Children’s Picture Book

Date Published: June 2, 2026

Join a curious child and their loving Ammamma on a joyful kitchen adventure
filled with crispy dosas, colorful chutneys, and heartwarming family
traditions. As they learn about different kinds of dosas, they discover that
the real magic isn’t just in cooking—it’s in the time spent
together.

Dosa Day is a playful children’s picture book celebrating Indian
cuisine, family traditions, and intergenerational love. With rhythmic
read-aloud text and vibrant illustrations, this story creates a rich sensory
experience that introduces young readers to culture, connection, and mindful
togetherness.

Perfect for children ages 3–7, this diverse picture book is ideal for:

• • • • • Multicultural children’s books
        • Indian and South Asian culture stories for kids
        • Picture books about food, family, and traditions
        • Engaging read-aloud bedtime stories

About the Author

 In the quiet magic of the Mojave Desert, where the sky stretches wide and the
sunsets set everything golden, Veena Katikineni found the perfect place to let
her imagination wander.

Dosa Day was born from a heart full of cherished memories: big, bustling
family gatherings with her beloved Indian family, where the house was always
full, the food was always flowing, and the smell of something delicious was
always drifting through the air. Food wasn’t just food — it was
love, laughter, and the heartbeat of every gathering.

A physician by training, Veena has spent her career caring for others, but she
has always believed that stories heal in their own special way. This is her
love letter to dosa, to her roots, and to the joy of sharing both with the
world.

When she’s not writing or seeing patients, you’ll find her on her
yoga mat, planning the family’s next adventure, or exploring the world
with her loving husband and two spirited boys, her favorite companions in
wandering and in life.

She believes magic lives in the everyday moments, especially the ones shared
around a table.

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Mystery and Suspense

Date Published: 05-04-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

A henpecked husband learns that “till death do us part”
isn’t the end of the story when his dead wife returns.

A newly retired couple uncovers a pestilent secret buried beneath their dream
home.

A young woman retreats to the countryside to discover herself, only to stumble
upon an unsolved tragedy calling out for justice.

Voices Carry Here is a collection of short stories steeped in mystery,
suspense, and the supernatural. Set against the beauty of Michigan’s
Upper Peninsula, these tales will reveal secrets just beneath the surface of
tranquil lakes, cries for help echoing from shadowed campgrounds, and
small-town characters experiencing extraordinary circumstances.

Blending chills with warmth, author Gail Galotta’s flair for
supernatural suspense is tempered with touches of humor, romance, and
nostalgia.

Excerpt from “The Pestilence House”

We moved into our newly constructed home in early June. The first nightmare occurred just two weeks later.

I awoke to the sound of heavy breathing. Thinking at first that it was Ken, I swept my arm across to his side, but it was vacant. I quickly realized that something else was present in the room, something that was steadily approaching the bed. I lay there paralyzed, my back to the presence that hovered above me for a moment and then lowered toward my head. I could feel the subtle waves of labored breaths against the nape of my neck. I tried to scream, but terror froze my vocal cords. Is this a dream? It must be a dream! Where is Ken! Then, another sound invaded my ears—a guttural noise, like that of an animal. A racoon? A coyote? I jerked my head around and opened my mouth to fend off the beast with a mighty shout. Instead, my lips encountered the extended tongue of a different creature. His distorted face—with its bulbous nose and bulging eyes—scarcely seemed human. His skin was dappled with bruises and only thinly veiled the skeletal frame beneath. Suddenly, the tongue retracted, and the jaw extended in an effort to speak—or bite. I screamed. A bloodcurdling scream that vanquished the intruder and sent my very human husband rushing upstairs.

Ken turned on the light and sat next to me on the bed while I attempted an explanation of…I wasn’t sure what. He suggested that my nightmare may have been prompted by something I heard from the movie he had been watching. My trembling eased as he continued. “Sometimes I wake up and think someone’s at our door. You know, like when our dog used to hear a doorbell on TV.”

The reference made me smile. “I didn’t bark, did I?”

Although Ken’s theory seemed plausible, I wasn’t totally convinced. Especially after I suffered a similar experience a few nights later.
Our cocker spaniel had been gone for several years, but when I felt the mattress yield to the weight of something at my feet, my first thought was of that beloved pet, and I instinctively adjusted my position to accommodate her. Then my eyes flashed open. Something was moving slowly along my body. I could feel the light depressions on the blanket, like footsteps in the snow. This time I didn’t scream. My breaths quivered as something pressed gently on my back and then my shoulder. I lay still, waiting to throw off the…squirrel? Rat? But when a whisper approached my ear, I bolted upright. Whatever noise I made alarmed Ken. This time the television was off, and the only ambient sound that could have possibly inspired my dream was
the rhythmic breathing of my husband, who had been asleep next to me in bed.

About the Author

She’s always been drawn to the mystical pull of water, which often
shapes the settings of her stories. An award-winning writer and former English
teacher, she lives in Vulcan, Michigan, overlooking the same lake that
inspired her earliest work. When asked what inspires her latest fiction, she
offers only a cryptic smile.

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Riptide MC, Books 6

Date Published: June 6, 2026

Publisher: ChangelingPress

Wynter — Scary Guy lived up to his name, threatening to rape me and sell me
as a whore. Not happening. I reached for the hidden blade at my ankle just as
a tattooed biker wearing a Riptide MC cut stepped in to save me. The dude knew
how to handle an asshole like Scary Guy without breaking a sweat. Gorgeous as
he is, this biker isn’t just eye candy. I find myself kissing him in the
middle of a crowd of nerds and superheroes. I have a thing for tough guys with
tattoos. My head tells me to run, but I want more. I want him.

