Archive for the ‘Historical’ Category

 

Blake’s Folly, a former silver boomtown in Nevada, has become a semi-ghost town. The people who live there are originals, but that doesn’t stop them from finding love…
 

 

 

 

Title: Blake’s Folly Romance Trilogy

Author: W.L. Brooks

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

Pages: App. 214 pp. each

Genre: Historical / Contemporary Romance

 

By 2023, the silver boomtown of Blake’s Folly, once notorious for saloons, brothels, speakeasies, and divorce ranches, has become a semi-ghost town of abandoned shacks and weedy dirt roads. But unusual settings attract unusual people, those forced to adapt to new circumstances in order to survive, and those who have never really fit into mainstream society. But none are humdrum. All have dreams and a chance to fall in love.

A Room In Blake’s Folly

In 1889, when Blake’s Folly boasted silver mines, saloons, and brothels, the adventurer, Westley Cranston, fell in love with Sookie Lacey a former prostitute. Their romance was doomed but never forgotten, and these six stories tell the tale.

All About Charming Alice

Alice Treemont cooks vegetarian meals, rescues unwanted dogs, and protects the most unloved creatures on earth: snakes. What man would share those interests?

Jace Constant is in Nevada, doing research, but he won’t be staying long. He hates desert dust, dog hair and snakes terrify him. Even if the air sizzles each time Alice and Jace meet, any romance seems doomed.

Desert Rose

Rose Badger is the local flirt, and settling down is the last thing she intends to do. Geologist Jonah Livingstone is intriguing, but with his complicated life, he’s off limits for anything other than friendship.

Jonah Livingstone is fascinated by the sparkling and lovely Rose Badger, but she doesn’t seem inclined to choose a favorite, so why fret? Jonah’s secret life keeps him busy.

Blake’s Folly / Charming Alice /

Desert Rose has no links yet. To be added.

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wt3VkYUTVNk

Book Excerpt  

Excerpt from A Room in Blake’s Folly

“You trust Big Jim?” Resentment rippled down Westley Cranston’s spine, meshed with scorn. “A lousy cad who jilted you when you were carrying his child? Who knew your bigoted family would kill you?”

Seemingly unperturbed, Sookie Lacey dipped her forefinger into the oily pot of carmine on her dressing table, spread the rosy salve over her lips. Turned, met Westley’s eyes squarely. “Jim didn’t have a choice. He was on the lam. He had to keep moving.”

“Because he was wanted for a violent robbery! Why the hell are you making excuses for an unscrupulous criminal who forced himself on an impoverished family?”

“You weren’t out in this part of the world back then. You can’t even imagine that winter when cattle froze to death on the prairie. How could anyone, good or bad, have survived in the open?”

“And while hiding out with your family, he seduced you.”

“Seduced!” Her nostrils flared. “Being with Jim protected me from my vicious brother, my depraved father, I told you that. They both tried to have their way with me.”

It was an old argument, one they’d had many times. Why couldn’t Sookie see that Big Jim’s perfidy could have ruined her life—would have ruined her life if she’d been a weaker woman? A pregnant fifteen-year-old runaway when she arrived in Blake’s Folly, Sassy Sookie had gone to work as a prostitute in the Red Nag Saloon. It wasn’t the lowest sort of brothel, but it wasn’t a classy parlor house either. Yet, clever, lighthearted, and a favorite with the men, she soon realized her own worth. Never succumbing to the temptations of alcohol or laudanum, she’d left the Red Nag, come to the Mizpah, and as a saloon girl, made such excellent money selling dance tickets, encouraging men to buy alcohol, and to gamble, she no longer needed to sell herself.

“So, four years after jilting you, Jim walks into the Mizpah, sees you’ve become successful, and decides to stake his claim. That makes him a decent man?”

“He’s changed. Jim has become a respectable businessman, and he wants to marry me. He’s building us a big fine house where we can live together with our little son.”

“Where? Where will this wonderful fine house be?”

“In Virginia City.”

“Have you ever been there? Seen what he’s building?”

“You know I haven’t. Jim’s been on the road for the last five months. He sends me letters from Denver, San Francisco, New Orleans, and Phoenix.”

How can she be so blind? Westley took a deep breath, forced himself to sound steady and reasonable, not like a man hopelessly in love with the woman he would soon lose. “And what about us? What about what we shared? The nights you spent in my arms?” Nights when she had given herself without reticence but with warmth, tenderness.

Sookie stood, shook out the short, ruffled skirt and colorful petticoats floating just below her shapely calves. Her golden beauty, caught in the lamp’s uneven flicker, made his heart ache. How desirable she was in the low-cut sequined bodice that barely hid the sweetness of her breasts.

“Westley, what you and I shared is our secret. A delicious secret that no one else can know about or even suspect, particularly since Jim has sent Doug Lazy here to protect me.”

“To spy on you, you mean.”

Sookie’s chin tilted defiantly. “Think what you’d like. Just don’t forget I’m marrying Jim in September.”

Pushing past him, she swept out of her boudoir and into the long dark corridor. The tapping of her tasseled kid boots on the stair held a note of finality.

Excerpt from All About Charming Alice

 

The back seat of Jace’s car looked like it needed a shave. “Can’t you dogs keep your hair on?”

The shaggy black animal wagged its tail, a look of simple adoration in its eyes. Jace sighed. His day was going all wrong. He didn’t like dogs, didn’t like dog hair, and didn’t like being late. Yet here he was, late for his appointment and busy driving a shedding mutt around a ramshackle agglomeration no one could call a village or a community. A semi-ghost town? Yes, that was the right word for this jumble of shacks, run-down frame houses, beat-up trailers, and car wrecks strewn along weed-choked lanes.

Hard to imagine that a hundred years ago Blake’s Folly had been a wild town, a Gomorrah, a name that had brought terror into the hearts of honest men and women but also a refuge in a harsh, hostile wasteland. Times had changed, all right. Nowadays there was nothing appealing, nothing welcoming, and nothing threatening about the place. It was definitely a has-been.

“Jeez!” Jace muttered. “Why would anyone choose to live in a mess like this?” As if in response to the question, which was, of course, merely rhetorical, the dog shifted forward and licked his cheek.

Jace jerked away, threw the creature a sour look in the rearview mirror. “The last thing I need is a dog with all the answers.”

The dog was large—very large. Its bulbous head seemed to sway on a sagging neck. Its legs were long, knotted, and spindly, and its ribs wanted to punch through a dull, ratty-looking coat. Yet, ugly though it was, the damn thing had a strange appeal.

But was that a reason to talk to it? Jace had never had a conversation with an animal in his life—folks who did were either nuts or absolute fools. “And there’s no way I’m sliding into one of those categories!” he stated with definite emphasis. The animal’s tail thumped a mocking denial on the seat.

Jace groaned. It was all the fault of the dry Nevada air. “Doing strange things to my brain. I need the city, with big city dirt, pollution, and noise. Spend a few more hours in the desert with this beast, I’ll find myself explaining the theory of relativity to it.” He turned again. The amount of dog hair on the back seat had now reached disaster proportions. He had to get rid of this animal and fast.

Suddenly, the rutted track came to an abrupt end. Jace slammed his foot down on the brake, and the car skidded to a dusty stop. Now what? Ahead of him, the countryside stretched out in beige desert monotony: endless, lifeless, treeless. The man at the gas station had told him to take this dog to the last house in town: a yellow mansion. One belonging to a woman called Alice Treemont—how was that for a moniker? Certainly seemed appropriate for someone who lived in the desert and took in stray dogs. He could picture her, too, hair dyed ruby red, cigarette hanging out of a corner of her mouth, her body molded by leopard-print latex. Or else a mean-lipped witch, one who hated every male on Earth.

