Archive for the ‘fiction’ Category

Ruined Wings Banner new

This is a Tag Team Event hosted by myself and Sherry.

 It’s always a pleasure to share more books by Ashley Fontainne. I’ve read many of her books and plan to read everything she writes.

For today, I’m sharing my review of Ruined Wings. I’m very excited for Ashley as this has been optioned for a movie.

After reading my review, head on over to Sherry’s blog at fundinmental and check out her review.

Enter her giveaway for another chance to win!

And Ruined Wings is free. Click on the links below the synopsis to grab the eBook.

~~~~~

Ruined Wings

by Ashley Fontainne

33334879

c8df8-add2bto2bgoodreads2bblack

Genre: Fiction

My Review

This story isn’t an easy read. The author writes a bare bones, honest and hard to take look into the painful lure and eventual fall to the call of drugs.

Callie is a rising track star. Her future is bright and she has exciting plans. But fate intervenes. And when she loses her brother and father to a car accident her world comes crashing down.

Not strong enough to handle her grief, Callie chooses drugs to numb her pain. And thus begins a long painful journey as the girl with with everything going for her slides to the rocky bottom.

Drug addiction is ugly. Loved ones become someone else. And as the drugs tighten their grip, they’re led to do despicable things to get more drugs. The love of their family and friends turns to anger and disgust.

Ruined Wings should be required reading in schools, for students and their parents. I used to look at those addicted to drugs as lost causes. Not having known them before the drugs stole their lives, I didn’t realize how quickly anyone could become hooked.

Ashley Fontainne takes you through it step by painful step. She doesn’t try to paint a pretty happy ending. I wanted to hug Callie. Tell her everything would be okay. But only Callie could save herself.

Thanks for shaking me up and opening my eyes, Ashley.

  5  Stars

~~~~~

Synopsis

“Ruined Wings is raw, real and a terrifying journey into addiction. A must read for every parent.” – Elaine Raco Chase, bestselling author.

Seventeen-year-old Callie Novak is on the cusp of changing her life as she warms up for the final heat in the Women’s 1600 meter track and field competition. While she sets a new state record, her family’s worse nightmare is just beginning.

When tragedy strikes the Novak family every reader will feel the pain of grief, the perils of drug abuse, the despair that leads to a shocking downward spiral and the strength that’s needed to overcome addiction.

Purchase Links

Amazon / B&N / iTunes / Kobo / Audible

~~~~~

Author Ashley Fontainne

 

Award-winning and International bestselling author Ashley Fontainne is an avid reader of mostly the classics. Ashley became a fan of the written word in her youth, starting with the Nancy Drew mystery series. Stories that immerse the reader deep into the human psyche and the monsters that lurk within us are her favorite reads.

Her muse for penning the Eviscerating the Snake series was The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. Ashley’s love for this book is what sparked her desire to write her debut novel, Accountable to None, the first book in the trilogy. With a modern setting to the tale, Ashley delves into just what lengths a person is willing to go when they seek personal justice for heinous acts perpetrated upon them. The second novel in the series, Zero Balance. focuses on the cost and reciprocal cycle that obtaining revenge has on the seeker. For once the cycle starts, where does it end? How far will the tendrils of revenge expand? Adjusting Journal Entries answered that question: far and wide.

Her short thriller entitled Number Seventy-Five, touches upon the sometimes dangerous world of online dating. Number Seventy-Five took home the BRONZE medal in fiction/suspense at the 2013 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards contest and is currently in production for a feature film.

Her paranormal thriller entitled The Lie, won the GOLD medal in the 2013 Illumination Book Awards for fiction/suspense and is also in production for a feature film entitled Foreseen.

Ashley’s decided to delve into the paranormal with a Southern Gothic horror/suspense novel, Growl, which released in January of 2015. The suspenseful mystery Empty Shell, released in September of 2014. Ashley will be teaming up with Lillian Hansen (Ashley calls her mom!) to pen a three-part murder mystery/suspense series entitled The Magnolia Series. The first book, Blood Ties, released the Summer of 2015.

Whispered Pain released in October of 2015 and Night Court released December 13, 2015.

Ashley also hosts The WriteStuff, a popular BlogTalk Radio show, each Friday night at 10 p.m. CST.

Blog

Author Website

Foreseen Movie Website – See the trailer

Number Seventy-Five Movie Website

       

~~~~~

giveaway photo: Giveaway Banner for 42nd giveaway.png

Ashley is giving away one Audible Copy of Ruined Wings

Entry is easy. Just leave your email address so I can contact you if you win, let me know which format you are entering for, and answer this question:

Have you ever done something you knew you  shouldn’t, but couldn’t stop yourself?

Now hop on over the Sherry’s post on fundinmental for her review and another chance to win!