Shadow — I noticed her the second she slipped in front of us, alert and
watchful like she expected trouble just for existing. When some ape starts
pawing her, I step in. Nobody manhandles a woman in front of me. I pretend she
belongs to me, and she plays right along. I’m willing to do more than
just talk tough if the bastard won’t back off. When he proves how stupid
he is, attacking her in the parking lot, I’ve got the excuse I needed to
beat some sense into him. Wynter’s mine, whether she knows it or not.
Trouble’s not finished with her, and neither am I.

Wynter

I glanced over my shoulder. He was still there.

I’d dubbed him Scary Guy.

I tried to convince myself I was just being paranoid and the guy just happened
to be headed in the same direction as me. I’d never seen him before; I
was sure of that. You didn’t forget a face like his with a jagged scar
down the side of his cheek and a spider web with a skull in the center
tattooed on his neck. There was no reason for him to be fixated on me.

I certainly wasn’t the kind of woman men liked to fantasize over. I was
short, wiry, and dressed as a Browncoat, one of the characters out of my
favorite sci-fi series. I didn’t have a spectacular rack or an hourglass
figure and my hair hung in a single braid down my back, the only way I’d
found to keep it from exploding into a messy tangle.

I assessed him out of the corner of my eye. He was big and solid, although at
this distance it was hard to tell if that bulk was muscles or a beer belly. He
had on some kind of dark costume with a black cape that fell to mid-thigh.
This was a comic book convention, so his outfit wasn’t all that strange.
I had no idea who he thought he looked like. I swear ninety percent of the
people here wore capes of some type. It could be anybody or nobody.

He looked dangerous, though, the kind of guy you avoid being caught alone
with. Unfortunately, I was well acquainted with the type. I grew up in the
projects, daughter of a junkie too deep into her addictions to care about me.
Self-preservation meant I’d developed a sixth sense when it came to
creeps like this a long time ago.

I gave my head a mental shake. This may not be Dragon Con in Atlanta, but
there were still several thousand people here. He couldn’t just drag me
off to a dark room, even if he wanted to, so why did his stare send shivers of
apprehension down my spine?

As if he could sense my attention, the asshole grinned at me and licked his
lips. Yikes! If I had any doubt that he was focused on me, it fled right then
and there.

“Excuse me.” I shouldered my way between a young woman dressed as
Batwoman and a couple dressed as Shrek and his bride. Zigzagging back and
forth, I headed for the doorway. Maybe I could lose the creep in the crowd.

“Hey, watch it!” A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle glared up at me
when I accidentally stood on her foot. This section of the event was crowded,
waiting for some promised celebrities to appear. I mumbled an apology and
continued to wade my way through the crowd, trying to recall the map
they’d handed me when I got here. The place was a warren of smaller
rooms radiating off a central hall. I should be able to find a spot to hide.

A quick glance behind me showed Scary Guy was following me. My heart rate
increased as adrenaline flooded my system. I had too much at stake right now
to be caught in an altercation with anyone.

The crowd parted in front of the jerk with no effort from him. I got it. One
glare from that face and no one wanted the kind of trouble it promised. I
still didn’t understand why he’d singled me out. Just my bad luck?
I felt like a rabbit being stalked by a coyote, looking for a hole to vanish
into. I just needed to get out of his line of sight long enough to dart into
one of those smaller side rooms and disappear.

It seemed like forever before I finally reached the doorway and plunged out
into the main hall. The crowds were thinner here, and I took advantage of the
opportunity to dash across to the far side and slide into the Marvel Comics
section.

Not surprisingly, the room was crowded, people packed in shoulder to shoulder.
For once my lack of height played to my advantage. Anyone scanning the area
from the entranceway would have a hard time seeing me when most of the
gathering towered over top of me. Making my way to the center of the room, I
turned to scan the area behind me.

Nothing.

Scary Guy was nowhere in sight. I let out a ragged breath and put a hand up to
my chest. I could feel my heart racing beneath my fingertips. So much for
being a brave member of the Resistance. All it took was one creepy guy to send
me scurrying for cover. He hadn’t even been that close to me, let alone
within touching distance.

I inhaled deeply, trying to remember the meditation class I’d once
attended. I needed to calm down. It’s not like this was the first time I
found myself running from the hint of danger. As a kid, my life had been
chaotic at best. My mother might have been a junkie who cared more about her
next fix than me, but in order to stay out of the foster care system,
I’d had to make sure she stayed alive.

Sometimes that meant doing things that could get me thrown into juvie, like
pick-pocketing for rent money. It was more luck than skill that I never got
caught. I became an expert at shoplifting and begging long before I hit double
digits. I had a plan, and I clung to it like a drowning man clinging to a life
raft. All I had to do was make it to sixteen without drawing the attention of
Child Protective Services, and I could split. Free from the threat of foster
care, I could do anything I wanted.

A simple plan, but a workable one.

Then my mom got pregnant again.

I have no idea who Star’s father is, and I doubt Mom did either. She was
at that point in her addiction where she would sleep with anyone for a fix so
there were lots of candidates to choose from, and none of them had names.

My little sister was born on a hot July day, in the back of a dealer’s
van, and I was instantly smitten. Somehow Child Protective Services
didn’t get wind of the birth, or they were too overworked to care about
one more kid who wouldn’t amount to much. Mom brought the baby home, and
I took over, making sure Star was fed and clothed and stayed alive.

I already knew how her life would go if I didn’t stick around, so
it’s not like I had a choice. Star blinked up at me with those big blue
eyes, and my heart melted. I promised myself then and there that I’d
look after her.

