t act, and I knew that’s where everyone would be. Saving the crops. I had to go find them.

The acrid smoke laced with the familiar scent of the herbs hit me, and I hesitated—my intolerance. I was breathing them in. The air was thick with fumes. No wonder I was experiencing waking nightmares. I needed to get away from the poisonous air.

But I couldn't hide while we lost it all. I heaved with the indecision, finally giving into the fear of loss and snatching up my bucket, sure I’d find the village forming a water line to put out the fires.

Downdrafts beat overhead, the massive wings drawing my attention to the heavens and to the monstrous creatures. A shriek died on my lips. It wasn’t real. It was the smoke and my terrible imagination. Fear tightened in my gut, and my hands shook. My throat burned, but no more sounds came from me. Every instinct told me to run. To hide. To get away from the visions from my nightmares.

No.

I wouldn’t allow myself to cower. I ran toward the fire, but the village wasn’t collecting to put out the blaze. Instead, they fled. I called after them, but few listened, too concerned with their escape.

“We will lose everything!” I screamed in frustration.

“Azariah.” I heard my mother before I saw her, and by the use of my full name, I could tell she wasn’t happy. “There you are. Come quickly!” Mother called urgently from across the yard, her voice full of fear and indignation.

“We have to save the crops,” I insisted. We’d endured too many winters after bad harvests where we all starved and the weakest didn’t make it, through many months surviving on roots and what Father could bring back from the barren woods.

This was so much more. Our entire livelihood burned, and I was only one girl. We needed to come together to save as much as possible. Even if I could get close to the fumes without them sending me into an attack, I could hardly do anything with one pail. I turned from the flames as mother stormed toward me.

She grabbed my arm, digging her nails into my skin. “You will never listen, will you? Insolent child. Your life is in peril, and your head is in the clouds.”

“I—” I objected, but she yanked harder, dragging me away like we weren’t under siege.

“We must go.” Her voice carried an emotion I couldn't place. More than fear, deeper.

The tone got my feet moving, forcing me to run to keep up with her long strides. Questions died on my lips, knowing this wasn’t the time to test her. My questions were never welcome, and in this mood they would only bring forth her wrath. I’d rather walk toward the flames than subject myself to her anger.

We rounded the corner in front of the gathering hall, but she dragged me past the doors.

“Where are we going?” I waved at the fae filling the small space. “We need to organize—” But my words faltered when I laid eyes on the fae who were carrying sacks and crates into one of the root cellars.

Mother didn’t break her stride when Father appeared with a large bag over one shoulder to fall in beside her.

Wails of pain echoed in my ears as they pulled me down the cellar stairs beneath the earth. A wall of cool air hit us, making the intensity of heat from the fires above more apparent. My eyes slowly adjusted, and I found my sisters already here huddling with my brother.

Why are we hiding and not helping?

Surely there was a better use of our time. We couldn't just let it all go. We’d dealt with raiders and bandits, starvation and drought. We could fight this.

This felt fearful and against the Goddess’ teachings. It was cowardly to gather in a safe place while others fled. My stomach turned over in realization—Luka was still out there!

I tried to tell Mother so we could search for him, and that was when I recognized the barrels and sacks of dried herbs stored down here. They were already making it harder to breathe. I stumbled back, only to be caught by the back of my neck.

“We are safe here, Azariah,” my mother scolded.

“But my intolerance.” I ripped out of her grasp. They would all be fine, the herbs had no ill effect on them, but it wasn’t safe for me. My breath caught in my throat while my lungs tightened. My throat swelled and burned, and my eyes watered. I could barely choke out words. “I can’t stay down here.”

I yanked out of my mother’s grasp and ran out of the cellar, ignoring my parents’ cries. I darted past more fae hauling our sacred herbs toward the cellar and pulled my scarf from my pocket to tie it around my face, heading toward the gathering hall. I had to find the elders. They would do something, or I could try to convince them not to give up. Luka would head to the gathering hall to help. I would find him there.

The wind shifted, blasting the full force of the fire’s heat in my face, and sending thick smoke in my direction. It was too late to change my course, and smoke consumed me, cutting off my oxygen while blasting lungfuls of herbs down my throat. The handkerchief barely helped, and my eyes watered while my chest burned. I fell to my knees, doubled over with pain. The burn choked off my throat until I could hardly move. I crawled, forcing my limbs into motion, but I grew weaker by the second. Every breath brought more agony. Blinding torture.

The world spun, and my vision darkened. The chaos engulfed my senses—screams, cries, roaring, and destruction. It was almost peaceful, in a twisted sense.

My limbs gave out, refusing to carry me any farther, and I sank onto the scorched earth. I prayed for the fires to consume me. A quicker death than the herbs would bring.