Giveaway ends June 27th.

~~~~

Books by Ashley Fontainne

  26135598     

       

      

29542739 

And coming September 4th, 2017.

Blood Loss (The Magnolia Series Book 2) by [Fontainne, Ashley, Hansen, Lillian]

Click on the covers to see on Amazon.

And click on the links below to see my reviews.

Growl

The Lie

Night Court

Suicide Lake

Tainted Cure

~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE



Today R.M. Clark and Month9Books are
revealing the cover and first chapter for THE TICK TOCK MAN which releases May
2, 2017! Check out the gorgeous cover and enter to be one of the first readers
to receive a eGalley!!


A quick note from the author:

 

The Tick Tock Man is my
first foray into the world of speculative fiction. Here in New England, we are
fortunate to have many wonderful clocks around. We have clocks in church
steeples, parks, above banks and other locations. My idea for this story came from
a simple “what if”. What if there were a community of “clock
people” who kept all these great clocks running? Furthermore, what could
go wrong? Then I made something go wrong and the story “clicked.” The
Tick Tock Man takes place primarily in this fictional clock world, but the
issues, conflicts and resolutions are not unlike those in the real world.

 

 
Title: THE TICK TOCK MAN
Author: R.M. Clark
Pub. Date: May 2, 2017
Publisher: TantrumBooks
Format: Paperback, eBook
Pages: 237
Find it: Goodreads | Amazon | B&N | TBD
.
When the clocks in town stop,
thirteen-year-old CJ discovers an unusual “clock world” where most of
the citizens are clock parts, tasked with keeping the big clocks running. But
soon the seemingly peaceful world is divided between warring factions with CJ instructed
to find the only person who can help: the elusive Tick Tock Man.

With the aid of Fuzee, a partly-human
girl, he battles gear-headed extremists and razor-sharp pendulums in order to
restore order before this world of chimes, springs, and clock people dissolves
into a massive time warp, taking CJ’s quiet New England town with it.

 

Excerpt

Chapter OneSomething wasn’t right.

I’d planned on sleeping in Thanksgiving morning because, hey, it was Thanksgiving, and that meant no school and no stupid alarm to wake me up. Well, that was the plan.

At precisely eight a.m., the clock sitting a mere two feet from my head wailed.

Thunka thunka thunka thunka.

Stupid clock. That wasn’t even a real alarm sound. It was just an invented strange noise to annoy me. I checked the buttons on top. No alarm set and no radio. Maybe it was a dream? Just to be sure, I gave the clock a good whack.

All was well. Back to sleep.

Bonka bonka bonka bonka.

Now it was nine o’clock. I sat up and grabbed the clock with every intention of tossing it against the back wall. What a pleasure it would have been to see it smash into a million pieces. I win!

But, this clock was a birthday present from Uncle Artie. He’d said it was “a special clock for a special kid.” I didn’t like being called “special” because that had a different meaning at school. But it was a cool clock.

Until now. I mean, what kind of noise was that? Certainly not the alarm sound I was used to.

I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t help but wonder what crazy not-real-clock noise Uncle Artie’s “special” clock would make next. So I got out of bed.

Since it was Thanksgiving, I was not at all surprised to see my mom up and in the kitchen. The turkey was on the counter in a large pan. Her arm was halfway up the turkey’s you-know-what. Not what I wanted to see this early in the morning, thank you very much.

“Good morning,” Mom said. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” I wanted to mention the special-but-stupid clock that made strange noises at weird times, but she had grabbed another handful of stuffing and stuffed it “up there.”

“We’ll need a few guest chairs from the basement when you get a chance. Nana and Papa are coming over, of course. Plus Grandma and Grandpa Boyce. And Uncle Artie too.”

“Sure thing, Mom.” I was barely awake and she was already asking me to do math. Nobody was coming over for quite a while, so I wouldn’t need the, let’s see, two-plus-two-plus-one chairs for several hours. I had tons of time.

What better way to spend it than on the couch watching TV? It would probably be the most fun I would have all day, with both sets of grandparents coming over. It was annoying enough that they had different titles: “Nana and Papa” on the Barnes side, “Grandma and Grandpa” on the Boyce side.

Then there was Uncle Artie. He wasn’t really an uncle but that’s what we always called him. I’ve also heard him called a “distant cousin,” whatever that means. He said his job as an “importer” took him around the world to some pretty exotic places such as Vienna and Timbuktu and South America. No matter what faraway land he went to, he almost always brought us back a clock. We had wooden clocks, metal clocks, cuckoo clocks, and some that were just too odd to describe. Mom would open a package from him and say, “Hey, look. It’s a clock. Imagine that.”

Each clock came with a wonderful story, so my parents loved to get them for just that reason. Unfortunately, both of them hated having all those clocks, with their constant ticking and chiming, so we kept them stashed away in the spare room upstairs until Uncle Artie came to visit. And since he was on his way, I sat up, knowing what was coming next. In three … two … one.

“CJ! Your Uncle Artie’s coming over, so you’ll need to set the clocks out.” Mom could sure belt it out when she needed to.

I knew the drill. I went to the spare room, pulled the special box out of the closet, and lugged it down the stairs. The crescent moon clock went in the living room, replacing a family portrait, which was fine with me since I looked like a dork in that picture, anyway. There was a special cuckoo clock for the bathroom that was pretty cool. The doors on the upper level opened at the top of the hour, revealing either a boy dancer or girl dancer. I set the correct time and adjusted the weights at the end of a long chain to keep the gears going. Six clocks later, I had completed the task, finishing it off in Dad’s basement shop with a clock made from a circular saw blade.

Uncle Artie’s favorite saying was, “You can never have too many clocks.” On this Thanksgiving Day, it was certainly true, even though I was sure my parents would disagree. Not me. Although I never paid a lot of attention to the clocks, I felt something strange as I took each one from the box and hung it in its rightful spot. The crescent moon clock had two huge eyes, one on the crescent side and the other on the orange side that completed the circle. The eyes were painted on but I swear they followed me as I moved around the room.