Star wasn’t exactly a normal name, but then neither was Wynter. Mom had
a thing for weird names. Maybe it came from having such a boring name herself,
or maybe she thought naming my little sister Star would give her a chance in
life. In her own way, when the need for a fix wasn’t consuming her, I
liked to think Mom cared about us.

My attention snapped back to the present. Something was happening in the front
of the room. A buzz of excitement swept through the crowd. I stretched up on
tiptoe to see, but there were three big guys in front of me blocking my view.
They laughed and joked with one another, oblivious to me or anyone else in the
crowd.

Gritting my teeth, I squeezed between them.

No wonder the crowd was so excited. From a partially hidden door up front,
four of the Marvel Avengers stalked into the room. Iron Man, Captain America,
and the Hulk all took their seats at the signing table while the Black Widow
stood up and swept the room with a piercing gaze. With a theatrical flourish,
she picked up the microphone from the table in front of her. Laughter and
excitement rippled through the crowd as she introduced herself and her
companions as if everyone present wasn’t very aware of who they were.
Showing off her agility with an impressive back flip, she landed in her seat
and indicated the signing was now open.

The crowd surged forward, carrying me along with it. I had no intention of
paying to have someone sign a comic for me, no matter how famous or agile they
were, but the crowd’s excitement was contagious. It didn’t cost
anything to watch, and if I got close enough, I might even be able to get a
picture of one of the fabled Avengers on my phone. Star would love that. She
was eight and loved comic books the way I loved to draw. I fished my phone out
of my pocket and let out a sigh of relief when I saw I’d actually
remembered to fully charge it the night before. Now I just needed to get close
enough to that table to snap a picture or two.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I glanced behind me, expecting
to see Scary Guy. Instead, my gaze landed on the three big guys I’d seen
earlier, still laughing and joking with each other. I’d noticed that
they all wore leather cuts with some kind of logo on the back, and I’d
spent enough time on the streets to know what that meant.

It showed their motorcycle club affiliation, and not the granddaddy going for
a Sunday ride kind of club. That alone should have twigged my survival
instinct, but for some reason it didn’t. They certainly looked the part
of outlaw gang members. Tough, tattooed, leather-clad guys with muscles to
spare, they had that aura about them that spelled danger. Not a bunch
you’d want to mess with, especially if you were trying to convince the
courts you were a responsible, law-abiding citizen.

The biker in the center looked directly at me, and a slow grin spread across
his face. He lifted one brow as if questioning my attention. Damn, he was
mouthwatering, although maybe that wasn’t quite the word. Appealing?
Sexy? Tempting? Definitely not hard on the eyes. I could picture myself
licking my way down his…

I blushed, but I didn’t look away. He looked like the kind of guy who
wouldn’t be shocked by my home life or my mom’s abdication of her
parental responsibilities. Maybe a carnal distraction might help settle my
nerves before the court date.

A commotion erupted in the entranceway, pulling me out of my daydream. Scary
Guy and his buddies were pushing their way into the room, knocking other
attendees out of their way like might made right or some other stupid macho
shit. Abandoning my silent exchange with Sexy Biker, I pivoted to face the
front of the room. Hopefully Scary Guy wouldn’t be able to pick me out
of the crowd if he couldn’t see my face. Not like we were old buddies or
anything.

The Marvel characters were hamming it up, signing, and occasionally posing for
photos. A couple of conference workers dressed in shirts with the Marvel logo
on them were collecting money from the fans as they handed over comics to sign
or the fee for having their picture taken with one of the celebrities. When
the characters stood to pose with the fans, I managed to snap some shots with
my phone, although I wasn’t close enough for details. I could tweak the
pictures when I got back home, editing out the fans. With any luck, I’d
have a few usable pictures for Star to gush over.

I jumped as an enormous hand clamped down painfully on my shoulder.
“Thought you could get away, did you?”

Shit.

Scary Guy.

I couldn’t afford to just knee the asshole in the balls, tempting as
that was. The courts would definitely frown on that. Plastering a calm
expression on my face, I twisted around and drew my brows down in a puzzled
frown. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

His grin was pure evil. “Not yet, but I plan to fix that. You’re
coming with me to a place where we can get to know each other real
well.” Keeping his hand on my shoulder, he swept my body with a glance
that left me feeling dirty. “Real, real well.”

I shook my head, trying to resist the temptation to pull my knife out of its
hidden ankle sheath. “Sorry, but I don’t think my boyfriend would
like that.” I tried to shrug his hand off my shoulder. “He’s
a bit old-fashioned when it comes to things like that.”

Scary Guy dismissed my imaginary boyfriend with a flick of his hand.
“Where is he? My boys can take care of him.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m flattered you think I’m worth that
much trouble, but I’m going to pass. I have things to do today.” I
shrugged out from under his hand and took a step toward the back of the room.
The people around us were too wrapped up in the excitement of the Avengers to
pay any attention to my discomfort and shifted to let me through.

Scary Guy reached out to stop me, hooking one meaty hand into the belt at my
waist. I twisted in his grip, and anger mottled his expression. “I
don’t think you understand, bitch. I’m not asking you, I’m
telling you.”

So much for playing the model citizen.

I reached for my knife.

About the Author

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue
dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many
fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but
finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate
was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and
just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then
she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all
with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending
time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing
with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing
guitar, singing and of course, reading.

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

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Teens & Young Adult, Self-Help, Stress Management

Date Published: May 31, 2026

Publisher: Growth Mindset Publishing

School is stressful, your social life is stressful, and the thought of the future is stressful.

Sometimes it seems as though everything is stressful.

If you’re feeling the pressure from every direction, you’re not alone.

Whether they admit it or not, most teens feel this. In fact, research has found that 83% consider school a major source of stress… and that’s before we even get to social media or your relationships with friends and family.

