Archive for the ‘Historical’ Category

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“This is an adventure story and a romance, but in Gibbons’ hands, it’s that and much more. Exquisitely rendered and deeply felt, this is as astute and absorbing as fiction gets.”

—Booklist

SWEETBITTER (Jackleg Press; Publication: August 1, 2023) takes place in east Texas in 1910 during the time of white rule―not by law but by lynch mob. Amid the suffocating racism and fear, half-Choctaw, half-white Reuben Sweetbitter and Martha Clarke, a white woman, fall in love.  This is an authentic, richly detailed novel with themes of sacrifice, fear and the loss of one’s identity inspired by Giddon’s family – who’s paternal grandfather half-Choktaw – and his experiences  growing up in  protestant evangelical Texas where racism and white supremacy was rampant.  Library Journal writes: “Atypical of love stories, this realistic work maintains a historical perspective in lending the couple short-lived happiness.”

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PROLOGUE

Many generations ago Aba, the great spirit above, created many men, all Chahtah, who spoke the language of the Chahtah, and under- stood one another. They came from the heart of the earth and were made of clay, and before them no men had ever lived.

One day they all gathered and looking upward wondered what the blue of the sky and the white of the clouds were made of. They determined to try to reach the sky by building a great mound. They piled up rocks to build a mound that would reach the sky but at night the wind blew from above so strongly that the rocks fell down. The second day, too, they worked, building the mound but again that night the wind came while they slept and it pushed down their work. On the third day they began yet again. But that night the wind blew so hard it hurled the rocks of the mound down upon the builders themselves.

They were not killed, but when daylight came and they crawled out from beneath the rocks that had fallen on them and they began to talk to one another, they discovered that they could no longer understand each other. They spoke many languages instead of one. Some of them spoke the original language, the Chahtah language. Others, who no longer spoke this language, began to fight with those who did. Finally they separated. The Chahtah remained, the original people, and lived near nanih waya, the mound they had not been able to complete. And the others went north and east and west and encountered more tribes.

In this way or some other, all the peoples of the earth were created, each from some substance and thus of different appearance, and at times struggling against each other. This is what the Chahtah told to a white missionary. But this was only a little of what the Chahtah knew. It was not for that man to know everything. And then he wrote mistaken things about them.

 

Excerpted from SWEETBITTER by Reginald Gibbons © 2023 by Reginald Gibbons, used with permission from JackLeg Press.

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About Author Reginald Gibbons

Reginald Gibbons

Reginald Gibbons’ works include An Orchard In The Street (BOA Editions), Creatures Of A Day ( a Finalist in poetry  for the National Book Award, LSU Press and his most recent book of poems Renditions (Four Way Books).

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MORE ABOUT REGINALD GIBBONS

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His translations include Selected Poems of Luis Cernuda (Sheep Meadow), Sophocles’ Selected Poems:
Odes and Fragments (Princeton University Press), and his co-translations include Sophocles’ Antigone and Euripides’ Bakkhai (both with the late Charles Segal, Oxford University Press).
Gibbons’ poems and short fiction have been published in Harper’s, The New York Times, The Atlantic,
The Paris, Review, Poetry, The Georgia Review, American Poetry Review, The Shanghai Review, Tikkun,
Ploughshares, Southern Review, Southwest Review, The Chicago Tribune, and many other magazines and periodicals. From 1981 to 1997, he was the editor of TriQuarterly magazine. His book about poetry, How Poems Think, is a gallery of aspects of poetry that combine feeling and poetic cognition
(University of Chicago Press). Gibbons has won fellowships from the Fulbright Foundation, the
Guggenheim Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Center for Hellenic
Studies. He has received several prizes, including the Folger Shakespeare Library’s O. B. Hardison,
Jr., Poetry Prize, and the Fuller Award for lifetime achievement from the Chicago Literary Hall of
Fame. Since 1981, he has taught creative writing at Northwestern University, where he is an
emeritus Frances Hooper Professor of Arts and Humanities. From the 1980s till the 2010s, he also
taught at more than twenty residencies of the Warren Wilson MFA for Writers.