I double-checked the time on the cuckoo clock in the bathroom and admired the details in it. The entire clock was a house from a German village, with people dressed in lederhosen on the lower level. Lucky for me it was the top of the hour and the clock chimed, revealing the bird from a door at the top and children dancing in the two small doors just below it. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? What awesome detail!

I completed the clock replacement task, storing the non-clock items in the same box and returning it to the spare bedroom. That practically wore me out, so it was back to the couch. The smell from the great stuff Mom was cooking drifted into the room, reminding me I hadn’t eaten yet.

“I made you some scrambled eggs.” Mom smiled as I entered the kitchen.

“Thanks. I’m starving.”

She held out a plate then pulled it back, still smiling. “Just as soon as you bring up the chairs from the basement.”

This wasn’t fair, but it was the second time she’d asked. The third time would not be as charmed. On my way to the basement, I realized my early morning math was wrong. There were four chairs already in the dining room, so I only needed four more. I could easily get them all in one trip.

I passed Dad’s shop right at 10:30 and the heard the blade clock begin to make noise. I turned on the shop light to get a good look and, sure enough, the blade was slowly turning. Clockwise, not surprisingly. Even stranger was that the numbers never moved as the blade turned. A few seconds later, it stopped and went back to normal. Another clock I had never paid much attention to was suddenly freaking out. I hurried back upstairs with two chairs on each arm.

I got my scrambled eggs, finally.

***

At 11:00, things got even weirder. Dad was up by now, sitting in front of his computer, but that wasn’t the weird part. When the hour struck, the crescent moon clock made a strange clicking noise, and those crazy eyes began to wink at me. The painted-on lips between the four and eight went from a Mona Lisa smile to a full-blown grin. I wanted to say something to Mom or Dad, but who would believe me? I went into the bathroom, and the boy and girl dancers in the German village twirled next to each other while the bird stayed home. This was quickly moving into “bizarre” territory. It didn’t help when my watch—another gift from Uncle Artie—started chiming a sound I had never heard before. I took it off and stuffed it in my pocket. Problem solved.

***

I played video games in the back room, trying my best not to look at or listen to any of the suddenly crazy clocks in the house. It was working too, as I finished off another level of Mortal Warfare IV.

“CJ,” my mom called. “Please set the table.”

“Okay. Just one more level.” I sat up as the battle intensified.

“Now would be better. They’ll be here in less than an hour to watch the football game.”

“I’m on it.” I made it past the gatekeeper to complete the level, which allowed me to save my spot in the game.

I grabbed plates and set them out on the table. I took one plate and placed it on the TV tray next to the window. That’s where I would sit. The rule was: adults at the big table and kids somewhere else. Sometimes it was a card table when my cousins showed up. Since I was the only kid this year, I would have to settle for a TV tray.

My mom’s cell phone rang, and she talked with the phone squeezed against her shoulder as she mixed something in a large bowl. She stopped mid-mix and put the bowl down. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Her voice was all serious. She walked out of the room before I could hear any more of it.

I returned to my table-setting duties, grabbing forks, knives, and napkins. The smell of turkey and all the fixings hit me hard as I placed the silverware around the table. Maybe all this work would be worth it. I took another whiff. Maybe.

Mom returned to the kitchen, put the phone down, and stopped stirring.

“Mom, you okay?”

She looked up at me with moist eyes. “Uncle Artie is in the hospital and can’t make it for Thanksgiving. He hasn’t missed one since your dad and I have been married.” She dabbed her eyes with her apron. “Fortunately, it’s nothing serious and my parents are heading there right now, so they can’t make it until the weekend. I’d better go tell your father. Looks like we’ll only need five plates at the table.”

No Nana and Papa Barnes? No Uncle Artie? I truly hoped Uncle Artie was okay, but this was my big chance to sit at the head of the table, something I’ve always wanted to do. The head chair was bigger and had arms, and it felt like a throne. Uncle Artie always got the honors while I was stuck with the TV tray under the window.

I followed Mom out to the garage where Dad was cleaning out the van, getting it ready for our traditional late-afternoon drive. Dad didn’t seem too bummed to hear the news about Uncle Artie or his in-laws. He barely looked up as he polished the dashboard. “Yeah, well, sorry to hear about Uncle Artie. He’s never down for very long.”

The time was right to pounce. “Mom? Dad?”

Dad turned toward me and nearly bumped his head on the visor. “Yes?”

“I wish Uncle Artie was coming today, I really do.” I tried my best to act like I was crying. It must have worked because I felt my throat tightening. “His are some tough shoes to fill, but I bet he’d want me to sit in his spot at the head of table. After all, he gave me this watch for my birthday last year.” I pulled it out of my pocket to show them. “And we have the same middle name and everything.” I, Carlton James Boyce, was merely guessing at his middle name, hoping neither of my parents knew the truth. “Please? I think I’ve earned it.”

Neither of them thought about it for too long. “It’s all yours, kid,” Dad said as he leaned on the roof of the van.

“Remember your manners at the table,” Mom said. “Uncle Artie would want it that way.”

Manners? Oh, please. Uncle Artie smoked a lot, drank a lot, and sometimes swore a lot. In spite of all that, he was my favorite relative. Over the years, besides the watches and clocks, he had given me several toy cars, baseball cards, stuffed animals, and even a five-dollar bill. These gifts were always “our little secret.” Plus, he told the greatest stories.