Since everyone’s dealing with it, you might have thought this is just something you have to live with, but did you know that there are things you can do to fortify yourself so that all the stress, anxiety, and overwhelm can roll off your shoulders like water off a duck’s back?

There are a ton of coping strategies that take no more than a few minutes to perform that will make a really big difference in how you handle it all.

Better yet, you can develop the skills that will make it easier to navigate relationships and social situations so that your anxiety doesn’t get so high in the first place.

You’re about to discover it all in this practical and engaging guide, and you’re bound to start noticing the difference immediately.

Inside, you’ll discover:

• Exactly what stress is, why it happens, and how to catch it early
• ·Simple coping strategies for fast relief in any situation that has your heart racing or your mind swirling
• How to stay present (and why this will make such a big difference)
• What “the white bear effect” is, how it’s affecting your emotions, and what you can do to make all your big feelings easier to handle
• How to rewrite your inner voice, bounce back stronger, and build an inner strength that will carry you through life
• The art of healthy communication (with practical advice for dealing with conflict, setting boundaries, and much more)
• The secret to staying organized without burning out (take the stress out of deadlines and overload)
• Your complete social life survival guide: Make your interactions easier and less overwhelming both on and offline
• What to do when you’re worried that your stress or anxiety is becoming too intense for you to handle on your own
• Fun and practical activities to help you put your new skills into practice right away
• And much more.

If you’ve been told to “just relax” or to stay positive more times than you care to remember, you might doubt that there’s much you can do to make life less stressful and overwhelming. You might even have started to worry that you’re the only one who feels like this.

But how are you meant to relax or stay positive when you don’t know what you need to do to get there?

You absolutely have what it takes to handle whatever life throws at you and bounce back from stress, worry, and fear as though you barely felt it at all. All you need are the right strategies—and you’re about to get your hands on all of them.

Ready to armor yourself for life? Get your copy today!!

About the Author

In his books, Chad explains money, investing, and life skills in clear, practical steps that teens can understand and apply. He avoids jargon and lengthy lectures, instead offering real-world guidance to help readers build confidence, make informed decisions, and plan for their future, whether by saving, investing, or developing long-term thinking.

Chad distinguishes himself by making financial education empowering, practical, and engaging. His writing encourages teens to take responsibility for their decisions, build strong habits, and believe in their ability to succeed regardless of their background.

Chad’s books have become trusted guides for teens and families who want more than just information; they want action, growth, and a better future. If you are ready to build confidence, take control, and create opportunities your future self will appreciate, Chad K. Smith is poised to guide the way. Take the next step today by downloading a free chapter from his latest book or scheduling a family meeting tonight to set financial goals together. This simple action could be the start of your journey towards financial empowerment.

Amazon

Date Published: May 1, 2026

Retired archaeologist Phyllis Doran is enjoying the quiet beauty of the
Arizona desert, until a mysterious crossword puzzle leads her to a trail of
hidden clues. As curiosity pulls her deeper into the puzzle, Phyllis discovers
that some secrets are buried for a reason… and solving this one may
take all her wit and courage.

 M. J. Coss is the author of the Phyllis Doran Mystery series, beginning with
Across and Down in the Desert. Blending puzzle-driven storytelling with richly
detailed settings, his work explores the intersection of history, language,
and human resilience.

Set against the striking backdrop of the American Southwest, his mysteries
follow retired field archaeologist Phyllis Doran as she uncovers buried
secrets that refuse to stay hidden. With a love of wordplay and layered clues,
Coss crafts stories where every answer leads to a deeper question, and every
puzzle carries real consequences.

He is also the author of the Grady the Groundhog’s Maplewood Tales
series for young readers (also available on Amazon), written under the name
C.A. Coss.

Coss lives in Northeast Ohio with his family, where he continues to write
stories that celebrate curiosity, perseverance, and the thrill of discovery.

Contact Link

BookBuzz

Purchase Link

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Adventures in Thailand

Date Published: 06-23-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

Illustrated by: Megan Heller

Join them on an adventure to faraway lands-by crate, van, car, conveyor belt,
and airplane-as they discover the sights and sounds of a tropical new world.
Along the way, they meet friendly Thai people, encounter a wise dog, and gaze
in wonder at the golden Buddhas and temple cats standing guard. With a few
bumps in the road-marked by meows, tail twitches, and new surprises-they
journey onward until, at last, they arrive at their new home.

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IG: @the.tutoring.hub, @teacher.lauren.ud

Facebook: Lauren Isaacson and The-Tutoring-Hub (page)

TikTok: @the.tutoring.hub_

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https://mybook.to/TalesofSidneyandJojo

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The Truth Behind One of This Nation’s Biggest False Arrest &
Imprisonment Scandals

Date Published: September 11, 2025

1. It is alarming that anyone can be indicted by a grand jury and arrested
solely based on the government’s allegations that exclude the accused and
their counsel from being present or even aware of the accusations.

2. The FBI and U.S. Attorney built their alleged fraud case without ever doing
a single required Medicare audit in their five-year investigation.

3. Once arrested, the five other defendants with the same exact charges were
immediately released on bond the same day. While I was denied bail and
imprisoned for three-and-a-half years awaiting trial—a violation of the
6th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, the right to a speedy trial.

4. Also, the two defendants who accepted a PLEA DEAL in exchange for leniency
never spent a single night in prison despite their admission of guilt. I chose
to go to trial and was unanimously acquitted by a 12-member jury on all 54
counts, yet still I spent 1301 days in prison.