Jace stared at the structure on his right. High, ancient, rickety, made out of wood, it looked nothing like a mansion and more like the typical haunted house found in amusement parks. Could this be what he was looking for? Impossible. He peered out at the landscape: left, right, behind, ahead. Nothing else. Just this.

“And the locals call that yellow?” Sure, it must have been yellow once…around a hundred years ago. Back then it might have been regal.

Opening the car door, he stepped out onto the soft, brown dust that, to his annoyance, instantly covered the fine Italian leather of his boot. Hell on Earth, that’s what this part of the world was. He was really looking forward to getting back to Chicago with its art galleries, concerts, and theater performances and to meeting up with the good-looking, sophisticated women he knew. But for the next month or so, he was stuck out here, doing research. It was his own fault: sometimes he had crazy ideas.

Excerpt Desert Rose

 

When the bell above the shop door tinkled, Rose’s well-practiced welcome smile was almost in place. Almost…then it stopped in mid-stretch. Stunned, she stared, swallowed, stared some more. My goodness: wasn’t he gorgeous. Her interest increased, and her heart did a pitter-patter tippy-toe dance as she took him in: tallish—but anyone would be tall when compared to her tiny size—rangy, with tousled hair so black it appeared blue under the lights, an explorer’s bone structure and weather-honed skin, deep brown eyes. And here she was, acting like a complete idiot, frozen into place, gawking at him as if he were of another species, or something totally new-fangled dropped down from a distant stretch of the Milky Way.

Not that he seemed to be faring any better, not moving, staring at her, his gaze unwavering, the wide-open door letting in frosty air and plump snowflakes. What was that gaze of his telling her? That he was surprised? Pleased? Oh yes. He liked what he saw, all right—and men did like her, she knew that. She was used to their admiration. They liked naturally golden curls, slanting blue eyes, and the broad, flat cheekbones of the Russian steppe. But wasn’t it especially nice to be admired by such a gorgeous specimen? Yes, indeed.

Mentally, Rose shook herself, forced herself out of her stupor—somebody had to do something. This was a store, a business, not a blind date. If a man suddenly showed up in a ladies’ dress shop, that meant there was already a woman in his life. Unless he was a cross-dresser. Or was lost and needed directions out of this half-a-horse hellhole.

“Hello.” She forced the formerly incomplete smile into something more fulsome and professional.

“Hello,” he answered. Smiled back. Not a forced smile, though. A wonderful one that softened the craggy angles of his face, crinkled into deep lines around his mouth and eyes.

Rose swallowed. Stared for another few seconds, then ordered herself to stop thinking about his smile, his lips, the bristly, salty way his skin would taste if she licked it, right there, at the corner of his mouth. The thought made her knees tremble. A bad case of lust at first sight? With a great effort of willpower, she corralled the lusty thoughts until they were more manageable, somewhat closer to normality. Heard her own voice, calm, practical: “Can I help you with something?”

He blinked, once, twice, as if waking from a trance. Then, laugh lines and crinkles disappeared, gave way to a more business-like expression. “Yes, of course.” Stepping into what was left of the warmth in the shop, he turned, closed the door behind him. Stared at her again. Cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a present.”

“For your wife?” Rose held her breath.

His mouth tightened. “Not quite.”

“Ah.” Hope faded. Not quite a wife wasn’t nearly as bad as a snuggled-in official wife, but it was close enough.

 

More…

 

 

About the Author

 

 

 

 

Writer, photographer, social critical artist, and storyteller, J. Arlene Culiner, was born in New York and raised in Toronto. She has crossed much of Europe on foot, has lived in a Hungarian mud house, a Bavarian castle, a Turkish cave dwelling, on a Dutch canal, and in a haunted house on the English moors. She now resides in a 400-year-old former inn in a French village of no interest and, much to local dismay, protects all creatures, especially spiders and snakes. She particularly enjoys incorporating into short stories, mysteries, narrative non-fiction, and romances, her experiences in out-of-the-way communities, and her conversations with strange characters.

Website / Blog / All Sites / Facebook / Storytelling Podcast

 

 

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Book Details:

The Old Dragon’s Head by Justin Newland
Category:  Adult Fiction (18 +),  257 pages
GenreHistorical Fantasy, Supernatural Thriller 
Publisher:  Troubador Publishing Ltd.
Release date:  November 2018
Content Rating: PG-13 +M. Mild sex and cruelty. Mature themes.

 

 

Book Description:

The Great Wall of China may be constructed of stone and packed earth, but it is home to a supernatural beast – the Old Dragon. Both wall and dragon protect China’s northern borders from Mongol incursion. Just beyond the fortress of Shanhaiguan, the far eastern end of the wall protrudes into the Bohai Sea – that’s the Old Dragon’s Head.

​Bolin, a young man working on the Old Dragon’s Head, suffers visions of ghosts. The local seer suspects that he has yin-yang eyes and other supernatural gifts. Bolin’s fief lord, the Prince of Yan, rebels against his nephew, the Jianwen Emperor. In the bitter war of succession, the Mongols hold the balance of power. While the victor might win the battle on earth, China’s Dragon Throne can only be earned with a Mandate from Heaven – and the support of the Old Dragon. In every era, a man endowed with the powers of heaven – the Dragon Master – is born. Only he can summon the Old Dragon, providing he possesses the dragon pearl. It’s the year 1402, and neither the Old Dragon, the dragon pearl, nor the Dragon Master, has been seen for twenty years. Bolin’s journey of self-discovery is mirrored by that of old China, as both endeavour to come of age. When Bolin accepts his destiny as the Dragon Master, heaven sends a third coming of age – for humanity itself. But are any of them ready for what is rising in the east?

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Author Guest Post
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Twelve reasons to read THE OLD DRAGON’S HEAD 

 

  1. Set in the year 1400, The Old Dragon’s Head is a historical adventure and secret history of China’s coming of age. In 1205, China had suffered the ignominy of a Mongol invasion, and it wasn’t until 1368 that the founder of the Ming Dynasty, the Hongwu Emperor, expelled them.
  2. The novel’s young protagonist is Bolin, and the story follows his coming of age, which mirrors China’s struggle to find a new identity and shrug off the bad karma that invited the Mongol invasion in the first place.
  3. The Old Dragon’s Head – or Laolongtou in Chinese – is not just an intriguing title, it’s a real place on the far eastern end of the Great Wall of China, where the wall meets the sea for the only time. That provides the dramatic setting for the novel.
  4. In 1380, the Hongwu Emperor built a great fortress at the Laolongtou to defend China’s northern borders from the now-defeated Mongols. The main gate in the fortress – which exists to this day – is the formidable Zengdong Gate, above which was inscribed the enigmatic saying: “The First Pass Under Heaven.”
  5. You’ll get to know more about the Bagua – the eight trigrams of Taoist cosmology that supposedly represent the fundamental principles of reality. These appear in the book of portents, the I Ching.
  6. Bolin is a young man working as an apprentice on the Great Wall. When he experiences visions and strange dreams, he tries to find out what they mean. From then on, his life takes off and, like all reluctant heroes, he persistently refuses to follow his destiny until… it catches up with him and he can no longer avoid it.
  7. Each chapter in the novel starts with a saying from different Chinese philosophers and thinkers, such as Confucius, Mencius, Lao Tzu, and others. These highlight the unusual and enigmatic Chinese way of thinking. In some ways, the novel is a homage to Chinese thought, literature, and wisdom.
  8. One of them is the ancient Chinese saying – ‘May you live in interesting times.’ Read The Old Dragon’s Head to find out if it’s a blessing, or a curse.
  9. Belief in demons, ghosts and spirits… Feng-shui, Almanacs and Acupuncture… the novel explores the incredibly superstitious mind-set of the Chinese in the year 1400.
  10. You’ll learn that the Zhongguo – meaning Middle Kingdom – is the Chinese name for China.
  11. The book is a mix of Chinese history, crime, fantasy, and thriller all with a supernatural twist. And don’t forget smatterings of Chinese poetry and philosophy or that the novel highlights how different the Chinese criminal justice system is to the western model.
  12. Find out what Yin-Yang eyes are and more about the Yin-Yang symbol. You’ll also encounter the Buddhist idea of the transmigration of souls, and don’t forget the incredible cosmic instruction manual conceived by mandarins from the Ming Dynasty – The Great Ming Code.
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Meet the Author:

JUSTIN NEWLAND’s novels represent an innovative blend of genres from historical fiction and crime, to supernatural thrillers and mystery. His stories deal with the themes of war, religion, and evolution and speculate on the human’s spiritual place in the universe.