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ADDITIONAL PRAISE | SWEETBITTER

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“Gibbons writes with a poet’s graceful attention to language, limning and then blending lovely details of the East Texas landscape, its denizens, its woods, seasons and storms, with Reuben’s half-remembered, bastardized versions of Choctaw myth and Martha’s dreamy, at-arm’s-length relationship to the white world she can’t live in yet can’t do without.” —Washington Post Book World

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“A stately, lyrical meditation on turn-of-the-century Texas… As much a meditation on the American
destruction of aboriginal civilization as it is a story about star-crossed romance.” —Texas Observer
“A sweeping yet intimate first novel that tells the story of the Choctaw Indians through the troubled life of one Reuben S. Sweetbitter, half Choctaw, half white… An absorbing story.” —Publishers Weekly
“The gripping story of illicit love… in prose not easily forgotten… [A] lovely and captivating novel.”
—The Nation

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“Surprising in every way… The novel’s ending is as strong as its beginning—terrifying and beautiful, a true tour de force.” —Chicago Tribune

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“A story of dreams, of memory, of a search for identity, or love and all the senseless obstacles it sometimes must face.” —Dallas Morning News

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“A fictional world of great vividness and detail… Gibbons’ prose can be… descriptive, evocative, even
picaresque, but he does not forget how to tell a story in straightforward sentences.”
—Review of Contemporary Fiction

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PUBLICITY CONTACT:
Jennifer Harris, JackLeg Press
ON SALE: August 15, 2023 jharris@jacklegpress.org
SWEETBITTER, Reginal Gibbons | JackLeg Press | On Sale: August 1, 2023
ISBN: 978-1737513421 | 6×9 Paperback | 19.00 US | 452 Pages

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LEARN MORE | ORDER

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Reginald Gibbons| Jackleg Press | #SWEETBITTER

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Retail: Ingram Content Group | Libraries: Libraries (ingramcontent.com)

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JackLeg Press | JackLeg employs an environmentally sustainable publishing model and a rigorous
editorial process to bring the best new and familiar voices into the literary world. At JackLeg, we
stress authenticity, collaboration, and bold thinking.

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In the Shadow of the Bull by Eleanor Kuhns Banner

In the Shadow of the Bull
by Eleanor Kuhns
July 17 – August 11, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
Ancient Crete, 1450 BC. In a world of Goddess worship, sacred snakes and sacrifice, human jealousy, resentment, and betrayal still run wild . . .

When her sister Arge drops to the floor in convulsions and dies at her wedding, fifteen-year-old Martis, a young poet and bull leaper in training, is certain she was murdered. The prime suspect is the groom, Saurus, from the Greek mainland, but when Arge’s shade visits Martis, swearing Saurus is not the murderer, Martis vows to uncover the truth. As Martis begins asking questions, she discovers that while Arge may have had no secrets, many of the people around her certainly do.

Praise for In the Shadow of the Bull:

“This complex, character-driven mystery is loaded with fascinating historical details” ~ Kirkus Reviews

 

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Mystery

Published by: Severn House Publication Date: July 2023 Number of Pages: 224 ISBN: 9781448310869 (ISBN10: 1448310865)

Series: An Ancient Crete Mystery (#1)