Introduction

Imagine dedicating your life and career to helping others only to have the nation you served for half a century subvert the beautiful career you built as the government uses you like a pawn in some cruel high-stakes game. Then imagine this rogue nation isn’t some foreign, developing country. This nation is the United States, which is supposed to be the greatest nation in the world. USA v Raj is a story of wrongful imprisonment, federal government corruption, and a broken judicial system that strives to turn innocent people into convicted criminals. This is also an innocent man’s story of gratitude, steadfast faith, and endurance to persevere until the end of a war waged against him. The pages within recount a grueling season of my life marked by trials, tribulations, and, ultimately, triumphs. 

How can an innocent person be falsely arrested, imprisoned, and attacked for over three-and-a-half years in the United States of all places, the land of the free and the oldest democracy in the world? While the 6th Amendment of our revered Constitution mandates a speedy trial, I am here to tell you how I was denied this basic right without cause. No innocent person should spend a single day in jail, awaiting their fair trial. Yet here I found myself: an innocent man arrested and incarcerated for three years, six months, and twenty-four days without a single option for bail while my trial loomed overhead like a storm cloud looking for a landscape to release its full fury. Such an overreach of the judicial system was criminal. Yet, more criminal than this was knowingly dragging me through a mockery of a trial where fairness and ethics were checked at the door. Through battle after battle leading up to trial, the daily challenges I faced tested my faith, inner strength, and resolve to persevere amidst torment and manipulation. The war my own government waged against me was a devastating storm that ripped through everything I had built, leaving mass destruction in its wake. Yet, through the swirling tempest of lawsuits, betrayals, false accusations, and frozen assets, I held steadfast. The turmoil may have worn me down, but it also kindled my determination to see righteousness and truth prevail. I relied on this indomitable fire within to keep me warm each one of those 1,301 days I spent locked away in a cold, dark cell. The light from my inner fire helped me remain focused on what I knew to be the truth and my predestined freedom. My daily resolve was to get through what felt like frozen time one day at a time while I refused to let that frigid jail cell build a permanent home inside my heart. 

However, those dark forces sure worked hard to destroy me and everything I had spent a lifetime building. The truth is, when the government needs a sacrificial lamb to further one of the nation’s biggest opioid crisis reforms, no law-abiding citizen is above becoming the poster child for their propaganda campaign. On a cold, overcast day in December 2018, my five partners and I were arrested and charged with excessive narcotic prescribing with the conveniently added charge of Medicare billing fraud that is typically included in these cases. Without regard for our multi-clinic size and number of patients we served, the federal government scrutinized our practice according to raw data that completely distorted what happened at our three Macomb County, Michigan clinics: The Pain Center USA in Warren and Eastpointe and Interventional Pain Center in Warren. With over 25,000 patients as opposed to the usual practice with a 1,000 or less patients, our clinics comprised the largest interventional pain management practice in the United States. This said, the facts were exactly the opposite of the federal government’s claims, which were blatantly obvious from the start and eventually proven in trial with a jury acquittal. Yet, at every step along those three years, six months, and twenty-four days, the very government agencies meant to uphold justice and keep its citizens safe continued their visibly irrational and ignorant manhunt. They had their sacrificial lamb and continued to do whatever it took to maliciously and strategically lead me to the slaughter. 

Once the newspapers got ahold of this story, they were more than eager to cover what the Feds had labeled “The Nation’s Biggest Medicare Fraud and Fuelers of the Opioid Crisis.” One Macomb County Press article headline read, “Six Detroit-area doctors charged in $500M opioid scheme.” These false statements and narratives were never retracted by these papers or the government in the end, when their folly and false judgments were exposed in open court. Their initial claim was that we had billed Medicare $500 million, while the actual amount that was paid, according to the government’s own data, was $45 million. This, for our group of seven physicians, multiple physician assistants, and three locations with over 130 employees and included all ancillary services for over 25,000 patients over a period of six years. Additionally, the narcotic doses, which again were based on the government’s own data via Michigan’s automated prescription system, were statistically one of the lowest compared to the national average and the Center of Disease Control (CDC) guidelines. It’s impossible to believe these federal agencies and expert agents were unaware of their own facts and how to handle the raw data to accurately calculate these facts before, during, and after issuing indictments. It’s even more impossible to believe the judicial system supported these claims and false findings when they were so clearly misguided and ill-informed. 

During my time behind bars, I filled my days with finding the right legal representation, building a case to prove my innocence, and researching the flawed criminal system in the United States. Shockingly, what I learned is that the U.S., a country that makes up only 5% of the world’s population, accommodates 25% of the world’s prison population. Its incarceration rate is staggeringly higher than the Western world and a terrifying twenty times greater than India, my birth country. This is alarming for a first-world country like the U.S. with far less crime than these other countries and far less poverty, corruption, economic turmoil, social unrest, and/or terrorism. These rates are compounded by federal guidelines that call for long sentences with mandatory minimums, which create a grim atmosphere of fear and helplessness in defendants. 

My experience revealed how the Department of Justice (DOJ), an institution seeped in hubris and hypocrisy, is far from benign. It has no problem being corrupt. Its underbelly is generally filled with secret grand jury proceedings, an intimidating FBI, overzealous prosecutors, and dare I say, even a few judges who’ve lost touch with the principle of justice. These agencies all work together to cultivate a culture of “winning at any cost.” This mindset is so ingrained in these institutions that the manipulation and misuse of power have become the accepted norm. The public is ultimately helpless against the government’s colossal power and is forced into resignation, allowing a malignant bully culture to fester. The more convictions prosecutors have—whether just or unjust—the more they advance in their careers. With the daunting statistics of 99%+ convictions, even defense attorneys have given up and fallen to the all-powerful government’s over-reach to have their clients accept a guilty plea in a deal with the government.