Undeterred by the award of a Doctorate in Mathematics from Imperial College, London, he found his way to the creative keyboard and conceived his debut novel, The Genes of Isis (Matador, 2018), an epic fantasy set under Ancient Egyptian skies.

Next came the historical fantasy, The Old Dragon’s Head (Matador, 2018), set in Ming Dynasty China in the shadows of the Great Wall.

His next historical fantasy, The Coronation (Matador, 2019), speculates on the genesis of the most important event in the modern world – the Industrial Revolution.

His fourth, The Abdication (Matador, 2021), is a supernatural thriller in which a young woman confronts her faith in a higher purpose and what it means to abdicate that faith.

His work in progress is a two-book series, The Island of Angels, set in Elizabethan England, and is an epic tale of England’s coming of age. The first novel, The Mark of the Salamander, travels with Sir Francis Drake across the wide open seas of discovery from 1577-1580 and is due to be published in September 2023. The second, The Midnight of Eights, culminates in the repulse of the Spanish Armada in 1588.

He regularly gives talks to historical associations and libraries and enjoys giving radio interviews and making podcasts. Born three days before the end of 1953, he lives with his partner in plain sight of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, England.

connect with the author: website twitter ~ facebook instagram pinterest bookbub goodreads

 
 
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Today we are celebrating the release of The Lady and the Barrister by USA Today Bestselling Author Ruth A. Casie. This is the first novel in the Return to the Ladies of Sommer By the Sea. Come check out an excerpt of this historical Regency romance and enter the giveaway before grabbing your copy!

The Lady and the Barrister

 

Return to the Ladies of Sommer By the Sea #1

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Two men vie for Lady Anna, but who will she choose? The smooth politician or the down-to-earth barrister turned duke?

Lady Anna Ravencroft shines brightly as a much-admired organizer and hostess. In her mind it is the one thing at which she succeeds. Inwardly she is shy, retiring… a wallflower. With two failed seasons that ended in disaster she has accepted marriage might not be in her future.

Lord Fraser Castleton, a London barrister is shocked when he inherits a title and estate from his mother’s great aunt and becomes the 8th Duke of Willbury. He returns to Sommer-by-the-Sea to take up permanent residence. He crosses paths with his longtime friend, Lady Anna. He confides that he is the target of every mother with an unmarried daughter. She commiserates with him. Every eligible gentleman sees the Ravencroft purse rather than her. Together they decide to find a mate for each other. Anna presents him with a list of several eligible women. Castleton is receptive, but not enthusiastic. He gives her the same reaction with the subsequent two lists. Will she realize he has already found his match?

Reginald Younge, who doesn’t always play by the rules, wants to be the next Member of Parliament for his borough. His political backer will support him if Younge can finance the campaign himself. He suggests Younge find a wealthy wife to support his political plans. Marrying a Ravencroft would all but guarantee not only his backer’s continued support but provide the steady stream of money needed to claim his place amongst the gentry. He calls on Lady Anna for assistance with a campaign event and has an ulterior motive.

Return to the Ladies of Sommer By the Sea

    1. The Lady and the Barrister – 99 cents & in Kindle Unlimited

    1. The Lady and the Earl – pre-order now Releases June 1, 2023

    1. The Lady and the Rogue- Release date: August 9, 2023

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“Lady Anna. Lord Castleton. Welcome to the Tea Room.” Tanya took off her apron and set off a small cloud of flour as she put the pinnie down on the counter.

Anna glanced around the dining room. An older couple sat at the only other occupied table.

Castleton helped her into her chair as Tanya made her way to the front of the tearoom. He turned to her with his irresistibly devastating grin.

Anna busied herself by removing her gloves and putting them into her reticule, then placing it on her lap all to avoid his gaze. When she could no longer stall, she raised her head and found him sitting across from her and still staring.

What should she say? It was as if she didn’t know this man when they had been friends most of their lives. Well, she certainly didn’t know him as a military man, a barrister, a duke, and especially not as someone courting her. All she knew was the boy with whom she grew up and in a moment of panic, she wanted to leave.

“I didn’t intend to embarrass you. I can’t help the way I look at you.” His elbow was on the table with his chin in his hand. “One glance and I find myself smiling.”

He removed his hand and struck a more proper attitude, opened his serviette, and draped it on his lap.

Was he playing his part? She glanced at the couple at the other table and concluded he was courting her for their sake. Perhaps she could play the game as well.

“You flatter me, Fraser,” she gracefully placed her hand to her throat. “Or should I say you flatter yourself if you think I’m embarrassed.” She sat up straighter and looked down her nose following propriety. For two Seasons she observed and learned as girls struck that position.

“Oh?” He dared to struggle to hide his chuckle.

“Ginger biscuits, really, Fraser. I would have thought you’d had your fill as a boy and moved on to other more tempting morsels.”

He leaned closer toward her. His eyes were even more passionate than they had been moments before. He took her hand and her breath caught.

“Oh, but I am moved by a more temping… morsel. Much more tempting. Would you like me to elaborate?” With that he raised her hand to his lips.

Copyright © 2023 Timeless Scribes Publishing LLC

About Author Ruth A. Casie

RUTH A. CASIE is a USA Today bestselling author of historical swashbuckling action-adventures and contemporary romance with enough action to keep you turning pages. Her stories feature strong women and the men who deserve them, endearing flaws and all. She lives in New Jersey with her hero, three empty bedrooms and a growing number of incomplete counted cross-stitch projects. Before she found her voice, she was a speech therapist (pun intended), client liaison for a corrugated manufacturer, and vice president at an international bank where she was a product/marketing manager, but her favorite job is the one she’s doing now-writing romance. She hopes her stories become your favorite adventures.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram Newsletter

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Enter to win a $25.00 Amazon eCard. Giveaway ends April 19, 2023. May the odds be forever in your favor.


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Welcome to my stop during the book blitz for Burning Secret by R J Lloyd. Burning Secret blurs the line between fact and fiction, a retelling of the extraordinary life of Harry Mason – deceit, violence, power and wealth.

This blog tour is organized by Lola’s Blog Tours and the tour runs from 25 till 31 March. You can see the tour schedule here.

Limited time discount!
For a limited time Burning Secret is only 99 cents! You can grab your copy here.

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Burning Secret

By R J Lloyd

 

Genre: Historical Fiction
Age category: Adult
Release Date: 28 June 2022

 

Synopsis

Burning Secret is a dramatic and compelling tale of ambition, lies, and betrayal inspired by actual events.

Born in the slums of Bristol in 1844, Enoch Price seems destined for a life of poverty and hardship—but he’s determined not to accept his lot.

Enoch becomes a bare-knuckle fighter in London’s criminal underworld. But in a city where there’s no place for honest dealing, he is cheated by a cruel loan shark, leaving him penniless and facing imprisonment.

Undaunted, he escapes to a new life in America and embarks on a series of audacious exploits. But even as he helps shape history, Enoch is not content. Tormented by his past and the life he left behind, he soon becomes entangled in a web of lies and secrets.

Will he ever break free and find the happiness he craves?