Grandma and Grandpa Boyce arrived a little later, and each gave me a quick hug. It’s a terrible thing to say, and I know I’m supposed to love my grandparents without question, but Mom’s parents—the “good ones” who actually liked me—weren’t coming. If Mom and Dad ever found out I felt that way, I’d be grounded for a month—Dad’s typical punishment.

Dad and Grandpa went to the living room to watch the game while the women got the food prepared. I tried to help, but I mostly got in the way.

Everything was ready just before two o’clock, and I grabbed the spot at the head of the table, with Grandma and Grandpa to my right and Mom and Dad to my left. Everyone sat down except Grandpa. He placed his hands on the table and leaned toward my dad.

“I guess this doesn’t rate as a special occasion, eh, George?”

“How’s that, Pop?” Dad said.

“The Hoffhalder. It’s a Thanksgiving tradition, isn’t it?”

“You bet it is.”

The Hoffhalder was a large mantle clock that sat in the corner of the dining room on what mom called the buffet. The Hoffhalder had been in the family for decades, and Dad would only wind it on special occasions. Uncle Artie always had the honors when he came over.

“I’ll do it, Dad,” I said.

“Can he handle it?” asked Grandpa. “He’s just a child.”

I’m right here! I thought. And I’m not a child anymore. I’m thirteen.

“Sure he can,” Grandma said. “Now, make Uncle Artie proud.” She gave me her patented don’t-screw-it-up look.

“CJ, just be careful, okay?” Dad said.

“Sure thing.” I had seen it wound a thousand times. I took the key from the drawer of the small desk nearby, carefully opened the glass in front, and put the key in the keyhole near the number four. There was another near the number eight. I knew it wound clockwise on the right and counterclockwise on the left.

“Whatever you do, don’t overwind it,” Grandpa said. He gave anyone who ever got near the clock got the same warning.

I started winding. One turn. Two turns. Then it started to get tight, so I stopped. I placed the key in the left hole and began to turn in the other direction with my left hand. One turn. Two turns. It wasn’t getting any tighter. Three turns. That was odd; it usually tightened up by now, but I figured it had just been a while. Four turns and still not tight. I switched to my right hand to finish it up. Five turns. Surely it would start to get tight. Then I heard a faint click, and the key wouldn’t move anymore. Uh-oh.

“Everything all right?” Dad asked.

I pulled the key out and put it back in the drawer. “Everything’s great.” I looked at my watch, and then spun the Hoffhalder’s minute hand around until the time was five minutes until two. After closing the glass, I gently moved the large pendulum at the bottom, and the Hoffhalder began to tick. Whew! All was well.

When the Hoffhalder chimed, it made a beautiful sound. In fact, it seemed to be the only clock sound my family liked. It was a perfect combination of bells and gears and springs working in harmony. We now had three minutes until it would chime on the hour, and everyone at the table waited patiently for the moment to arrive. As the last thirty seconds ticked off, Grandpa nudged Grandma. “Here it comes,” he said in a low voice.

The Hoffhalder struck two and began to chime. Once. Then another.

But the second chime lingered way too long and the pendulum began to swing wildly, knocking into the side walls. The chime sound turned into a grinding noise, and the pendulum stopped.

“CJ!” Dad yelled. “What have you done to my clock?”

“He overwound it,” Grandpa said while making a turning motion with hand.

“Clearly,” said Grandma. “And I’ll bet Uncle Artie is rolling over in his grave as we speak.”

“Artie’s not dead,” Mom said. “Just in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, everyone,” I said. “I didn’t mean to. Honest. It was an accident.”

“You’re grounded,” Dad said.

“For how long?” I asked.

“A month.”

“A month? Mom?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” she said.

I looked around the table, and three sets of eyes were on me. Mom reached out and touched my hand. At least someone was on my side.

“That clock’s been in the family for four generations,” Grandpa said. “Built by the finest clockmaker in Germany.”

“And smuggled out on a steamer ship during World War I,” Grandma added. “Truly one of a kind. Irreplaceable.”

I knew the details by heart, and it just made matters worse. “I’ll get it fixed, okay? I have some money saved up.”

“Sounds like you snapped the mainspring,” Grandpa said, adding a “break in half” motion with his hands.

Grandma leaned over and got as close to me as she could. “It’ll never be the same.”

“A month,” Dad said. He put a finger in my face to make his point. “For breaking my clock.”

He continued to glare at me as Mom began to serve the turkey. We ate in near silence.

I had ruined Thanksgiving.

.

.

 
R. M. Clark is a computer scientist for
the Dept. of Navy by day and children’s book writer by night. He lives in
Massachusetts with his wife and two sons.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

.

 
3 winners will receive an eGalley of THE
TICK TOCK MAN. International.
.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

horseshoe photo: Horseshoe horseshoe.jpg

one-of-windsor-banner-3

Title: One of Windsor: The Untold Story of America’s First Witch Hanging
Author:  Beth M. Caruso
Publisher: Ladyslipper Press
Pages: 358
Genre:  Historical Fiction

c8df8-add2bto2bgoodreads2bblack

My Review

It’s not something we think about in modern times. I can’t imagine being a woman back in the 1600s. There are few prospects beyond marriage. When Alice has no family left in England and no place to go, she takes a position with a wealthy family traveling to North America. They settle in Massachusetts Bay, and Alice hopes to reconnect with some family members there.

As Alice adjusts to her new country, she faces many obstacles. And it’s not the best time to be viewed as different or gifted. The witch scare is on and no one is safe from the persecution of the Puritans.

I fear for Alice, and even though I know how the story has to end, I want her to be safe. To be happy. She’s a gentle woman, loving, bright, and passionate about life.

You can tell the author did extensive research about the peoples and customs of these times. I felt like I’d dipped my toes into the past. The descriptive writing showed me this story. I was on the ship.  I marveled at the new wilderness, and walked the streets. And I read the minds of the people. The paranoid thinking of the Puritans. Their righteous wrath.

It was a scary time. One you may find hard to believe. But the hanging of witches did occur.  And this is Alice’s story. The story of the first witch hanging.

4 Stars