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Severn House

Enjoy this peek inside:
Saurus was clad, not in a colorful loincloth, nor in the robe Cretan men wore for certain rituals, but in his leather armor. His wavy black hair spilled over his shoulders, un-oiled. And he carried his weapons, long knives in their scabbards, at his waist. His one attendant, his friend Kabya, stood behind him, dressed in like manner. Gasps of condemnation sounded through the crowd. ‘Does he think he’s going to fight someone,’ Mother said in angry disapproval. Saurus looked around at the crowd, his eyes narrowed, and then he lifted his chin defiantly. Although I didn’t like him, I recognized his uncertainty. He knew we despised him and his barbarous ways. When Saurus had first come to the palace, I’d been prepared to accept him. He knew my mother’s brother and had come with news of him. Like my uncle, Saurus was also a trader. At least he said he was, and we welcomed him into the house. My dislike dated from that first day, before I knew he would take Arge from us. He examined me and my sisters with careless lechery. I’d just come from acrobatics and wore a boy’s loincloth. As his gaze swept over me, I shuddered with a strange prickly hot feeling. And then he dismissed me with a quick, indifferent turn of his head. Then the flush that burned through me was one of anger. Despite my feelings, and his awkward broken Cretan, he’d quickly charmed all my sisters. And although Mother frequently eyed him with reserve, I saw them laughing together more than once. At first, he’d spread his easy compliments among all my sisters – though I was invisible to him – but soon he paid more and more attention to Arge. A knot of worry formed on my mother’s forehead. Several months after Saurus’s arrival, Arge announced she planned to marry him. There was Arge now, in front of the mound of ash left by previous sacrifices. Against the deep purple of her jacket, her skin looked deathly pale. She’d pressed her mouth into a long thin line. Was she regretting her decision now? I looked up at the sky, so dark the stars spangled the expanse with flecks of silver, and sent another fervent prayer heavenward – ‘Please, Lady of the Animals and of Childbirth, stop this marriage. I will offer you all the honey from my bees.’ The High Priestess with her nine attendants suddenly appeared from the shadows, stepping through the trees into the torchlight. Their eyes sparkled and one of the attendants stumbled. They were drunk on the sacred liquor, a mixture of beer, wine, fermented honey and herbs. The priestesses wore the sacral knot tied at the nape of their necks, above the tight jackets. to show they were in service to Her who gave us life. Some of them wore doves on their heads, live doves tied to the headdress by the feet, for love. Three of the women carried baskets. Instead of a dove, the High Priestess carried snakes in her headdress, living snakes that coiled as high as they could from the bindings, flicking their tongues and hissing. Snakes to promote fertility in this new marriage. As the High Priestess approached the altar, a soft moan of anticipation whispered from the crowd. The goats began struggling even harder against their bonds as they caught the scent of the snakes. The Priestess, who did not seem to notice the throng of people standing on the other side of the altar of ash and bone, turned to the first attendant. She took away the lid and removed the large heavy snake from the basket to coil it around her waist. The remaining two baskets yielded additional snakes. Chanting sonorously, she allowed the snakes to twine up her arms. I could not repress a tremor of remembered fear and my mother glanced at me. Only nine at Opis’s wedding, I’d been so terrified by the snakes that Arge had had to carry me from the ceremony. I looked at Arge now. Her expression was fixed in a grimace of pain. Suddenly she fell to the floor, writhing in convulsions and spilling bloody vomit from her mouth. For several seconds no one moved. The Priestess’s chant continued, then lurched to a stop mid-syllable. Pandemonium erupted. Screaming, Mother ran to her daughter and fell to her knees beside her. After a moment of frozen disbelief, Opis and Nuia followed at a run. I couldn’t move. I stared in horror at Arge’s body lying on the stones. What had I done? I’d pleaded with the Goddess to halt the wedding and She had. But why this way? Why kill Arge, the sweetest and most unassuming of all women? Raising my face to the sky, I began to sob. The stars in the sky blurred together into streaks of silver. ‘Why?’ I asked the Goddess. ‘Why?’ This was my fault: the Goddess had answered my prayers. *** Excerpt from In the Shadow of the Bull by Eleanor Kuhns. Copyright 2023 by Eleanor Kuhns. Reproduced with permission from Eleanor Kuhns. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Eleanor Kuhns:

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Eleanor Kuhns

Eleanor Kuhns is the 2011 winner of the Minotaur/Mystery Writers of America first mystery prize for A Simple Murder. That was the first in the Will Rees series. She went on to write ten more. In the Shadow of the Bull is the first in the Ancient Crete Mystery series.

Catch Up With Eleanor Kuhns: www.Eleanor-Kuhns.com Goodreads BookBub Instagram – @edl0829 Twitter – @EleanorKuhns Facebook – @writerkuhns

 

 

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Murder Under A Western Moon: A 1930s Mona Moon Historical Cozy Mystery
by Abigail Keam

 


Murder Under A Western Moon: A 1930s Mona Moon Historical Cozy Mystery
Historical Cozy Mystery
11th in Series
Setting – Montana
Worker Bee Press (July 24, 2023)
Digital Number of Pages: 280
ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0BTWBFCV5

Mona is the American Phyrne Fisher!

Mona Moon and her new husband, Robert Farley, Duke of Brynelleth are about to board an ocean liner to Merry Old England for their honeymoon when Mona receives an urgent telegram from Rupert Hunt, her eyes and ears in the Moon copper mines.