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Influenced by real people and events, Enoch’s remarkable story is one of adventure, daring, political power and, in the end, his search for redemption.

Links:
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Interview with Author RJ Lloyd

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Tell us about your book:

Burning Secret – It’s a true story. Well, almost, at least in my imagination. Burning Secret blurs the lines between fact and fiction as it reconstructs the real-life of Harry Mason, and is a story that many of us can relate to in our own families. It begins with Enoch Price, my great-great-grandfather, being born into the poverty of the Bristol slums of 1844, but he was determined not to follow his father to a brutal and early death.

An ambitious youth, Enoch becomes a bare-knuckle fighter amongst London’s underworld. But when misfortune befalls him and, facing ruin and imprisonment, he abandons his wife and daughters and flees to Florida. It’s here that Enoch becomes Harry Mason.

An opportunist by nature, Harry embarks on a series of risky escapades, playing an important role in the development and history of Jacksonville, building an extraordinary new life of wealth and power.

Enjoying popular success, Harry is elected to the city council and, in 1903, to the Florida State House of Representatives with the prospect of becoming State Governor. However, success brings neither happiness nor contentment. Seeking redemption for his many misdeeds, Harry plans to return home – but life is rarely that simple, especially as Harry harbours a secret that burns deep inside him.

I think the story operates on several levels; as a fast-paced thriller with plenty of derring-do, a morality tale of good vs greed, and how life can easily corrupt the pursuit of happiness.

 

In a nutshell, tell us what your readers should know about you: 

After retiring as a senior police officer, I turned my detective skills to genealogy, tracing my family history to the 16th century. However, after 15 years of extensive research, I couldn’t track down my great-great-grandfather, Enoch Price, whose wife, Eliza, had, in living memory, helped raise my mother.

It was my cousin Gillian who, after several more dead-ends, called one day to say that she had found him through a fluke encounter. Susan Sperry from California, who had recently retired, decided to explore the box of documents given to her thirty years before by her mother, which she had never opened. In the box, she found some references to her great grandfather, Harry Mason, a wealthy hotel owner from Florida who had died in 1919. It soon transpired that Susan’s great grandfather, Harry Mason, was, in fact, Enoch Price. From this single thread, the extraordinary story of Harry Mason began to unravel, leading me to visit the States to meet my American cousins, and it was Susan Sperry and Kimberly Mason, direct descendants, who persuaded me to write the book.

I graduated from Warwick with a joint in Philosophy and Psychology and a Masters in Marketing from UWE. Since leaving a thirty-year career in policing, I’ve been a non-executive director with the NHS, social housing, and other charities. I live with my wife in Bristol, spending my time travelling, writing and producing delicious plum jam from the trees on my award-winning allotment.

 

What topic or subject have you found it most challenging to write about?

I found the main character’s most inner thoughts and tormented emotions in Burning Secret were the most challenging. Describing the objective world of sights and sounds pose challenges, but conveying the emotions and heartache concealed deep inside, where often there are no overt behaviours, is made doubly worse by the writer’s advice of ‘show don’t tell.’

In my book, the main character must maintain a double life while burdened by the guilt that tortures him. Finding the words to describe his feelings as he struggles to resolve his dilemma was not easy, but these feelings play an important role in shedding light on the motives for what he has done.

 

What would you like to achieve with the publication of your book?

At the very least, I’d like to inspire others to wonder about their family history. Tracing ancestors has never been more popular or accessible, and what if these lost relatives turn out to be far more intriguing or extraordinary than one might have ever guessed – fact stranger than fiction?

Throughout my professional life, I’ve written; evidence to put before the courts and then, more latterly, reports to various statutory bodies seeking additional funding. You soon find out if your product is any good by the outcomes. So now I want to know if my novel and storytelling have merit, and it’ll be the readers who will decide through their reviews, recommendations and book sales.

 

What do you most enjoy about writing?

My first passion is gardening. There is so much pleasure when the blooms are in full blush during the warmth of a summer’s afternoon, and the vegetables swell and flourish. But this pleasure doesn’t come without pain and disappointments, and not everything you plant will grow or be good enough to reach the judges’ show table.

And perhaps writing is similar. Writing is not always enjoyable. Sometimes it can be frustrating, tedious and difficult when the ideas won’t fly, or the words won’t join into sentences. But like gardening, it’s creative. You create your version of the world, sharing your views and opinions with others and, like any conversation or standing on the box at Speaker’s Corner, not everyone will like what you have to say – but at least you’ve said it.

No two gardens are the same, which is true of authors and books, but the pride and joy of creating is.

 

How have you found your journey to publication?

Burning Secret arose from a conversation in 2012 with my two American cousins, Susan and Kimberley, who encouraged me to tell the extraordinary story of our shared ancestor, Harry Mason. It’s a massive disappointment that neither are with us today to witness its publication. And, as you’ll see, I’ve dedicated the book to their memory.

After many attempts at navigating the labyrinth of the query system, I realised that literary agents and publishers didn’t see me as a commercial prospect. At 70 years of age, I couldn’t waste time going down the traditional route. It wasn’t a career as an author I wanted; it was to fulfil a promise I’d made to Susan and Kim.

So, after reading an inspirational article by the best selling self-published author, Paige Weaver (Promise me darkness) and discovering that in 2017, over one million books were published in the United States, and two-thirds of them were self-published, the way forward was clear – and Matador, an imprint of Troubadour, was the obvious choice.

I liked the open and responsive team at Matador, who put me at the centre of decision-making and worked hard to meet their authors’ expectations to produce a book indistinguishable from a traditional publisher.

 

If you could give one piece of advice to your younger self, what would it be?

Well, I’m going to dodge this question. There’s never one piece of advice and too many what-ifs in life. I have one huge regret for not asking my parents about their lives and the history they lived through; two world wars, the Great Depression, rationing, the swinging sixties, and the roaring twenties. None of which they ever spoke about.

 

What do you think makes a good story?

This is the million-dollar question. There are plenty of creative writing courses that list the essentials of a good story. Some say there are three key elements, while others list ten; structure, character, plot, tension, and so on. I tend to go with the W. Somerset Maugham school of thought, “There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”

But more seriously, a story that grabs and holds my interest must be authentic, relevant, and real to my experiences and imagination. Most of which depends on the storytelling and the flow of the language. I’m impatient, so a plot must race along to keep me turning the pages, and I want a main character that I can keep rooting for, even if they’re a bit iffy. And I like a book that keeps me thinking long after I’ve come to its end.

 

Do you have any tips for other budding authors?

Tell your story in your own voice, write from the heart and persevere, despite the naysayers – of which there will be many. Writing can sometimes be a slog, but you’ve got to keep going. If you’re going to publish, then invest in a good cover and quality production. Money spent on editing and proofreading is never wasted. There’s little point in going through the wringer to publish if no one is going to read it, so give it your best shot with marketing, and these days that means social media. Marketing is enormously important, but it’s tough, and most writers I meet wince at having to traipse around selling their cherished work. Still, the sad truth is, no one else is going to do it for you, not even in traditional publishing – but that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun.

 

Do you have a set writing routine and where do you like to write?

I’d like to tell you I write on my verandah overlooking the tropical Caribbean Sea, like Fleming at Goldeneye or Hemingway at his Lookout Farm in Cuba, but I can’t. I write from a small bedroom office.

One thing I like to do is to have a routine. My background, I suppose, has instilled the need to plan and schedule. Most of my productive writing occurs between 8 am and midday, but that’s not when I do my best thinking. That’s during the afternoons pottering in the garden or on the allotment. But clarity of thought, when all the ideas gel together, seems to arrive just as I’m about to nod off to sleep. And from bitter experience, I’ve learnt that I must wake myself and make notes because, by morning, every recollection will have deserted me.

 

Whats next in the writing pipeline for you?