My false arrest, imprisonment, and the rigged proceedings of the trial reveal how two unique features of the American justice system—a grand jury to bring the charges and the plea-bargaining system to coerce a guilty plea—are inherently biased against defendants. Those within this legal system see themselves as the ones on the right side of the law without respect for the potential innocence or guilt of the defendants they prosecute. It’s classism at its finest, where a caste system establishes a hierarchy of humanity for individuals within it based on rank, title, and position. Defendants are seen as subhuman, disposable creatures—lowly beasts whose suffering and abuse are inconsequential. The accused are often left defenseless while they’re forced into a corner. They must either agree to high-pressure plea deals and incriminate their co-defendants regardless of guilt, or they can choose to fight an uphill battle against the government’s colossal power, resources, and their willingness to use every dirty trick to win at any cost. This prosecution pattern is no fair deal, especially for those who are, in fact, innocent. Rather, it’s a cruel mockery of justice. To compound the tragedy, 97% of defendants are forced to take a plea deal because they lack the finances, resources, and mental fortitude to endure a trial. Only a minuscule 0.03% of defendants manage to prevail against the government at this level, a detail they used to pressure me until the very end of my trial (even after they knew their charges weren’t merited). 

Miraculously, I was one of those few who decisively won a grueling criminal trial in the case, United States of America vs. Dr. Raj Bothra, et al. Waging a counter-war against the U.S. Government demands more than just the righteousness of your case and a powerhouse legal team. Prosecutors, as I witnessed, can and will fabricate a crime out of the thinnest air. Only Divine grace and faith can save you from a terrifying sentence of twenty years in a federal penitentiary. It became clear that only a jury made up of twelve ordinary citizens is a beacon of fairness in the judicial system. The rest is part of the same biased culture or is outright corrupt.

This narrative is about more than surviving the corrupt U.S. justice system, an entity designed to protect its citizens, not act as a merciless machine that chews up and spits out the innocent along with the guilty. I did survive, which was likely not the hope of the prosecution. Yet the cost of my survival and lost time is immeasurable. There is no recompense for the injustices I endured. My once pristine reputation was shattered through all this. My family was torn apart by the stress, separation, and humiliation. And I will never be the same after those impossibly countless nights that I spent wrestling with despair in that cold, desolate unforgiving prison cell. 

Nothing in my life will ever be the same again. At eighty, I do not have enough years to rebuild all they took from me. Though, in the aftermath of this ordeal, I have taken up the challenge to rebuild my life and advocate for change, so no other helpless person must endure such inhumane injustice. I refuse to stand idle while this system continues to inflict egregious harm. These are not mere impersonal statistics or policies. They are a crushing weight that unfairly tips the scales of justice and presents a silent catastrophe that threatens to bury alive its victims as it suffocates the very promise of justice and fairness. 

The pages within illustrate that I am more than a survivor. Each word is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Despite the fear they labored to instill in me during my incarceration and trial, I refuse to be silenced by the ordeal and injustice I faced. I hope my story is a clarion call to all who will listen. This is a call for reform, a plea for humanity, and a demand for justice. I stand with every person who has been or will be in my position. Together we can help transform the U.S. justice system into one that truly upholds the rights and dignity of all its citizens. We owe this much to ourselves and future generations. I am fervently committed to using my story and voice to unveil the numerous deficiencies that exist in the U.S. Department of Justice. My meticulously detailed and factual examples shine a bright light on the dark injustices that are deeply rooted in our justice system. USA v Raj retraces the roller coaster journey of my life as an activist for just causes and career as a surgeon and interventional pain specialist, as well as my false arrest, imprisonment, and trial. While my journey was abundantly blessed with loving relationships and exemplary professional and personal successes, it was also scarred by these devastating events toward the end of my career. 

This book chronicles a period that spans over 1,300 days, where the DOJ—a bastion of federal power and authority—ruthlessly crushed an ordinary citizen in their unyielding and unsparing pursuit of victory at all costs (to me). What I learned during this time about America—the land of the free and home of the brave—was how truly brave a soul must become when one’s freedom is unjustly stolen. After fifty years in America, I was devastated to learn it was no longer the land of faith, grit, and opportunity I had journeyed to decades ago with a fresh doctorate degree and determination to chase my childhood dreams. This was not the America I had grown to love and understand. This was no longer my America or your America. It had been hijacked by radicals whose motives no longer honored the best interests of the public it was supposed to serve and protect. Who stands a chance when the pillars of justice meant to uphold individual rights crumble under the strain of prejudice and tainted bias? While less than 1% out of 100% odds were stacked against me, in the end, God and the Divine were with me on my journey to freedom. I am living proof that faith and truth can triumph over the corrupt power of prosecutors and the federal government. Though I can never get those 1,301 days back or any of the milestone moments I missed out on with loved ones, I am a free man who will never take this freedom for granted. In the aftermath of this destructive storm I survived, I am slowly sifting through the debris and piecing my blessed life back together. The light from that inner fire continues to guide me as I navigate the new legal, professional, and personal battles that rise from the ashes. 

Disclaimer: The pages that follow represent my own ideas, experiences, perspectives, and understandings. The narrative builds on my thoughts, memories, journal entries, letters, legal files, and court documents that recorded my arrest, criminal detainment, and trial proceedings. My intent is not to tell readers what to believe or to slander other individuals or entities. Rather, my hope is to show and share the facts of what happened and can happen to any citizen of our shared humanity. The names of those involved with all legal proceedings have been changed for the authors’ protection and/or the protection of certain individuals’ identities. Any use of likenesses is derived from facts borrowed from public records such as trial transcripts, court documents, and other publicly recorded media. The names of family members, friends, and major public figures remain intact.