POTENTIAL RIOT AT MONTANA MINE STOP DEAD MINER STOP POSSIBLE MURDER STOP COME AT ONCE STOP RUPERT HUNT

Since the copper mines are the financial backbone of Moon Enterprises, Mona has no choice but to drop her plans and travel to Montana on the next train. She and Robert descend into a world of seething resentments, bitter accusations against Moon Enterprises, and bad decisions that pose a threat to Mona’s world. She travels incognito to search out the truth of Rupert’s allegations against the mining management. She must decide if Rupert is trying to prevent an innocent man from being hung for murder or if he is part of a grandiose plot against her. After all, Mona had been kidnapped by Rupert while searching for the Swift silver mine a year ago. Rupert is a scoundrel, but Mona hired him to be her scoundrel. Is this another of Rupert’s games? Regardless of the threat, Mona must get to the bottom of it. Thank goodness Robert is by her side . . . or could Robert have his own agenda?

About Abigail Keam

Award-winning author Abigail Keam writes the Mona Moon Mystery Series—a rags-to-riches 1930s mystery series which includes real people and events into the story. “I am a student of history and love to insert historical information into my mysteries. My goal is to entertain my readers, but if they learn a little something along the way—well, then we are both happy.”  She has won many awards for her mysteries, and Murder Under A Western Moon is her 40th novel.  Miss Abigail lives on the cliffs above the Kentucky River with her husband and various critters.  In her spare time, Miss Abigail is a beekeeper.

Author Links: Official Site / Facebook / Instagram / Pinterest / Amazon / TikTok

Purchase Links
Amazon    Apple Books   Nook    Amazon UK    Amazon AU    Amazon CA

Enjoy this peek inside:

As Mona and Robert compared notes while riding back to the hotel, both of them heard a loud cracking noise that traveled through the car.

“What was that?” Mona asked.  “It sounded like the snap of a bullwhip.”

Robert ordered the driver, “Slow down, please.”  He rolled down his window and listened.

“There it is again,” Mona said.  “Driver, stop.”  She got out of the car and looked about, but it was dark with a moonless sky.  Mona couldn’t see anything.

Another crack sounded.

The Pinkertons in the car following them also got out and looked about.

A fourth crack pierced the air.

“It’s gunfire!  Take cover,” one of the Pinkertons shouted.

Mona ducked down by the side of the car as Robert joined her.  “Turn the car lights off!” she yelled.

Robert threw Mona on the ground and shielded her with his body, but they both lifted their heads upon hearing a rumble. “AVALANCHE!   AVALANCHE!” Robert yelled, as he dragged Mona to the side of the mountain and frantically covered both their heads with his arms.  Their driver huddled with them.  Since darkness prevented them from seeing which direction the snow was headed, there was no use in running.  Some of the Pinkertons realized they were in the path of the descending wall of snow and ran.  Their shrieks could be heard above the roar of the torrent as they got caught in the avalanche and were hurled down the mountainside.

“Oh, God!” Mona murmured upon hearing the men scream.

Robert whispered into her ear, “Don’t listen.  Don’t listen.”  He put his hands over her ears.

The rumbling abruptly stopped and was replaced by a haunting silence.  Robert and Mona waited a few minutes before climbing out of the snowbank which had fallen about them.  Luckily, they had not been hit with any of the displaced rocks and boulders propelled by the tumbling snow.  Robert cleared snow from their driver who also was unharmed.

Shouts came from the Pinkertons who had been in a car ahead of them.  They had not been involved in the avalanche.  “Anyone hurt?” one guard shouted.

Robert yelled, “Second car is fine except we are bound by snow, but the third car got the brunt of the slide.  We think there are casualties, but we can’t see and no one is answering our calls.”

“We are digging you out now.  Can you get into your car?”

Robert replied, “Negative.  The doors are blocked by snow.”

“Stay where you are.  We are coming.”

Mona, Robert, and the driver helped each other get the snow from around their collars, inside their gloves, and tops of their boots.  Each gave a vigorous shake to remove snow from their coats.  Both the driver and Robert dug snow away with their hands from the trunk of the car to access a shovel, emergency blankets, and a first-aid kit.  Mona moved to the back passenger door and pulled snow away from the car with her hands.  The work kept them all warm.

As the Pinkertons in the first car were making headway with the fallen snow, Mona and Robert saw car lights in the distance behind them, curving the bend in the road.  They heard the roar of the car engine and saw beams of flashlights.

“HELLO?  HELLO?”

Robert shouted, “WE’RE HERE!”

Mona grabbed Robert’s arm.  “Robert, be careful.  These could be the men who caused the avalanche.”

“WE’LL HELP YOUR MEN.  THE CAR’S GONE OVER THE SIDE.”