I’m currently working on a couple of projects. The first is about another one of my close ancestors, Frederick Henry Seddon, who was hanged at HMP Pentonville for murder in 1912. His story has been told before, but never, as far as I know, from the family’s perspective. Another project involves a recently discovered family connection with two brothers, Peter and Veniamin Timkov, from the Russian village of Mukhouderovka, where Stalin’s secret police executed them both.

 

Is there anything else youd like to add?

When one starts writing, it’s difficult to identify yourself as an author. But you only have to look at Twitter or Facebook to see how social media has democratised writing and has given a voice to so many aspiring authors – so please, have a go.

I’ve learnt such a lot from being involved in the process of publication. Next time I’ll be much better prepared, thinking about the title and book cover long before writing the opening paragraph.

I’d like to take a moment to thank everyone at Matador for their hard work and tremendous talent, and patience in bringing Burning Secret to the market.

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About Author RJ Lloyd:

 

R J Lloyd author picture

Roger is the great-great-grandson of the main character, Enoch Price. A former senior police officer and detective, he has used his investigative skills to fashion this dramatised account of his ancestor’s extraordinary life. Fifteen years of genealogical research and interviews support the various factual strands of this pacy novel.

Roger graduated from both Warwick and UWE and has been a non-executive director with the NHS, social housing, and other charities.

He is retired and lives in Bristol with his wife. He travels, writes and produces delicious plum jam from the trees on his award-winning allotment.

Author links:
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Instagram

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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The Dollmaker

by Morgan Shamy

 

Publication date: February 28th 2023
Genres: Young Adult, Historical, Mystery

No one is safe. Not when the Dollmaker lurks in the shadows.

When Dawn Hildegard’s best friend Rose is kidnapped by “The Dollmaker,” a crazed serial killer who creates “art” from women’s bodies, she drops everything to find her—including her dream of becoming a doctor. With the help of a handsome new acquaintance and his mysterious brother, they set off to find the killer. Although they quickly become friends, Dawn cannot shake the uneasy feeling that the brothers know more about the murders than they admit.

As more and more victims are found murdered and displayed throughout town, Dawn must use her wits to find Rose before it’s too late. And before she too becomes the Dollmaker’s next victim.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Google Play / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

He slowly began to pace in front of her, his shaded head tipped in thought. His legs were long in the dark, though he wasn’t much taller than her. Bits of slanted light streamed in from the floorboards above them, highlighting the divots of his face. She still couldn’t see him clearly.

“I’ve never had anyone find me before,” he said. “And I take pride in the fact that no one does. I lead a quiet life, and uninterrupted life, and now… you’ve interrupted it.”

He paused, facing her head on. He was nothing more than a shadow in front of her. She held still, silent. If he was The Dollmaker, she didn’t want to make him upset. He hadn’t killed her yet, but maybe he liked to toy with his prey before he slaughtered them.

“I won’t tell anyone about you,” she choked out. “Just let me go.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “And why should I believe you?”

“Why are you trying to stay hidden?”

Both of their questions hung in the air.

He started pacing again. Her heart was hammering its way up into her throat, she could barely breathe. She edged back a step. His head snapped up and he sprung forward once more. He gripped her upper arm and began to drag her into the dark, away from the orchestra pit. She struggled against him, trying to rip out of his embrace, but his hold was concrete. He led her through a dark hallway that slanted upward at an incline, until the hallway stopped at a dead end. A door towered in front of above them. She still couldn’t see his face.

He moved in close, yanking her up against him, until she felt his breath on her cheek. “If you tell anyone about me—anyone at all—I will know. And if you do, there will be consequences greater than you can imagine. Death will follow, I can assure you that.”

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Author Morgan Shamy:

Morgan Shamy is an ex-ballerina turned YA writer. She has been immersed in the arts since the young age of 4, where she performed various roles alongside a professional ballet company for over seven years, and has danced on prestigious stages like soloing at Carnegie Hall in New York City. She has taught hundreds of girls in her fifteen years of teaching, where some of her students have received full-ride scholarships to schools like School of American Ballet, the Harid Conservatory, Kirov Academy of Ballet, and Pacific Northwest Ballet, to name a few.

Morgan discovered writing when her three-year-old son was diagnosed with cancer. It was through that experience which instilled the need to share art and magic with children through words on the page.

Morgan is also an accomplished concert pianist. She was the first girl in Utah to receive the 75 pt. Gold Cup in the Utah Federation of Music in piano solo/concerto competition. Morgan currently lives with her X-Games gold-medalist husband and four children in Salt Lake City, Utah.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Bookbub

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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.

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If you’re like me, you have a pile of books beckoning to you from your lists. Carole hosts this fun feature where you can share some of those older books and perhaps nudge you to finally read them. If you want to join in on the fun, head over to Carole’s Random Life In Books and leave a link to your post.
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In The Garden Of Spite

by Camilla Bruce

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Genre:  Historical / Horror

Synopsis

Belle Sorensen loves men.
She loves them to death . . .

Early in life Belle Sorensen discovers the world is made only for men. They own everything: jobs, property, wives. But Belle understands what few others do: where women are concerned, men are weak.

A woman unhampered by scruples can take from them what she wants. And so Belle sets out to prove to the world that a woman can be just as ruthless, black-hearted and single-minded as any man.

Starting with her long suffering husband Mads, Belle embarks on a killing spree the like of which has never been seen before nor since.

And through it all her kind, older sister Nellie can only watch in horror as Belle’s schemes to enrich herself and cut down the male population come to a glorious, dreadful fruition . . .

Based on the true story of Belle Sorensen whose murderous rampage began in Chicago in 1900, Triflers Need Not Apply is a novelistic tour de force exploring one woman’s determination to pay men back for all they have taken.

Amazon

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I bought this back in January 2021.

From the title to the cover and synopsis, it all appeals to me.

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

You can find a list of my reviews HERE.

For a list of free eBooks go HERE.

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Skull’s Vengeance organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Linnea Tanner will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Skull’s Vengeance

by Linnea Tanner

Genre: Historical Fantasy

Synopsis

A Celtic warrior queen must do the impossible—defeat her sorcerer half-brother and claim the throne. But to do so, she must learn how to strike vengeance from her father’s skull.

 

AS FORETOLD BY HER FATHER in a vision, Catrin has become a battle-hardened warrior after her trials in the Roman legion and gladiatorial games. She must return to Britannia and pull the cursed dagger out of the serpent's stone to fulfill her destiny. Only then can she unleash the vengeance from the ancient druids to destroy her evil half-brother, the powerful sorcerer, King Marrock. Always two steps ahead and seemingly unstoppable, Marrock can summon destructive natural forces to crush any rival trying to stop him and has charged his deadliest assassin to bring back Catrin's head.

 

To have the slightest chance of beating Marrock, Catrin must forge alliances with former enemies, but she needs someone she can trust. Her only option is to seek military aid from Marcellus—her secret Roman husband. They rekindle their burning passion, but he is playing a deadly game in the political firestorm of the Julio-Claudian dynasty to support Catrin's cause.

 

Ultimately, in order to defeat Marrock, Catrin must align herself with a dark druidess and learn how to summon forces from skulls to exact vengeance. But can she and Marcellus outmaneuver political enemies from Rome and Britannia in their quest to vanquish Marrock?

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Enjoy this peek inside:

PROLOGUE

 

White Cliffs in Southeast Britannia,

Eve of Samhain, 31 October, 26 AD

 

Three human skulls hung over King Marrock’s stallion, dangling from a rope like ornaments. Feeling as invincible as a god, he rode to the precipice of the sheer cliffs and listened to the roar of the waves crashing below. Yet, the raven soaring overhead chilled him to the bone—an omen he was but mortal and could plunge to his death.

 

He embraced the warmth of Boudicca, his younger half sister, who sat astride his horse in front of him. A toddler full of mirth, she was a healer who could connect to the souls of the dead.