~~~~~

Synopsis

Alice, a young woman prone to intuitive insights and loyalty to the only family she has ever known, leaves England for the rigid colony of the Massachusetts Bay in 1635 in hopes of reuniting with them again. Finally settling in Windsor, Connecticut, she encounters the rich American wilderness and its inhabitants, her own healing abilities, and the blinding fears of Puritan leaders which collide and set the stage for America’s first witch hanging, her own, on May 26, 1647.

This event and Alice’s ties to her beloved family are catalysts that influence Connecticut’s Governor John Winthrop Jr. to halt witchcraft hangings in much later years. Paradoxically, these same ties and the memory of the incidents that led to her accusation become a secret and destructive force behind Cotton Mather’s written commentary on the Salem witch trials of 1692, provoking further witchcraft hysteria in Massachusetts forty-five years after her death.

The author uses extensive historical research combined with literary inventions, to bring forth a shocking and passionate narrative theory explaining this tragic and important episode in American history.

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

~~~~~

Enjoy the excerpt

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS BAY COLONY, 1692

 

The elderly reverend knew it was crucial to stop Satan. As if in unison with the Dark Lord’s latest antics, tremendous bolts of lightning and deafening thunder heralded the ensuing rainstorm of that early autumn day in Boston. The reverend’s dedicated son would have preferred that he stay home by a fire and rest. Still feisty in his later years of life, he refused. He was fervently determined to discuss pertinent matters at hand concerning the witchcraft calamities in Salem and surrounding towns. As a minister, albeit a retired one, he felt responsible for guiding younger ministers, such as Cotton Mather, to make their congregations understand the menacing threats of witchcraft.

The aged minister was someone who had personally suffered through a demonic incursion in Windsor, a river town of the Connecticut Colony, back in 1647. He was fully cognizant of its evil impacts. Satan had infiltrated Windsor through a consort and witch whom he knew all too well. The Great Demon had been stealthy in his trickery. But this time, the respected pastor hoped to arrest the Devil’s mischief before the same level of destruction and harm could occur. Accordingly, he was there to offer his assistance to Cotton Mather in dealing with witchcraft presently taking hold in Massachusetts Bay towns and villages. The young minister welcomed him into his home.

 “Good day, dear Reverend. You must come in quickly out of the rain and take comfort by the hearth. I will have my servants bring you my finest cider and freshly baked, delicious cakes to eat. I have so much to share with you. By your experience, you have been the inspiration I have needed to start the work that we were speaking of the other week,” spoke Cotton Mather.

“Thank you, Cotton. It will warm my body as well as my heart to sit by the fire and hear of the inspirations that took hold of your soul. I hope it helped you to do the honorable task of warning our people of the great wrath of Satan,” replied the elderly reverend.

With that pronouncement, the old reverend took off his soggy cloak and sat down at a table next to the hearth. He paused and grew distinctly somber before continuing.

“Satan must not be allowed to advance further into our New England wilderness, for we have painstakingly worked at taming it over the years. Yet our young people lapse into disobedience of the commandments of Jesus Christ. Our current admonishment by the Lord through the events in Salem and b yond act to bring us back to the righteous path,” explained the aged pastor as the rain poured down.

He looked wide-eyed and serious at Cotton.

Cotton Mather nodded at the old reverend in agreement and replied, “You see, honored Reverend, by your histories of the very earliest acts of war first waged upon these colonies by Lucifer, I have been able to put the current difficulties in Salem into a broader view of understanding for our present government. I hope it will aid those justices that would weigh their opinions upon such cases of bewitchments. It is also for the benefit of younger generations. I know you prefer not to be mentioned by name, but hear what it is that I have reiterated concerning those times,” he implored.

Cotton quickly pulled out a satchel full of papers written upon with a righteous and eloquent hand and requested, “Please tell me what you think, Reverend. This is from the introduction of my commentary. These words were taken directly from our lengthy conversations of what is transpiring now at Salem and in our congregations in relation to the Devil and his armies’ frustration of

defeat in Connecticut so many years ago. I am naming this commentary Wonders of the Invisible World.”

Wonders of the Invisible World,” nodded the old reverend, speaking loudly over the storm.

A servant came in and poured warm cider for the two ministers. At being interrupted, the elderly pastor pursed his lips, staying silent, but met Cotton’s eyes with a secret understanding. They waited until the servant left before continuing their discussion.

Cotton continued, “This is part of the Introduction, Enchantments Encountered”.

He read, “We have been advised by Credible Christians still alive, that a Malefactor accused of Witchcraft as well as Murder, and executed in this place, more than Forty years ago, did then give Notice of An Horrible PLOT against the country by WITCHCRAFT, and a foundation of Witchcraft then laid, which if it were not seasonably discovered, would probably Blow up and pull down all the Churches in the Country.”

“ Yes. Yes!” agreed the agitated old minister, and added, “ The young people need to know how, if we had not ferreted out the witch that spawned all others on the shores of the Great Connecticut, all of our churches in the colonies would have failed indeed. Nothing would have pleased Satan and his legions more than to see those intent on building a godly and pure Utopian state in this wilderness beaten down and forced by evil to return to England. We, the people of Windsor, agonized much in bringing to light of day the bewitchments brought upon us by a naughty and wayward woman. She who made a pact with the Devil allowed him to nearly destroy us. By the Grace of God he did not, thanks to the watchful vigilance of God’s dedicated and steadfast servants!” he howled with the tempest.

The aged pastor continued, enraged, “No one likes to speak her name. She deserves no recognition for her defamation of this country by unleashing devils that would dare claim this corner of the earth for their own in an affront to the Lord Jesus Christ. By her hand, a

great pestilence of disease infiltrated the daily life of the fledgling colony of Connecticut, especially in the town of Windsor. We had settled into our homes only about twelve years when the Devil was over- come with venomous jealousy that we had claimed formerly heathen territory and tamed wilderness for our Lord Jesus. Satan saw a prime opportunity to permeate and upset our small community through the wickedness and unfaithfulness of that woman,” he spoke as the sky rumbled.

The old reverend took a sip of cider, wetting his dry lips.

“Such was the power that Satan infused her with that a great many people died, including many young children, for the Devil has no conscience and no compassion. Upon her death, she did swear in a fit of lies that she was innocent. She cursed those whose testimonies and swift actions led her to the hangman’s noose. The good Reverend Thomas Hooker was presiding at the First Church in Windsor for the Reverend John Wareham during the time of her bewitchments,” recounted the old cleric.

He clenched his fists as he took a deep breath.

“He helped to expose her and was touched by her wickedness in such a way that he died less than one month later of the same dreaded disease that she helped to proliferate and use to kill other devout soldiers of Christ,” the old reverend said.

Cotton Mather spoke again intensely, “Yes, I understand, Reverend. I pref- ace the first reading I recited just now with this…The New Englanders are a People of God settled in those, which were once the Devil’s Territories; and it may easily be supposed that the Devil was exceedingly disturbed, when he perceived such a People here accomplishing the Promise of old made unto our Blessed Jesus, that He should have the Utmost parts of the Earth for his Possession.

Cotton continued, “I believe that never were more Satanical Devices used for the Unsettling of any People under the Sun, than what have been employed for the Extirpation of the Vine which God has here Planted, Casting out the Heathen, and preparing a Room before it, and causing it to take deep Root, and fill the Land, so that it sent its Boughs unto the Atlantic Sea Eastward, and its Branches unto the Connecticut River westward, and the Hills were covered with the shadow thereof. But in all those attempts of Hell, have hitherto been Abortive and Having obtained Help from God, we continue to this Day. Where fore the Devil is now making one Attempt more difficult, more Surprising, more snarled with unintelligible circumstances than any we have hitherto encountered.

The senior cleric nodded his head approvingly. Their conversation contin-ued for the better part of two hours. The time was interspersed with prayers

as well, imploring the Almighty Father to empower them in their fight against the Prince of Darkness. Cider was refilled several times. They discussed the importance of weeding out all of Satan’s imps and witches in Salem and other nearby villages and towns so that New England could be as pure again as that first generation of godly wayfarers who led the ultimate religious Utopian experiment into the wilderness.

When the conversation eased, the thoughtful and grave old minister stared into the fire. He wondered if she were burning in hellfires in that very moment. And what of the souls of the family who had forever fractured in their defense or blame of her, the first colonial witch? He was becoming quite old now. Soon, he hoped to be called to God’s kingdom. Until that time, he would continue to be of service to the younger generations of ministers trying to guide their lost flocks away from Satan.

Abruptly, there was a knock on the door that jerked the ministers from their pious imaginings. It was the elderly reverend’s son. He had come to retrieve his father. He paid his respects to the Reverend Cotton Mather and then gently guided his father out into the streets of Boston, newly drenched from the rain. The elderly pastor turned around and shouted to Reverend Mather.

“Please feel free to call for my assistance again. For an old man such as I delights in nothing more than making his last acts upon this earth ones that are dedicated to bringing God’s people closer to Him and away from the wretches of the Devil. I shall be honored to continue to help you with your mission,” offered the old cleric.

“Thank you, honorable Reverend,” answered Cotton with a slight bow.