Before the Goddess took me, a deep, terrifying roar rattled my bones.

For more information about Eden Eaves and her books, visit her website:

https://www.edeneaves.com

Naked Hardback Cover Reveal: The Last Lost Girl by Casey L. Bond

noreply@blogger.com (Amanda) — Fri, 15 Mar 2024 09:07:00 +0000

Title: The Last Lost Girl

Author: Casey L. Bond

Genre: New Adult Fantasy Romance (Peter Pan Retelling)

Editor: Stacy Sanford/ The Girl with the Red Pen

Cover: @TheFairyFinn

Publication Date: May 3^rd, 2024

Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Blurb:
Welcome to Neverland. Where shadows consume and magic is frighteningly real.

Neverland is real. And so is Peter Pan.

“An utterly enthralling retelling that will leave you breathless and begging for more!” – Jenny Hickman, author of A Cursed Kiss

NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER!

Tropes:

A glorious, morally gray anti-hero

Allies to Lovers

Pirates

Shadow magic

Touch her and die

Dark curses

Forced Proximity

One Bed

Betrayals

Lost Memories

Ancient Evil

Dark Secrets

Fantasy Creatures

Deadly Flora

Casey is the award-winning author of When Wishes Bleed, Gravebriar, and House of Eclipses.

Author Links:

NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER!

Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome- Review

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 13 Mar 2024 13:00:00 +0000

Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome

Publisher: Boutique of Quality Books (Feb 6, 2024)
Category: Manhattan Mystery
Tour dates: February 26-March 25, 2024
ISBN: ‎ 979-8886330267 Available in Print and ebook, Approx. 330 pages

Description Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome

In a bind, Bud Palmer finds himself at the crossroads when just about everything was on the verge. Like most people, Bud Palmer felt this was just another day. Though the era was drawing to a close, he assumed his life as a sports columnist in the subtropics, in keeping with the benign fifties itself, would go on as predictable as ever. But that particular autumn morning he was thrust into a caper that was totally beyond him, forced him to leave Miami and take the train to Manhattan, and suddenly found everything in this restless "Big Apple" was up for grabs, on the brink, at a dicey turning point.

Review Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome

'Fast Times, Big City,' had me hooked right from the beginning!

The main character, Bud, accidentally gets pressed into assisting a gangster named Escobar as the man is trying to track down a briefcase that has been stolen by a Marilyn Monroe lookalike. Bud only helps because his mother, who is on a Caribbean cruise, begged him to check in on his uncle, her younger brother, Rick.

Well, it turns out that Rick is not doing great. Bud finds him the morning after he has lost a poker game to Escobar and been accused of working with the Marilyn Monroe lookalike to steal the briefcase. Now, the lookalike has fled to New York and Rick lies to Escobar, saying that Bud is his junior associate who knows New York like the back of his hand. So, of course, Bud gets sent to New York.

This story was so funny and an absolute joy to read. The fast-paced dialog of the characters made me feel like I was watching an old Hollywood movie. I recommend this story if you love a good historical setting, a mystery, and witty characters with a fast-moving plot. Having read a few of Frome's other books, I can say that this is the type of story where his writing truly shines!

About Shelly Frome

Award winning author, Shelly Frome is a member of Mystery Writers of America, a professor of dramatic arts emeritus at UConn, a former professional actor, and a writer of crime novels and books on theater and film. He also is a features writer for Gannett Publications. His fiction includes Sun Dance for Andy Horn, Lilac Moon, Twilight of the Drifter, Tinseltown Riff, Murder Run, Moon Games, The Secluded Village Murders and Miranda and the D-Day Caper. Among his works of non-fiction are The Actors Studio: A History, a guide to playwriting and one on screenwriting, Shadow of the Gypsy is his latest foray into the world of crime and the amateur sleuth. He lives in Black Mountain, North Carolina.

Website: http://www.shellyfrome.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shellyfrome Twitter: https://twitter.com/shellyFrome

Buy Fast Time Big City by Shelly Frome

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Giveaway Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome

This giveaway is for 2 print or ebook copies, open to the U.S. and Canada only. This giveaway ends on March 26, 2024 midnight, pacific time. Entries accepted via Rafflecopter only. a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Interview with Shelly Frome, Author of Fast Times Big City

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 13 Mar 2024 13:00:00 +0000

Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome

Publisher: Boutique of Quality Books (Feb 6, 2024)
Category: Manhattan Mystery
Tour dates: February 26-March 25, 2024
ISBN: ‎ 979-8886330267 Available in Print and ebook, Approx. 330 pages

Description Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome

Interview with Shelly Frome

'Suzie: Please tell us something about ‘Fast Times Big City’

Shelly: It was a chance to return to the accessible New York City of my youth, not as a would-be striving actor this time but as a more mature character buffeted by a greater scope of obstacles. In effect, Bud Palmer finds himself in a bind, at a crossroads where everything seemed to be on the verge. I guess you could call it a historical fifties caper

Suzie: I always enjoy looking at the names that authors choose to give their characters. Where do you derive the names of your characters?