 

Whereas their mother accused him, also known as Blood Wolf, of being a soulless murderer.

 

On this eve of Samhain, Marrock knew the souls of the dead freely roamed among the living. He spotted his deadliest assassin, Gawain, searching for the wraith on the emerald hilltop. Gawain had a blue, triangular tattoo of a dagger’s blade on his forehead and deadly weapons underneath his black cloak—the royal insignia of the red dragon stitched to the front panel.

 

For Marrock, the Otherworldly dragon, with its leathery wings and fiery breath, symbolized perpetual power. It was said that where dragons trod, mystic energy flowed. The untamed beast guarded the portal into the Otherworld.

 

He yearned for the dragon’s mystic power—the power to summon forces from the earth’s molten underbelly to immolate his rivals.

 

Gawain pointed to a pile of rocks. “The sheepherder saw the wraith over there,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice.

 

Marrock handed Boudicca to him and then dismounted, pulling the rope of skulls off his horse and draping it over his shoulders. His family’s skulls served as a warning to anyone who threatened his sovereignty.

 

Until now, he had only been able to summon the deadly powers from the skulls of his stepmother and bastard sister; their souls were encased in the bone crowns. The soul of his father, King Amren, still eluded Marrock, even after he had sliced off his father’s head. If his father’s soul was indeed wandering the hilltop, he would imprison it in the largest empty skull he had.

 

Then, he would be able to unleash the collective forces from all three souls.

 

Glancing all around, he could not see his father’s ghostly figure in the thickening fog. Boudicca’s gleeful giggle roused his attention. He watched her waddle toward a mound of stones and place her tiny hands on the stacked rocks.

 

“Pa. Pa. Am,” she squealed with delight.

 

Marrock cast a glance at Gawain. “Did the sheepherder see the wraith disappear into those rocks?”

 

Gawain nodded. “Indeed, I believe so.”

 

Marrock transferred the roped skulls from his shoulders to the grassy ground and looked at Gawain. “Help me remove the rocks so I can see what is underneath.”

 

Gawain joined Marrock in the task of removing the white stones one by one. They inspected each rock for any defect before setting it aside.

 

Boudicca, mimicking the men, picked up flint pebbles and dropped them on the chalky ground.

 

After a while, they uncovered the gemstone handle of a dagger; its blade was embedded in a coil-shaped serpent stone. Marrock recognized the jewel-studded dagger as once belonging to his father. Intrigued, he gripped the handle with both hands and strained to pull it out, his muscles aching and his face dripping with sweat from the effort.

 

Suddenly, to his shock, the hilt turned sizzling hot. He jerked his hands away and inspected the blisters that had formed on his reddened palms. Hearing Boudicca’s gleeful babble, he looked down just as she gripped the dagger’s handle.

 

“Pa. Pa. Am,” she trilled.

 

To Marrock’s surprise, Boudicca’s hands did not burn.

 

A prickling sensation noosed around his neck as he recalled the original curse cast by his mother just before his father had executed her.

 

The gods demand that the scales be balanced for the life you take. If you deny my soul’s journey to the Otherworld by beheading me, I curse you to the same fate as mine. I prophesy your future queen will beget a daughter who will rise as a raven and join your son, Blood Wolf, and a mighty empire will overtake your kingdom and execute my curse.

 

King Amren had etched the words of the curse on the dagger’s blade using the Roman alphabet with the belief he could thwart the dark prophecy.

 

Marrock shuddered.

 

Does my father’s soul live in the dagger? Has he come back to exact vengeance on me?

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About Author Linnea Tanner

Award-winning author, Linnea Tanner, weaves Celtic tales of love, magical adventure, and political intrigue in Ancient Rome and Britannia. Since childhood, she has passionately read about ancient civilizations and mythology. Of particular interest are the enigmatic Celts, who were reputed as fierce warriors and mystical Druids.

 

Linnea has extensively researched ancient and medieval history, mythology, and archaeology and has traveled to sites described within each of her books in the Curse of Clansmen and Kings series. Books released in her series include “Apollo’s Raven” (Book 1), “Dagger’s Destiny” (Book 2), “Amulet’s Rapture” (Book 3), and “Skull’s Vengeance” (Book 4). She has also released the historical fiction short story, “Two Faces of Janus.”

 

A Colorado native, Linnea attended the University of Colorado and earned both her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in chemistry. She lives in Fort Collins with her husband and has two children and six grandchildren.

 

You can follow her on her website HERE.

 

Buy Link: Amazon

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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.

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for The Phantom Glare Of Day organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author M. Laszlo will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The Phantom Glare Of Day

by M. Laszlo

Genre: Historical (Metaphysical) Fiction / Coming of Age Fiction

Synopsis

In this trio of novellas, three game young ladies enter into dangerous liaisons that test each one’s limits and force them to confront the most heartrending issues facing society in the early twentieth century. The Phantom Glare of Day tells of Sophie, a young lady who has lived a sheltered life and consequently has no idea how cruel public-school bullying can be. When she meets Jarvis, a young man obsessed with avenging all those students who delight in his daily debasement, she resolves to intervene before tragedy unfolds. Mouvements Perpétuels tells of Cäcilia, a young lady shunned by her birth father. She longs for the approval of an older man, so when her ice-skating instructor attempts to take advantage of her, she cannot resist. Not a month later, she realizes that she is pregnant and must decide whether or not to get an abortion. Passion Bearer tells of Manon, a young lady who falls in love with a beautiful actress after taking a post as a script girl for a film company—and is subsequently confronted with the pettiest kinds of homophobia.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

London, 29 September, 1917.

 

Sophie paused beside a stock-brick building, and she listened for the unnerving rumble of an airship’s engine car. How long has it been since the last bombardment? Sometime before, as she had stood in this very spot, she had heard the Zeppelin clearly enough.

 

At that point, a Royal-Navy carbide flare had streaked heavenward. Then, from the neighboring rooftops, fifty or more pom-pom guns had opened fire–and the night air had filled with the odor of something like petroleum coke.

 

Yes, I remember. Now she braced herself for a salvo of fire.

 

No deafening tumult rang out. Neither did any sickening, stenchful fumes envelope her person.

 

No, it’s just my nerves. She glanced at the sky, and she whispered a simple prayer of thanksgiving.

 

From around the corner, an omnibus approached.

 

She climbed aboard and rode the way to Mayfair Tearoom.

 

The establishment had never looked so inviting as it did that night. By now, the proprietress had decorated the tables with Michaelmas daisies the color of amethyst, and she had adorned the china cabinet with ornamental cabbage. Moreover, how appetizing the scent of the fresh Eccles cakes.

 

The tearoom had attracted quite a crowd, too, the young ladies all decked out in silken gowns.

 

I wonder why. Sophie removed her coat, and she suddenly felt underdressed—for she had not worn anything too fancy that evening, just a puffed blouse and a fluted skirt. At once, she sat down at one of the last available dinette tables.

 

An eclipse of moths fluttered through the transom, meanwhile, and even they looked better than she did. What beauty the creatures’ wings—a fine royal purple.

 

Don’t look at them. Alas, when she turned her attention to the doorsill, a dull ache radiated up and down her left arm.

 

Not a moment later, a tall, gaunt lad, his eyes a shade of whiskey brown, entered the tearoom.

 

For a time, he glared at the patrons—as if at any moment he might remove a musketoon from beneath his frock coat and shoot everyone.

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Author M. Laszlo

  1. Laszlo is the pseudonym of a reclusive author living in Bath, Ohio. According to rumor, he based the pen name on the name of the Paul Henreid character in Casablanca, Victor Laszlo.
  2. Laszlo has lived and worked all over the world, and he has kept exhaustive journals and idea books corresponding to each location and post.