~~~~~

Author Beth M. Caruso

beth-m-caruso

Beth M. Caruso grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio and spent her childhood writing puppet shows and witches’ cookbooks. She became interested in French Literature and Hispanic Studies, receiving a Bachelor of Arts from the University of Cincinnati. She later obtained Masters degrees in Nursing and Public Health.

Working as a Peace Corps volunteer in Thailand, she helped to improve the public health of local Karen hill tribes. She also had the privilege to care for hundreds of babies and their mothers as a labor and delivery nurse.

Largely influenced by an apprenticeship with herbalist and wildcrafter, Will Endres, in North Carolina, she surrounds herself with plants through gardening and native species conservation.

Her latest passion is to discover and convey important stories of women in American history. One of Windsor is her debut novel. She lives in New England with her awesome husband, amazing children, loyal puppy, and cuddly cats.

WEBSITE | FACEBOOK

~~~~~

giveaway photo: Giveaway Banner for 42nd giveaway.png

  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive both books
  • This giveaway ends midnight November 30.
  • Winner will be contacted via email on December 1.
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

horseshoe photo: Horseshoe horseshoe.jpg

Save The Last Dance banner
.

We’re happy to host Eva Ungar Grudin and Eric Joseph’s SAVE THE LAST DANCE Virtual Book Tour today!  Please leave a comment or question to let them know you stopped by!

Title: Save The Last Dance
Author: Eric Joseph & Eva Ungar
Publisher: Hargrove Press
Pages: 360
Genre: Literary Fiction
.
goodreads-badge-add-plus
.
My Review
.
I’m always drawn to stories about second chances at love. This one sounded particularly fascinating as the whole rekindled romance is told through emails.
At first I got a little confused as the emails bounced between several different characters. But once I got into the swing of things, it flowed right along.
Adam and Sarah are no spring chickens anymore. They’re also not free to explore their burgeoning feelings towards each other. But that saying, “The heart wants what the heart wants,” rings loudly through these pages.
I’m not one for supporting taboo relationships. It’s always been my feeling that you should nip those feelings in the bud before they do harm. Reading Adam’s and Sarah’s text messages and emails allowed me to see how they struggled with it and their turmoil over hurting others they cared about.
An engaging story that brought back memories of my first love and had me wondering, what if. If you do read this book, be sure to set aside plenty of time to finish it. You’ll not want to stop until you found out how it ends.
.
4 Stars
.
~~~~~
A tale of the power and peril of first love rediscovered.
           
Adam Wolf and Sarah Ross were teenage sweethearts who grew up in Cleveland Heights, Ohio in the late 50’s and early 60’s. They set a wedding date when they turned fifteen. The day came and went. For most of their lives the two were out of contact.
With their 50th high school reunion approaching, Adam and Sarah reconnect. Email exchanges – after the first tentative “hi”, then a deluge- five, ten- by the end of the week twenty emails a day. Soon Sarah admits, “All my life I’ve been looking for someone who loves me as much as you did”.
Written entirely in email and texts, Save the Last Dance allows the reader to eavesdrop on Sarah and Adam’s correspondence as their love reignites. It also permits the reader to witness the reactions of significant others, whose hum-drum lives are abruptly jolted by the sudden intrusion of long-dormant passion. Can Sarah and Adam’s rekindled love withstand the pummeling they’re in for?
.
For More Information
Book Excerpt
From: Adam Wolf
To: Paul Bishop
October 12, 2014 4:54 pm
Subject: Finally saw Sarah, virtually
Oh Paul — “L’avventura” continues. No pauses for
breath or thought. Since the last email, this thing with Sarah has detonated.
We are now writing each other all day, every day, sometimes at night, on the
way to work, at work, lunch, at intersections, on the back porch. I spend my
days longing for her messages and panic when an hour goes by without. No more
tentative phrases and innuendo. No more stuff about vague ambiguous longing.
It’s full blown, Paul. Jesus H — it’s sweet passion and sexy -particularly
exciting because we never had the chance in our first go-round way back when.
The day came. We decided it was the right time to
finally see each other — to Skype. I was in Cleveland,
alone. Sarah picked a time when I would call. I brought three changes of
clothes and tried each of them on before we Skyped — stood back from the mirror
and rejected them all. I finally settled on a button-down light blue shirt with
one of those newfangled small-ish collars, and a dark blue crew neck. (I
remembered that Sarah doesn’t like V-necks.) The pants, Izod chinos with the
pleated front and room to grow. I was now prepared with my best Belmondo charm
to woo Sarah into bed.
It wasn’t like that, though. I don’t know what it was, Paul. Maybe it was modesty,
perhaps fear about what we must look like now to people who last saw us when we
were young. The mask of age. Anyway, whatever it was, when the time came we
both sat in the shadows in our respective rooms and just peered at the camera.
First there was giggling over nothing. Eventually, I decided to thrust my face
forward into the light, regardless of the consequences. Sarah leaned forward
herself for a moment, her hand over her face, just briefly let her eyes show
and stared at me nervously. Later she said she thought me so handsome still. I
told her I would recognize those beautiful baby blues anywhere, if only she
would let me see them clearly.
I couldn’t really see her face. The light was arranged so only a silhouette was
visible. For a while she resembled someone being interviewed in the witness
protection program. I expected her voice to sound shrill and electronic. “I
foist met Vinnie da Butcher Bugliosi in 1946 at a pizza parlor in Passaic.
He showed me a good time. His last words to me were ‘keep your mouth shut’.”
As for the rest of her, I conjured up the worst — telling myself I will love her
no matter what. I had visions of Sarah Ross now — cauliflower ears and 7 teeth,
four of which dangled precipitously. I feared her neck would show signs of some
old rope burns from 10 years ago, when she tried to hang herself in the mental
ward.     
When Sarah finally spoke, her voice was soft. Softer than I remembered, sweet, more
confident, deeper. At first she spoke out of the darkness. She said, “It’s you.
It’s really you.” The conversation deteriorated from there. And I said, “It’s
you, really you,” but I wasn’t sure. Except for the voice it could have been
Golda Meier there, for all I knew.When she finally leaned into
the light, I must have lost my breath. I saw her — and despite the few
wrinkles, the face more set in place, she was immediately my girl, her smile
now even sweeter. Her gestures were more refined and confident. She was dressed
elegantly for me — a silky salmon top and a paisley shawl. The years dissolved,
and the fears about age were gone. My Sarah and she beamed at me.    We talked softly, nothing sexually charged about it, just soft remembrance. We imagined that we were back in her sunroom,
with the low red love seat — tamely making out — her hand caressing my belly
but- ton, just under the belt — how we slept together at 15, quite literally,
in that hot room, napping together in the heat — or about her head on my lap
when we watched The Twilight Zone Friday nights — or the path we took
through Cain Park when I carried home her books after school — or the people we
routinely met along my paper route.    At some point, Paul, we stopped talking and simultaneously touched our fingers to our lips and reached toward the screen.