Robert yelled back, “YES, DO THAT!  WE’LL FREE OUR CAR AND THEN START DIGGING TOWARD YOU.”  Turning, Robert asked, “Do you have your gun on you, Mona?”

“It’s in my purse which is in the car.  What about your six-shooter?”

“Under the snow somewhere.”

“I’ve got one in my shoulder holster, and there’s another gun in the glove compartment if we can get to it,” the Pinkerton driver announced.

“Good man,” Robert said.  “Put your gun where you can use it in a hurry.”

Mona, Robert, and the driver dug around their car finally clearing the snow away from the trunk.  The driver took the shovel and shoveled the road while Robert put several blankets around Mona, whose hands had frozen so badly that she lost the feeling in them.

After an hour, the Pinkertons from the first car cleared away the snow and reached Mona and Robert.  They put Mona in their vehicle which was still warm.  She was grateful for the warmth and rubbed her numb hands in front of the car’s heater.

Robert worked with the Pinkertons to reach the third car, but once they broke through a wall of snow, there was no third car.  It had careened down the mountain.  Its blinking tail lights were faintly visible beneath the snow.

They found four men hoisting bodies through a series of ropes tied to a truck.  A man wearing a Stetson and standing near the road’s edge, watched them bring the bodies up.  Upon seeing his milky eye, Robert recognized the man, who worked for Margaret Daly.

Robert walked up to the man.  “Is everyone dead?”

“No.  I have two men in the truck.  They are banged up a bit, but otherwise fine.  They told me that someone repeatedly fired a gun, which caused the avalanche.”

“How did you happen upon us?” Robert asked.

“Miss Margaret gave orders to follow.  She felt you were in danger although we never expected anything like this.  You’ve got to admit it was devilishly clever.”

Not sure the Stetson man was speaking the truth, Robert gave him a long stare before stating, “Thank you.  Our other two cars are working, so we’ll take the injured men into town and send help back.”

“We’ll stay and clear the road.  If the law doesn’t come soon enough, we’ll bring in the bodies and leave them at the funeral home.”  The Stetson man tried to peek around Robert.  “I trust Miss Moon is fine.”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Robert replied, coldly.  “I’ll collect those injured men and be off.”  He nodded to the Pinkertons to gather their associates.  “Thank you again, and chin chin.

The Stetson man tipped the brim of his hat.

Robert walked back with the Pinkerton men, all the while wondering if he was going to be shot in the back.  Once safely ensconced in the first car with Mona, he turned to her.  “You’ll never guess who turned out to be our savior.”

Mona pulled her blanket over Robert.  “Who?”

“Margaret Daly.  She ordered the Stetson man to follow us.”

“She could have ordered him to start the avalanche.”

“I thought it odd myself that her man happened to arrive a short time after the avalanche.  I’ll guess we’ll never know the real truth, but she did warn you of danger, Mona.”  Robert lit a cigarette as his nerves were frayed.  “What do you want to do now?”

Mona didn’t chide Robert about smoking as she knew he was upset.  She was disturbed as well.  “We’ve got three managers to deal with.  We need to stay in Montana until this mess is cleared up.”

“We got out by the skin of our teeth tonight, Mona, and two of our men didn’t make it.  We need to make changes fast, and then get the heck out of here.”

“I don’t like putting our men and ourselves in danger, but we’ve got to see this through, Robert.”

A Pinkerton knocked on the car window.

Mona rolled it down.

“Sorry, folks, but we need to put one of the injured men in this car.  It’s pretty tight in the other vehicle.”

“Assuredly, bring him here,” Robert said, before turning to his wife.  “I’ll drive and we’ll put two men in the back.”

Mona got out and stood aside as Pinkertons carried their injured comrade.  They eased him into the back of the car.  Mona took off her blanket, wrapping it around the injured man.  She said to the non-injured Pinkerton, “You’ll stay with him?”

“Ma’am, he can use my lap as his pillow.  We’ll get him to a hospital all right.”

Mona replied, “We shall fly to the nearest hospital like the fastest hawk.”

“Better make it a night owl.”

Mona gave a ghost of a smile at the Pinkerton’s jest.  She slid into the front seat and turned to Robert.  “We’re ready.  Let’s get back to Butte.”

Robert took off the emergency brake and depressed on the clutch, putting the car in first gear.  The car began to roll downward and Robert put the car in second gear. “Here we go, ready or not.”