 

It is said that the maniacal habit began in childhood during summer vacations—when his family began renting out Robert Lowell’s family home in Castine, Maine.

 

The habit continued in 1985 when, as an adolescent, he spent the summer in London, England. In recent years, he revisited that journal/idea book and based his first work, The Phantom Glare of Day, on the characters, topics, and themes contained within the youthful writings. In crafting the narrative arcs, he decided to divide the work into three interrelated novellas and to set each one in the WW-I era so as to make the work as timeless as possible.

 

  1. Laszlo has lived and worked in New York City, East Jerusalem, and several other cities around the world. While living in the Middle East, he worked for Harvard University’s Semitic Museum. He holds a bachelor’s degree in English from Hiram College in Hiram, Ohio and an M.F.A. in poetry from Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville, New York.

 

His next work is forthcoming from SparkPress in 2024. There are whispers that the work purports to be a genuine attempt at positing an explanation for the riddle of the universe and is based on journals and idea books made while completing his M.F.A at Sarah Lawrence College.

On Amazon

 

NOTE: THIS BOOK WILL BE $0.99 DURING THE TOUR.

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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.

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Rocked in Time is set in the rebellion, love, and chaos of the 1960s and ‘70s and explores a world of resistance and celebrates those who dared to buck the system in those turbulent times…

By Charles Degelman

 

 

Book Blurb

 

Rocked in Time (Volume Three in
the Resistance Trilogy) slips behind the scenes of a blasphemous
theater company hell-bent on toppling America’s Vietnam-era
establishment with punch lines, pratfalls, and comic rebellion. Along
the way, our protagonist pursues a love for the stage, a passion for
resistance, and the intimate politics of sexual revolution amid the
tear-gassed campuses and burning cities of a nation at war with itself.

Release Date: October 18, 2022

Publisher: Harvard Square Editions

Soft Cover: 978-1941861882; 408 pages; $22.95

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3AhO7NW

Book Excerpt  

RATMAN MEETS THE 50-FOOT HINDU

The Emeryville flats used to stink of the tide. Dead fish, drying algae, bottles and cans, old tires lay scattered over a landscape of mud and sewage. Stick figures perched on the muddy edges of the East Bay, fanciful driftwood and tin creatures standing stork-legged in the mud, stick-flapping arms, wings, feathers, broken brooms, old flags, weathervanes, hubcaps, rusted saw blades, other detritus.

Celebrating America’s junk. Resistance. We drove together, my cousin Eric and I, in a VW bus weathered to a chalky blue. Across the flats, the Bay Bridge arched toward Angel Island and beyond, to the summer fog bank of San Francisco. We bounced into the Haight-Ashbury to check out a band my cousin had written to me about the previous winter. He called them the Jefferson Airplane and they were playing at a little club called The Matrix.

We were stoned on Mexican weed. I was reciting lines from Ratman Meets the 50-Foot Hindu, a play I had recently closed back in Harvard’s experimental, black box theater. I played a 50-foot Hindu who had journeyed to America to avenge the murder of the sacred cow. This zealot took his revenge by stomping his burger-munching victims to death with a set of hooves.

I’d picked up the fake Indian accent from the cultural ether without offense. White people had begun to stir, waking to the notion that civil rights were human rights and that racism was alive and well in America. When Ratman and the 50-foot Hindu walked the earth, India still seemed like a distant, overpopulated nation, shaped by British colonialism, its independence two decades old but still imbued with the nonviolence of Gandhi and the meditative power of the spinning wheel. The Maharishi hadn’t yet hustled The Beatles, India and Pakistan hadn’t yet become nuclear powers, Bangladesh hadn’t been flooded out by cyclones, and John and Yoko’s meditations hadn’t dispatched my generation on a simpleton’s goose chase.

So, my Hindu accent was still okay and my character diabolical, a complex being who, beyond his fierce and scheming interior, presented himself as an addled older gentleman whose faith had been defiled by America’s hamburger fetish. He was a man with a mission. But the 50-foot Hindu had proven to be no match for Ratman.

In the finale, the superhero and his diabolically tragic foe squared off in a revolving restaurant high above the city.

More…

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

 

Charles Degelman is an award-winning
author, performer, and producer living in Los Angeles. After graduating
Harvard, Degelman left academia to become an antiwar activist, political
theater artist, musician, communard, carpenter, hard-rock miner, and
itinerant gypsy trucker. When the dust settled, he returned to his first
love, writing.

A Bowl Full of Nails, set in the rural counterculture of the 1970s, collected a Bronze Medal from the 2015 Independent Publishers Book Awards and Gates of Eden, set during the anti-war movement of the 1960s, won an Independent Publishers book award.

Degelman’s screenplay Fifty-Second Street garnered an award from the Diane Thomas Competition, sponsored by UCLA/Dreamworks. A second screenplay, The Red Car, reached finalist status in Francis Ford Coppola’s American Zoetrope Screenplay Contest.

In addition, Degelman has written and
produced documentary and educational films for TNT, Churchill Films,
Pyramid Films, and Philips Interactive Media. He co-founded Indecent
Exposure, a Los Angeles-based theater company dedicated to creating
original, high-quality, socially relevant work for the stage. Degelman
is on the faculty of California State University where he teaches writing in the Communication Studies Department.

His latest book is the historical fiction, Rocked in Time.

Website / Twitter / Instagram

 

Sponsored By:

 

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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.

Chaos at Carnegie Hall by Kelly Oliver Banner

Chaos at Carnegie Hall

by Kelly Oliver

 

 

December 5 – 30, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Agatha Christie meets Downton Abbey in the Fiona Figg and Kitty Lane Mystery series opener.

Can Fiona catch a killer and find a decent cup of tea before her mustache wax melts?

.

1917. New York. Notorious spy, Fredrick Fredricks, has invited Fiona to Carnegie Hall to hear a famous soprano. It’s an opportunity the War Office can’t turn down. Fiona and Clifford are soon on their way, but not before Fiona is saddled with chaperon duties for Captain Hall’s niece. Is Fiona a spy or a glorified babysitter? From the minute Fiona meets the soprano aboard the RMS Adriatic it’s treble on the high C’s. Fiona sees something—or someone—thrown overboard, and then she overhears a chemist plotting in German with one of her own countrymen! And the trouble doesn’t stop when they disembark. Soon Fiona is doing time with a group of suffragettes and investigating America’s most impressive inventor Thomas Edison. When her number one suspect turns up dead at the opera and Fredrick Fredricks is caught red-handed, it looks like it’s finally curtains for the notorious spy. But all the evidence points to his innocence. Will Fiona change her tune and clear her nemesis’ name? Or will she do her duty? And just what is she going to do with the pesky Kitty Lane? Not to mention swoon-worthy Archie Somersby… If Fiona’s going to come out on top, she’s going to have to make the most difficult decision of her life: the choice between her head and her heart.