 

.
About the Authors
.

 

Eric Joseph and Eva Ungar (Grudin) were teenage sweethearts in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, who set a wedding date
when they turned 15. The last time they saw each other they were 21 years old.
Three years ago they reunited, around the time of the 50th high school reunion.
Although their book is a work of fiction, it’s about a couple like them, who
fall in love again, almost instantly, via email.
Eric is in public health, a consultant/educator at hospitals and
clinics, concentrating his career on Native American health services across the
country. Eva is an art historian who taught at
Williams College in Massachusetts for 40+ years. She
specialized in African and African-American art; the history of European
painting: also Holocaust Studies – memorials and museums; In addition, she has
performed in and written Sounding to A,
a multi-media work about inheriting the Holocaust. It premiered at the Ko Festival
of Performance in 2004.
Learn more about Eva and Eric and their history together by visiting hargrovepress.com
– At the website you’ll find memories about their time together in the late
50s, early 60s, as well as interviews from today.
Their latest book is the literary fiction, Save The Last Dance.
.
Fore More Information

 

http://www.pumpupyourbook.com

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

For a list of my reviews go HERE

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky kitty below!

halloween jack in the box photo: black cat in a box toy cat-ina-box.gif

 

 

Cyberstalker TB

cyberstalker  Front Cover

Published by Warped Tomato Publishing

1771e-addtogoodreadsblack

****

My Review

I think I was on edge before I even started reading Cyberstalker. The title says it all.

 It’s been plastered all over the news. Countless movies have been made about it. Predators prowl the internet, preying on the innocent, the young. Nothing is private.

But you have to remember this is a young girl, just entering highschool. Didn’t we all think we were invincible, we were going to live forever, nothing bad would happen to us?

That’s what Lilly thinks even though it niggles at the back of her mind when she friends a young guy on MyWorld, a site similar to Facebook. She hesitates but then thinks why not.

Ian’s insidious. His stalking is subtle in the beginning, luring her in. But then it escalates. Lilly feels like she’s being watched, followed, threatened. As much as she wants a boyfriend, she’s beginning to realize she should’ve listened to her inner voice.

This is every parents worse nightmare. You can’t watch what your child is doing every minute of the day. You have to give them room, teach them about the dangers, and trust them.

While this story is fiction, it could and does happen. That’s why I had chills while reading it and was almost afraid to keep going. I was worried about how bad it would get.

I’d recommend this to all ages. Told from Lilly’s point of view, you read her thoughts, understand her vulnerabilities and actions. Younger readers and siblings, along with parents, could learn a lot from this.

4 Stars

***

A gripping YA novel for the Facebook generation.

“I love you.”

Lilly’s heart misses a beat when these words appear on her screen. Okay, she’d love to have a boyfriend, and when Ian sends her a friendship request, she eagerly accepts. He just looks so gorgeous in the pictures. But when she’s about to meet him in person, things take a dramatic turn. Who is Ian really? And how far will he go to get what he wants?

 

3 Rules Against Cyberstalking:

1. Don’t accept friendship requests from people you’ve never met.

2. Don’t look at their photos.

3. Don’t fall in love.

 

PRAISE for “Cyberstalker”:

“Gripping and insidiously convincing, CYBERSTALKER will simultaneously thrill and appall readers, who may start to wonder who might really be on the other end of every Internet conversation.” MG Harris, international best-selling author of “The Joshua Files”

Read Chapter One here

Watch the trailer

 cyberstalker Excerpt jpg****

About Author Jens Hildebrand

 cyberstalker author

I’ve always read a lot and started writing when I was ten. Reading and writing have always helped me in my life, and I need both the same way that I need air to breathe. During my time at school I wrote a Sherlock Holmes novel, one horror and two adventure novels, and lots of short stories. My inspirations were Jules Verne, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Stephen King and Ray Bradbury – quite a weird mixture, I know. 
My great mentor was my granddad, who was hilariously funny and inspiring. He read all my stuff and was happy for me, and he also found out that in the early 19th century one of our ancestors, Wilhelm Zahn, produced amazing books about the ancient murals in Pompeii and was friends with Goethe. This provided even more inspiration, as did all those late-night films I watched when I was home alone: mostly old B-monster-movies by Jack Arnold (“Tarantula”, “Creature from the Black Lagoon”), “The Thing from Another World”, and John Carpenter’s “The Fog”.
Our old house always creaked and cracked, and that didn’t help. Well, it sure got my imagination going…

Later, while studying at uni I started producing computer software, for example the first language
learning software on CD, and guidebooks for teachers about the new media, like the first didactical treatment of teaching film analysis.