 Dr. Raj Bothra is a surgeon, interventional pain expert, activist, author, and
survivor of one of America’s biggest false arrest and imprisonment scandals. A
native of a rural town in India, he earned medical degrees in India, England,
and the U.S. During his time as a surgeon in Detroit, he built a single-owner
private practice that became the nation’s largest interventional pain
management system (The Pain Center, USA, and Interventional Pain Center). He’s
worked with important public figures, including Indian prime ministers, U.S.
presidents, Mother Teresa, and Pope John Paul II. Indian President Narayanan
awarded him the high civilian honor of PADMA SHRI and he’s received
numerous awards in India and the U.S. for his public service.

Jenifer DeBellis, MFA, is a PhD candidate, transformational speaker, and
award-winning author of Warrior Sister, Cut Yourself Free (Library Tales
Publishing), New Wilderness (Cornerstone Press), and Blood Sisters (Main
Street Rag). She edits Pink Panther Magazine and directs Restore Your Inner
Warrior® and Detroit Writers’ Guild (501c3). She’s featured in
Psychology Today and her writing appears in CALYX, Medical Literary Messenger,
The Good Men Project, Solstice, and elsewhere.

Dr Raj Website

Jennifer DeBellis Website

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Date Published: 06-30-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

A former lawyer who once helped the FBI convict her own husband for fraud, Ann
Audrey has settled into a reclusive life, until her longtime friend Flynn
Reynolds asks for help. His elderly aunts are convinced that another nephew
was murdered by his wife, Kathryn, whose second husband is now also dead. Ann
Audrey is skeptical. Still, she owes Flynn, and there are some odd questions.
Complicating matters is Kathryn’s latest mother-in-law, a woman who rose
from an impoverished background into Atlanta’s upper circles and
recognizes a kindred spirit in her dead son’s ambitious widow. She
doesn’t believe Kathryn is a murderer—but she has heard rumors,
and she wants them stopped.

Set in Atlanta in January 2000, as the city buzzes with anticipation for the
upcoming Super Bowl, Ann Audrey searches for the black widow through the
city’s frenetic bar scene, private clubs, high-rise offices, and beloved
local institutions like Mary Mac’s Tea Room and The Varsity. With help
from Flynn and her friend Theo, along with the return of sexy detective Mike
Bristol, she pieces together a twisting story of social climbing, carefully
managed appearances, marriage, and murder. As the Super Bowl kickoff draws
near, the case reaches a climax when an ice storm shuts down Atlanta’s
roads and power, leaving secrets and murderers with nowhere to hide.

 Following her mother’s lead, Mississippi native Winnie Simpson was an
avid murder mystery reader beginning in the third grade, starting with Nancy
Drew and moving through the classics of British, American, and international
crime. Winnie studied music at Duke University, later receiving an MFA in
Music at SUNY Buffalo, where she worked as an arts administrator before
throwing it all over in order to make a decent living. After finishing law
school at Emory University, she became a partner in a large firm in Atlanta
where her practice focused mainly on securities litigation. Retiring early,
Winnie relocated to Northern Michigan where she lives in a renovated
nineteenth-century building that served as a former Michigan state asylum. For
more than a decade, she has taken writing classes and participated in writing
groups. She is fond of opera, hiking, cycling, and Duke basketball, most
seasons.

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Historical Gay Romance

Date Published: May 29, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Dona Nobis Pacem. God Grant Us Peace.

Voiceless Donnell and defrocked priest Nathan are outcasts and strangers at
the turn of the century. Despite his handicap, Donnell has made a life for
himself as a businessman and owner of a saloon. His heart goes out to those
whom life has dealt an unhappy hand. When Nathan arrives in this former
gold-rush town, horsewhipped and ill to the point of collapse, Donnell is the
only one to offer help.

Barely ordained before being accused of unnatural desires, Nathan has been
sent to travel a faux road to Damascus as penance. He did not expect to
survive the trek, and longed for the peace he might find when his body gave up
the fight.

He never expected to meet someone like Donnell. Despite his lack of voice,
Donnell is the teacher Nathan has hungered for all his life, and the lover he
never dared seek out. Triumphing over a lifetime’s worth of threatened
damnation will not be easy to overcome, but Donnell’s not giving up. The
passion they share is what both men have always craved, but never found. When
they’re discovered, standing together is the only thing that will save them
both.

 

 

EXCERPT

 

In a fit of optimism, some enterprising settler twenty-odd years ago had named
this patch of land “Shady Grove.” The name hadn’t stuck longer than the first
summer, arid heat scorching the life out of anything the daft fellow had tried
to plant, and carrying away his wife and children.

After that, or so the story went, the settler had cursed his homestead with
the new name of “Hell.”

When gold was found not far west in a puny stream, the name changed yet again
to “El Dorado.” Though that lasted no longer than the rush of miners who
picked, panned and mined away most of the precious metal.

When the gold was mostly gone and civilization caught up with the roughneck
men who’d blazed through in search of riches, there came bankers, lawyers and
doctors, along with their pretty wives and dainty daughters. Amongst
themselves, they’d formed a quaint city council, elected a mayor, nominated a
marshal, and rechristened this hole in the ground as “Nazareth.”

Those whose tongues weren’t corseted by the niceties observed in polite
society still called the former boomtown “Hell.”

As for Donnell, he called it home, and had since the day he was born, a silent
infant who’d opened his mouth to wail, but made almost no sound, not then and
rarely ever afterward. The best he could manage was a sort of scale of
breathing — a whistle, a shush, a sigh. He’d never spoken a proper word. At
least his hearing was top-notch.