 

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Cozy Mystery

Published by: Boldwood Books Publication Date: November 2022 Number of Pages: 298 ISBN: 9781804831564 Series: The Fiona Figg Mysteries

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Read an excerpt:

* * * Inside, the cabin was the opposite of Hugo Schweitzer’s. Whereas the German’s room was disorderly and repulsive, this man’s berth was tidy and attractive. In fact, it hardly looked occupied. The bed was made in a neat military style. There wasn’t an article of clothing nor a personal item in sight. A faint scent of pine and citrus graced the room. Like a familiar embrace, the uniform order and pleasing smell put me at ease. Hugo Schweitzer’s disgusting mess had allowed clues to remain hidden in plain sight. This man’s neatness required clever hiding places. Where would I hide a secret document in this room? Under the mattress? In the wardrobe? Sewn inside an article of clothing? I crossed the room. Getting to the wardrobe was considerably easier than it had been in Schweitzer’s clutter. When I opened the wardrobe, a waft of pine and citrus caressed my nostrils again. I thought of Archie. When would I see him again? Concentrate, Fiona. Now was not the time to behave like a lovesick schoolgirl. Two neat suits hung on hangers, spaced apart like sentries guarding a gate. One was a uniform. A British uniform. Could this traitor be in the British army? The other was a black evening suit. Whatever the blackguard was wearing under that trench coat constituted his third and final outfit. There were no more. Standing to attention at the bottom of the wardrobe were two tall black boots. I bent down to get a closer look. Inside a boot would make a decent hiding place. “Looking for something?” a man’s voice boomed from behind me. I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut tight. If only I were wearing my maid’s costume—although what maid would be cleaning at this time of night? I should have changed into Harold the helpful bellboy. At least then I’d be dressed as a man. As it was, I was wearing a flimsy evening gown and as vulnerable as a lamb in a ship full of wolves. Did I dare turn around and face my accuser? “Did you find it?” The voice was closer now… and softer… and familiar. Good heavens. I whipped around and practically flew into his arms. “Archie.” He chuckled. “I should have known I’d find you breaking into my room.” He pulled me into an embrace. “Fiona. Dear Fiona.” He kissed the top of my head. I buried my head in his shoulder. Ahhh. The scent of pine and citrus… and those horrible Kenilworth cigarettes. The scent of Lieutenant Archie Somersby. My heart was racing. From being scared out of my wits, or from being in Archie’s embrace, I didn’t know. “What are you doing here?” “I could ask you the same.” He held me tighter. “You, first.” I inhaled his familiar presence. “I will tell you, but only because it’s necessary.” He pulled out of the embrace and held me out at arm’s length. “It’s crucial that you don’t expose me.” “Expose you?” I had to censor my imagination. His earnest green eyes framed by those dark lashes and that wild lock of chestnut hair falling across his forehead made it deuced difficult. “I’m on an important mission.” He fortified his countenance with a steely gaze. “You mustn’t let on that you know me. In fact, you should stay away from me.” He pulled a gold pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket and glanced at it. I pulled my arm out of his grip. “Does your mission involve Hugo Schweitzer?” My tone was pained, but I couldn’t help it. I wished my feelings for him weren’t so strong. After all, I hardly knew him. Still, I knew he worked for British Intelligence, despite Fredrick Fredricks’s accusations to the contrary. Afterall, who was more trustworthy? A German spy or a British soldier, an especially attractive one too? Archie tilted his head and gave me a quizzical look. “How did you know?” “I saw you together earlier on deck.” Without a doubt, the trench coat and fedora Archie was wearing, along with his sleek silhouette and graceful gait, were identical to those of my mysterious compatriot and Hugo Schweitzer’s clandestine companion. He laughed. “I should have known that was you watching us.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Fiona, you’re an ace. I’ve never met a girl quite like you.” His eyes danced mischievously. The way he was laughing, I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. Wait a blooming minute. “Did you forget something?” I’d seen that amused expression before. “Why did you return to your cabin?” “To catch you in the act, love.” Archie grinned. “So, you saw me in the corridor?” He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Afraid so.” I punched his shoulder. “And instead of saying anything, you pulled this trick?” “I’m sorry.” He intercepted my hand and brought it to his lips. “Can you forgive me?” I pulled out of his grip. “Only if you can tell me about Mr. Schweitzer and the chemists’ war.” “You know I can’t do that.” He sighed. “It’s classified.” “What does the war have to do with aspirin, the headache remedy?” He led me to the bed, sat down, and patted the bedcover, inviting me to sit too. My cheeks flamed. It was only then that I realized I was alone in a gentleman’s room… after midnight, no less. Dilly Knox’s words echoed through my head. “Our Fiona will do anything for King and country, don’t you know.” That only strengthened my resolve. I was on official business and not a romantic getaway. I took a seat on the bed and tucked my gown tightly around my thighs. “You were going to tell me about aspirin?” “You’re nothing if not persistent.” Archie smiled and put his arm around my shoulders. I scooted to the head of the bed and out of his reach. “Aspirin?” He shook his head. “You really are quite a girl.” I folded my arms over my chest and glared at him. “Righto.” His smiled faded. “Aspirin is made from a chemical called phenol.” Phenol. I’d heard Hugo Schweitzer mention it. And phenol was in the letter from the Kaiser. The Kaiser’s letter. Should I tell Archie about the letter? Or report it to Captain Hall first? “What does phenol have to do with the war?” “We need phenol to make trinitrotoluene.” Archie gave me a knowing look. I gave him an ignorant stare in return. “What is trinitrotoluene?” “TNT.” “The explosive?” He nodded. “Golly.” Still, why did it matter if aspirin and TNT shared one element? How did that affect the war? Could aspirin be turned into an explosive? “Golly is right.” When he smiled, tiny dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. I had to stop myself from reaching across the bed to touch that tempting lock of wavy hair… and those dimples. Stop it, Fiona. You’re on an espionage mission and not on holiday. A holiday with Archie… how divine. Stop! Just stop. “I’m sorry we can’t work together in the open.” He took my hand and kissed it. “But for now, I’m undercover and I have to stop Schweitzer at all costs.” “I have a confession.” I sat on my hands to keep from touching him. “I broke into Hugo Schweitzer’s cabin.” Archie sat up straighter. “Go on.” “He has a briefcase full of papers and letters… in German.” “Yes,” Archie said encouragingly. “One of the letters was from the Kaiser.” I glanced over at him. “I don’t suppose you can recount the letter verbatim?” He raised his eyebrows. He’d seen me do it before. “I don’t suppose you have a pencil and paper?” I released my hands from their bondage. Archie got up and went to the dressing table. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper and then withdrew a pencil from his breast pocket and held it up. I joined him and sat down at the table. He placed the paper on the table in front of me and handed me the pencil. “Work your magic, my love.” My pulse quickened. Did Archie just call me my love? My cheeks warmed. With a smile in my heart, I closed my eyes and let the words form before my mind like captions across a black screen. I didn’t know what they meant, but I could see them as clearly as if I were holding the letter in my hands. I opened my eyes and began setting to paper what I had seen. My hand was flying across the page. When I finished, I scanned my reproduction and then held it up to Archie. He’d been breathing over my shoulder as I wrote, which was deuced distracting. As he read, the grim look on his face spoke volumes. “Good God,” he gasped. “So that is what they’re up to. And the phenol plot goes all the way to the Kaiser himself.” He dropped the paper on the dressing table. “Schweitzer is siphoning off phenol from the allies on orders from the Kaiser himself.” Siphoning off phenol. The chemical needed to make explosives. So that was the phenol plot. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Fiona, you’re a genius.” I couldn’t help but smile. His eyes hardened. “I’ve got to stop him.” Archie’s hand trembled as he ran it through his hair. “I’ve got to stop Schweitzer.” I gazed up at him with as much resolve as I could muster. “You mean we’ve got to stop him.” *** Excerpt from Chaos at Carnegie Hall by Kelly Oliver. Copyright 2022 by Kelly Oliver. Reproduced with permission from Kelly Oliver. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Kelly Oliver:

Kelly Oliver

Kelly Oliver is the award-winning and bestselling author of three mystery series: the seven-book suspense series, The Jessica James Mysteries; the three-book middle grade series, Pet Detective Mysteries; and the four-book historical cozy series, The Fiona Figg Mysteries. Chaos at Carnegie Hall is the latest Fiona Figg mystery, and the first to feature sidekick, Kitty Lane. When she’s not writing novels, Kelly is a Distinguished Professor of Philosophy at Vanderbilt University.

To learn more about Kelly and her books, go to: www.KellyOliverBooks.com Goodreads BookBub – @KellyOliverBook Instagram – @KellyOliverBook Twitter – @KellyOliverBook Facebook – @KellyOliverAuthor

 

 

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