Shelly: Somehow the name has to be just right within the setting and given circumstances in order to feed my imagination. For instance, I needed someone who had been jarred loose from the coziness and conformity of Miami of that era to take on the never-ending beat and tinge of danger prevalent in the “Big Apple” of that time. I needed a Bud Palmer to be caught in a bind totally beyond his comfort zone.

Suzie: How completely do you develop your characters before beginning to write?

Shelly: Once I have the names right I know all about them, what they’re capable of and how they may respond under pressure. For instance, I know that Bud is clean-cut, was the vice president of his class at Miami High some seven or so years ago, always complied with the repressive rules of that day and age and would have to let all that go in order to take on this dicey task and truly find himself. All told, what I’m after are three dimensional characters, replete with an inner and outer life and potential contradictions, who come alive and give the story the sense of an act of becoming or, if you like, self-generating.

Suzie: Which actor would you like to see playing Bud Palmer? Why?

Shelly: Tom Hanks when he was in his early thirties. Because he could easily pass as a clean-cut, nice guy of that era. Moreover, underneath it all, he is quite sensitive and has the potential to run the gamut of whatever he might encounter in the “big city,” evolve and survive.

Suzie: Tell us about your cover. Did you design it yourself?

Shelly: I took a segment of my late artist friend’s painting “Times Square” of that era and requested simple lettering in white.

Suzie: What draws you to the mystery genre?

Shelly: It’s never just another day. There’s a significant disturbance that throws everyone off balance. How they cope, the aftermath of each encounter never fails to surprise me. In effect, I discover something akin to the truth about things—something I’d never encounter on the news or by observing safe and predictable behavior.

Suzie: When did you first have a desire to write? How did this desire manifest itself?

Shelly: As you’ve probably surmised, to me what passes for everyday life seems to take place on the surface. It’s more or less safe and predictable which, I guess, is by design. Once in study hall at Shenandoah Junior High in Miami back in the day, I found myself writing cliff-hangers, surreptitiously passing them around and discovering my classmates kept wanting more. “And then what happened?” they all wrote.

Suzie: What writers have you drawn inspiration from?

Shelly: Hemingway, Salinger and Ray Bradbury to name a few from a list of at least a dozen.

Suzie: What do you do when you are not writing?

Shelly: Since my wife suddenly passed away, I just interview provocative people for the local paper, take jaunts with Baxter my golden doodle, attend church once a week, etc. But, to tell the truth, I’m always writing even in my dreams. Sometimes I feel like paying money for a way to get writer’s block so that I can get a good night’s uninterrupted sleep. Which reminds me of something a noted playwright once told me. He had this acquaintance who was always pestering saying, “How’s the story going?” The response was always, “It’s coming along.” One day, when the playwright couldn’t take it anymore he shouted, “It’s finished, okay? Now all I have to do is write it down!”

Suzie: What are you currently working on?

Shelly: I’ve begun a story about a handyman who keeps his distance, appearing on the surface as the proverbial strong, silent type, who is fast approaching the age of sixty. Lately, he has this empty feeling he’s squandered his life, and is suddenly beset with the plight of a young newlywed client whose husband has suddenly gone missing. The working title is “Charlie and the Blue Ridge Caper”.

Suzie: Thanks again and good luck with ‘Fast Times Big City’, as well as your future endeavors.

About Shelly Frome

Award winning author, Shelly Frome is a member of Mystery Writers of America, a professor of dramatic arts emeritus at UConn, a former professional actor, and a writer of crime novels and books on theater and film. He also is a features writer for Gannett Publications. His fiction includes Sun Dance for Andy Horn, Lilac Moon, Twilight of the Drifter, Tinseltown Riff, Murder Run, Moon Games, The Secluded Village Murders and Miranda and the D-Day Caper. Among his works of non-fiction are The Actors Studio: A History, a guide to playwriting and one on screenwriting, Shadow of the Gypsy is his latest foray into the world of crime and the amateur sleuth. He lives in Black Mountain, North Carolina.

Website: http://www.shellyfrome.com/
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Twitter: https://twitter.com/shellyFrome

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Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome- Review

Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome

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Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome

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“I will find you. And if it takes a lifetime, I will find you.”