On my way to school one morning I came up with the idea for “Granny Gertrude”, which then led to the stories about Tom and “TEAM 002″. I’ve always been a great fan of James Bond, and it’s kind of funny that there even is a Bond story titled “The Hildebrand-Rarity”, which was used as a source for the Bond film “Licence to kill” (1989). So it’s only logical for Tom, the hero of my secret agent thrillers, to admire James Bond. The idea for “Cyberstalker” came about during my work as leader of our team for crisis intervention. It’s more grounded in reality than you would like to know.

I love England, first and foremost our English friends and Dartmoor, where Sherlock Holmes chased the “Hound of the  Baskervilles”. The small village of Postbridge has become our second home, and we love exploring the area and sitting round the fireplace, chatting with friends.

At our school, I currently hold the post of Deputy Headmaster. I also coordinate our crisis & counseling team. We endeavour to help our pupils, mostly to make them resilient against bullying, cyberbullying, cyberstalking etc. What’s most important job is creating a good atmosphere at school. We also work within a great network of partners such as other schools and counseling centres.

Author Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter

 cyberstalker full cover

 

****

giveaway photo: Giveaway Banner for 42nd giveaway.png

The overall tour giveaway will be a movie script, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, with authenticated autographs.

cyberstalker giveaway manuscript

Click on the rafflecopter below to enter.

Raffle button

Email fictionaddiction.booktours@gmail.com

Fiction Addiction Book Tours

****

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

horseshoe photo: Horseshoe horseshoe.jpg

dogschwitz banner

How could I resist Dogschwitz.

Just look at that face. Aaww!

I love books where the animal features heavily in the storyline.

I’m going to have fun reading about Rory.

I’m now an Animal Warrior!

Do you like stories with animals as characters?

Come meet Rory.

While you’re here, remember to enter the giveaway!

dogschwitz cover

1771e-addtogoodreadsblack

Synopsis

When a basset hound named Rory survives the animal control gas chamber and becomes an internet celebrity, he attracts the attention of Anita, a just-dumped-by-her-boyfriend, luckless burger flipper, who travels cross country to adopt him.
Spurred by an online group called Animal Warriors, Anita then embarks on a mission to improve animal rights. Along the way, Rory brings Anita true love and financial success through a chance encounter with America’s 1%, proving her spontaneous rescue of Rory was the best decision of her life.

christmas basset hounds photo: Merry Christmas Basset Hounds! MerryChristmasBassetHounds.jpg

~~~

Kim Cano

.

dogschwitz author

.

Kim Cano is the author of For Animal Lovers, a short story collection for kids ages 9 to 12. It also appeals to adult readers who are young at heart. 10% of the sale price is donated to the ASPCA® to help homeless pets. A Widow Redefined is Kim’s debut novel. It’s a story of a young woman’s journey through grief and the transformational power of friendship. Kim’s most recent book is Dogschwitz. A novellete set in the future that explores the terrible time in American history when millions of unwanted dogs and cats were euthanized each year. Kim lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband and cat.

~~~

dogschwitz giveaway pic

Giveaway

Kindle Copy of Dogschwitz by Kim Cano

$10 Amazon Gift Card

Click on the rafflecopter below to enter.

Raffle button

~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For all of my giveaways click on the cutie below.

christmas dogs photo: dogs dog-christmas.jpg

WoundedBanner

Thanks so much to gcrpromotions for letting me be a host for Jasinda Wilder’s Tour of Wounded.

Love and War!

Wounded

goodreads-badge-add-plus

AMAZON

Blurb:

War has taken everything from me. My family. My home. My innocence. In a country blasted by war and wracked by economic hardship, a young orphan girl like me has very few options when it comes to survival. Thus, I do what I must to live, to eat, and I try very hard to not consider the cost to my soul. My heart is empty, and my existence brutal. 

The one impossibility in my life is love.

And then I meet HIM.

War is hell. It takes a chunk out of a man’s very soul to do the kinds of things war demands of you. You live with fear, you live with guilt, and you live with nightmares. If you haven’t been through it, there’s no understanding it. War leaves no room for love, no room for tenderness or softness. You gotta be hard, closed off, and ready to fight every moment of every day. Lose focus for a split second, and you’re dead.

Now the only thing that can save me is HER.

 My review

I wasn’t sure about this book. The location it takes place in and the events ongoing there now touch very close to home.

I’m glad I read it. Once I started, I quickly became lost in the stories of Rania and Hunter and this book became what it was intended. A wonderful work of fiction.

She’s never had much and now she has nothing. Rania is alone and starving. Her little brother ran away to join the soldiers and kill Americans. Her home is nothing but rubble. There is no work. She has to stoop to the age old profession in order to have money for food and basic needs. May Allah forgive her.

Hunter has nobody to go home to and nothing to lose. The Marine Corps has been his life for so long, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself back home. He’s beginning to burn out and can no longer see the point in all of this. With every step he takes, he waits for the smack of a bullet. He’s been lucky so far, but that can’t last forever.

Tragedy brings these two lost souls together and war turns them to each other.

All is fair in love and war.

Now they just have to hold on tight.

Being told from Rania’s and Hunter’s points of view really worked for me. I was able to form a lasting attachment to each character and came to care deeply for them. I was wringing my hands, hoping for the best, but somewhat prepared for the worst.

When I thought of their situation and the adversity they faced for their love, I thought of that saying, “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

A gripping, exciting and very satisfying story.

     

Author Links:

Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. When she’s not writing, she’s probably shopping, baking, or reading.

 

Website: http://www.jasindawilder.com/

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6521173.Jasinda_Wilder

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jasinda.wilder

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/JasindaWilder

Giveaway

Click on the rafflecopter link below for a chance to win a $100 Gift Card

A Rafflecopter Giveaway

Thanks so much for visiting and Good Luck!

WoundedButton