But Mona didn’t hear Robert.  She was deep in thought planning her next move.

Someone was going to pay for the death of those two men as well as Piotr Wojcik and Dr. Driscoll.  Someone indeed!

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July 24 – My Reading Journeys – REVIEW

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July 28 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – SPOTLIGHT

 

 


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Mrs. Odboddy’s Desperate Doings

A WWII Tale

A Mrs. Odboddy Mystery

by Elaine Faber

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Mrs. Odboddy’s Desperate Doings: A WWII tale (Mrs. Odboddy Mysteries)
Historical Cozy Mystery
4th in Series 
Setting – California
Elk Grove Publications (April 30, 2022)
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 264 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 4294245115
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1940781297
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B09ZWVPNHS

After falling from a tree, Agnes’s behavior and delusions escalate from ‘merely eccentric,’ to ‘near mayhem ’ Still seeking a permanent home for a displaced carnival tiger, she goes to unthinkable extremes in an effort to prevent city hall from destroying the big cat. When Agnes witnesses a well-known citizen commit burglary, and the church’s beloved Good Shepherd painting goes missing, she becomes obsessed with exposing the art thief. But, questions arise whether the extent of her bizarre behavior is due to a ‘brain bleed’ from her head injury, or is something amiss in her medical treatment?

As WWII rages across the Pacific, dealing with victory gardens and rationing at home doesn’t stop Agnes from fighting the war from the home front. From city hall, to the hot seat at Newbury’s Police Department, and finally to a San Francisco mansion, Agnes pursues injustice to save a tiger and expose a shocking conspiracy at the highest levels of Newbury’s elite society.

Mrs. Odboddy’s Desperate Doings is a hilarious WWII mystery-adventure you’ll not soon forget.

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Historical Facts are presented in the storyline:

Mrs. Odboddy’s Desperate Doings is a humorous cozy mystery novel where Mrs. Odboddy is fictionally involved with various historical persons and events. See Below

EDWARD REEP  Edward Reep, a California resident and water color artist, became a photographer and combat artist for the United States Army during WWII. Widely publicized in newspapers and magazines, Reep’s poignant war-time depictions made him popular with the public before and after the war. He was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship to help finance his pursuit of art due to his outstanding contributions to war art.

JAPANESE SUBMARINES  In 1942, the Japanese navy dispatched submarines to the USA along the western coastline from Oregon to the Aleutians. Along with several other incidents, they successfully shelled a lighthouse near Vancouver Island, WA, and torpedoed and shelled a freighter off Cape Flattery, WA. The freighter was towed to safety with no loss of life. Though a factual event, the date and location was altered somewhat in our story for purposes of involving Agnes and fictionalizing the event. 

ZOO EUTHANAZIA   Throughout the story, Mrs. Odboddy goes to extreme lengths to find a permanent home for Shere Khan, a displaced carnival tiger. During WWII. many USA zoos closed due to personnel shortages but mostly due to the lack of adequate food supply needed to sustain the large carnivore animals. Poor nutrition led to the death of many large animals and many more were euthanized due to the inability to properly feed them. In no circumstance would an existing zoo take on a displaced carnival tiger. Shere Khan’s plight in this novel, is therefore, based in fact. Never fear, Mrs. Odboddy’s determination is mighty!

THE GOOD SHEPHERD PAINTING   Bernhard Plockhorst is most famous for the painting of The Good Shepherd shown with a staff in one hand and a lamb in the other. He also painted the famous picture of the guardian angel watching over two children as they traversed along a dangerous cliff. His image of the face of Christ is the most accepted rendering of Christ’s likeness in the Christian Church. Plockhorst was from Germany, famous during the latter part of the 1800. Copies of his paintings are in practically every Christian church and many USA homes.

 

AMPHETAMINES  Though home front USA citizens knew little about amphetamines during the 1940’s, Hitler widely distributed Benzedrine and Pervitin to Germany’s battlefield soldiers to enhance stamina, endurance, and performance. Likely many of the atrocities of war were committed due to the effects of enhanced drug use. Wide effects from amphetamines vary, but well could include the symptoms Agnes suffered from their use.

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About Elaine Faber

Elaine Faber lives in Elk Grove, CA, with her husband and two feline companions. She is a member of Sisters in Crime (SIC), Elk Grove Writer’s Guild (EGWG), and Northern California Publishers and Authors (NCPA). Elaine volunteers with the American Cancer Society. She has published nine cozy mystery novels, and an anthology of cat stories. Her short stories are also published in 22 independent anthologies.