Music was Donnell’s voice instead, tickled out through the ivories of the old
upright piano he’d paid a considerable sum in gold dust to have shipped from
Chicago. Within the safe haven of Treighton’s saloon, Donnell had placed that
piano facing the street, where he’d have a fine view through the mosquito
netting over the window when he played.

He could arrange Treighton’s however he wanted, no questions asked. Owner’s
rules and that owner would be him.

Music wasn’t his only skill. He was a favored son of Lady Luck, and the cards
danced to his tune. Those who thought a mute man was simple, and an easy cheat
at faro, often found themselves losing big.

He’d given up the game after winning Treighton’s, though. No sense in pushing
his luck too far.

A man who’d call himself satisfied with his lot in life, Donnell caressed the
piano keys, a jingling tune flowing smooth and sweet as quality whiskey under
his mastery of the music. He let the corner of his mouth quirk upward with dry
humor. Many were they who’d claimed the son of a whore, muteness aside, would
never make anything of his life. They’d been wrong, too.

Did they accept his good fortune with grace? Hell, no. The “proper” folks of
Nazareth scorned him still, and always would. Too good for the likes of him
and his saloon.

Thank God for sinners, eh?

* * *

A sudden clamor rose from the dusty, uneven street outside, usually quiet and
deadly dull during the morning hours while laborers and leftover miners
toiled, polite society occupied themselves with polite works, and gamblers
slept off their night’s fun. Attention captured, Donnell peered through the
mosquito netting over his window.

Soon enough, the source of the commotion came into view. Donnell raised one
eyebrow, intrigued. A tall, lean man, far too thin for his height. He was
dressed in the tattered remnants of a once-respectable shirt, now missing its
collar and cuffs, and formerly sturdy denim trousers, with no hat on his head
nor shoes on his feet nor a coat on his back. Bleached-out hair stringy from
lack of washing and long enough to be caught up in a queue hung over his face
and tangled across his eyes.

Donnell leaned forward, instantly captivated. He’d never seen the equal of
those eyes, their color distinct even at this distance. Aqua blue, the shade
of summer skies, dulled by hunger and pain, but no less remarkable.

In point of fact, were he to be cleaned up and provided with a few good
healthy meals, Donnell guessed this young man would easily steal anyone’s
heart away. Not least of all his.

Not that anyone knew about his preferences. It was safer that way. He came in
for scant questioning about his lack of female companionship, as most thought
if his tongue didn’t work then neither would his cock.

Donnell abandoned those thoughts and focused on the beautiful — yes,
beautiful — young man instead, a far more pleasant diversion. He’d no stubble
on his cheeks or chin, both badly sunburned. Young, then. Tall and gangly
enough that at a guess Donnell would have put him in his late teens, no more
than twenty, not so far Donnell’s junior.

A man could make quite a lot of himself in twenty years plus change. He could
raise himself a fine establishment like Donnell’s, or he could end up
staggering filthy and starving down a dusty, badlands street with children and
bad-tempered dogs jeering him every barefooted step of the way.

Donnell frowned when the young man staggered, swaying alarmingly before
righting himself. That didn’t seem to be clumsiness, but rather weariness.
Perhaps illness?

“Drunk,” Bettina sniffed, peering past Donnell. She might work in a saloon,
but she had no patience with men who behaved badly when they’d had too much of
the grape and grain. She didn’t scold like the holy men, no, she tore strips
off their hides and nailed them to the wall, and they loved her for it.

Barely hearing her, Donnell continued to track the man’s progress. Seeming to
ignore the rabble jeering at him, he came to a stop and stood up as straight
as he could, attempting to brush dust, mud and worse off his clothes,
smoothing them down. He dragged his hair out of his face with hands that shook
minutely and gazed up the length of the street still to go.

The quiet despair in his eyes struck a chord in Donnell’s heart, reverberating
with a sense of hollow misery. Here was a man who’d fallen as far as he could
go, with a trail of heartbreak behind him that stretched out for as many miles
as he’d walked.

Donnell sat back and drummed his fingers on his knees. Poor bastard.

Enough kind souls had helped Donnell in his day. He owed this poor fellow no
less.

 

About the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat
hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter
weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong
love of storytelling. Will’s definitely one of the quiet ones you have to
watch out for, though he — not she anymore — is a lot less quiet these days.

Will on Facebook

Will on Instagram

Will on Goodreads

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

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Children’s Fantasy Adventure, Educational Fiction / Learning
Adventure,

Date Published: February 27, 2026

Tilly, a clever and kind-hearted young badger, discovers a mossy wooden gate
hidden among vines and roots, setting her on an unexpected path: the legendary
Wisdom Trials. With her loyal companions, the Brainy Bunch, she journeys
through a series of challenges that test more than just book smarts. From
riddle gates and logic tunnels to kindness puzzles and courage quests, each
trial demands wit, empathy, and commitment.

Written in lyrical rhyme and brimming with wonder, Tilly and the Wisdom Trials
is the first book in the Critter Quest Academy Collection – a series that
blends adventure, problem-solving, and joyful learning in an underground world
of whimsical crifters. Ideal for fans of The Questioneers and The Tale of
Despereaux, this story celebrates curiosity, resilience, and the magic of a
mind set on discovery.

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About the Author

David previously developed the educational math games El Mathador and Treasure
Math, helping students build confidence through play. He is also the author of
The Star of Shanraz, a novel for teen readers. His latest work focuses on the
Prairie City Adventures and Critter Quest Academy books, beginning with Tilly
and the Wisdom Trials, the featured launch title that introduces young readers
to a whimsical underground world where questions, puzzles, and curiosity guide
the journey.

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