Black Cat’s Legacy, Thumper meets Kimberlee and with the aid of his ancestors’ memories, helps her pursue her father’s cold case murder.  http://tinyurl.com/lrvevgm
Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer, Thumper (Black Cat) goes to Texas and confronts an embezzling attorney and thwarts an attempted murder plot. http://tinyurl.com/q3qrgyu
Black Cat and the Accidental Angel, Black Cat and his companion are left behind following an MVA and find new adventures on an emu farm. http://tinyurl.com/y4eohe5n
Black Cat and the Clue in Dewey’s Diary  Kimberlee follows clues to stolen gold coins in Austria, as Black Cat faces intrigue in hometown Fern Lake. http://tinyurl.com/vgyp89s
Mrs. Odboddy-Hometown Patriot, Eccentric Mrs. Odboddy is determined to expose Nazi spies and conspiracies on every hand.  http://tinyurl.com/hdbvzsv
Mrs. Odboddy-Undercover Courier, Mrs. Odboddy prevents Nazi spies from stealing the ‘secret documents’ she is carrying by train to President Roosevelt. http://tinyurl.com/jn5bzwb
Mrs. Odboddy-And Then There was a Tiger, Falsely accused, Agnes seeks the missing war bond money and befriends a displaced carnival tiger.  https://tinyurl.com/yx72fcpx
Mrs. Odboddy’s Desperate Doings. Agnes exposes an art thief, and seeks a permanent home for Shere Khan, the displaced carnival tiger, she https://tinyurl.com/5xah4cnt
The Spirit Woman of Lockleer Mountain. Is the woman in the woods a missing neighbor, the imaginary local Native American’s Spirit Woman? http://tinyurl.com/y7rp7f3x
 All Things Cat, Twenty-one short stories written about, or narrated by about cats from all walks of life. http://tinyurl.com/y9p9htak

Elaine’s Website

Purchase Link – Amazon

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She Who Rides Horses: A Saga of the Ancient Steppe (Book One)

by Sarah V. Barnes

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Category:  Adult Fiction (18+),  267 pages
Genre: Historical Fiction
Publisher:  Lilith House Press
Release date:  March 2022
Content RatingPG.  It contains two kissing scenes and the death of an animal.

Book Description:

Set more than 6,000 years ago, She Who Rides Horses: A Saga of the Ancient Steppe (Book One) begins the story of Naya, the first person to ride a horse.

Daughter of a clan chief, bolder than other girls but shunned by the boys because of her unusual appearance, Naya wanders alone through the vast grasslands where her people herd cattle and hunt wild horses for their meat. But Naya dreams of creating a different kind of relationship with the magnificent creatures.

One day, she discovers a filly with a chestnut coat as uncommon as her own head of red hair. With time running out before she is called to assume the responsibilities of adulthood, Naya embarks on a quest to gallop with the red filly across the boundless steppe.

​Unwittingly, she sets in motion forces and events that will change forever the future of humans and horses alike.

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MY REVIEW

Long, long ago there lived a girl. Naya, the  daughter of a chief in her clan. Despite her role, she has dreams which she struggles to make her clan understand. Horses can be more than just food. Her dream is to tame a wild horse and ride it. What an advantage it would be.

I was pulled into this historical adventure from the synopsis. I was one of those young girls who dreamed of owning my own horse. How could I not enjoy a story about a young girl who is the first to ride a horse. What I quickly discovered as I got further into the book was the fascinating journey of Naya and her clan. How they lived a nomadic life much as Native Americans used to. The social dynamics and Naya’s place in the clan. And her spiritual journey. The author showed me her world and I was transported to another time, met members of other clans and was enthralled by Naya’s enchantment with the wild horses.

I have to read the next book. This one ends on a cliffhanger. That can sometimes annoy me. I like some kind of conclusion. But this time, I was just anxious to continue with a young girl’s journey. To be transported back to her world, which is so fascinating, and see what her future brings.

5 STARS

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Guest Post
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 Getting to Know Your Characters

When asked how I came up with the characters in my novel, She Who Rides Horses, I’m never quite sure how to answer. Rather than being made up, I feel as though they showed up. As the story started to unfold, I gradually got to know them. Take the main character – Naya – for example. When I began writing, I didn’t know her name – she was simply ‘the girl’. As the story moved along, I tried out various names derived from the language her people might have spoken, finally settling on one that seemed to fit. But then I happened to read a book of ancient myths from the land where Naya’s mother was from and realized Naya and her mother Sata could both be named for the same mythological character – Satanaya. It all seemed to fit – but I had to get to know both Naya and her mother first. As for Naya’s appearance – without any conscious intention on my part, she showed up in the first couple of paragraphs with red hair and blue eyes. Later, when I researched the origins of the genes for red hair and blue eyes, sure enough, I was able to verify that, although rare, those traits did exist among the people living in the steppes of what is now southern Russia around 4,000 BCE, where and when the story is set. Similarly, some characteristics of her personality were present from the beginning, like her tom-boyishness and her bravery and determination, but other aspects only emerged as I got to know her better, like her insecurities around not being the son she is certain her father would have preferred.

Besides Naya, I’ve enjoyed getting to know her grandmother, Awija, as well as her mother, Sata. Having three generations of women in the same family allows me to explore relationships and perspectives at three different life stages. Awija is Sata’s mother-in-law, so that adds an interesting dynamic. As a mother of daughters, I relate to Sata, although she also faces challenges that are not part of my personal experience. Writing about her longings and regrets has allowed me to come to understand her better. Awija plays a more limited role in the first book but she is one of my favorite characters. She’s full of wisdom. I’m enjoying getting to spend more time with her and learn from her as I work on book two.

And then, of course, there are the horses. They are very much characters in their own right, with individual personalities which I’ve also had to get to know. For Naya and the red filly, whose interactions drive the story, I’ve tried to portray their emerging relationship as authentically as possible, which can be a challenge when all the communication between them is non-verbal.

Each day when I sit down to write, it’s as though I’m entering into an ongoing conversation with friends, wondering what they will do and say next. It’s what keeps me coming back to my desk.

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Enjoy this excerpt from Chapter One:
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It was long after noon the next day before Naya was at last able to slip away. This time she was better prepared. In a deer skin bag slung over one shoulder she carried flint tools and kindling for making fire, a flint knife and enough food to last a day, as well as a full water skin. Over the other shoulder was coiled a long length of braided rawhide, strong enough, she hoped, to restrain the filly…

  She found the little band at dusk, when the sun’s afterglow cast blackening shadows across the landscape. She had just gained the top of a small rise and could see for some distance, despite the gathering darkness. There they were – blurred shapes silhouetted against the next range of hills. Succeeding ridges gained in height, verdant meadows giving way to forested slopes, behind which the sun had disappeared. The horses had led her to the edge of the grasslands…

  Naya shivered in the rapidly cooling air. The horses appeared to have stopped for the evening. The mares’ heads hung low, muzzles almost touching the ground in deep relaxation and she could make out several darker shapes that must be the foals, lying in the grass at their feet. Only the stallion stood alert, scenting the air for danger before dropping his head to grab a few mouthfuls of grass. Moments later, his head lifted again, keen eyes scanning the landscape.

Naya settled herself in the deep grass and rested her folded arms atop her knees. From her vantage on the rise downwind from the small band, she could sit and keep watch without arousing suspicion… Eventually, cheek resting on her forearms, she closed her eyes, and slept…

  At some point later in the night, she thought she awoke. Lifting her head from her folded arms, she checked the herd. They were as they’d been before, dozing in the lee of the hillside across from the rise where she sat. Even the stallion had relaxed his vigilance and stood with his head lowered. The full moon now rode high in the sky, bright enough to cast faint shadows. As Naya’s eyes adjusted to the night, the moon’s light illuminated a faint track leading down the rise at an angle from where the horses rested. She hadn’t noticed it before.

Rising, Naya moved as silently as she could, following the path in the moonlight. Soon, she found herself ascending another small rise, then descending, then rising again, until at last she stood at the edge of a ravine. Below, she could see a stream, shining in the moonlight, gurgling quietly as it flowed over its stony bed… Slipping and sliding, Naya made her way down the steep slope, scratching her skin against sharp rocks and thorny underbrush. At last she reached the bottom and looked around her. Along the ravine’s floor, smooth white stones marked the water course… Drawn onward, Naya followed the path upstream into a grove of trees.

  There, a wondrous sight met her eyes. Oaks and birches encircled a small pool of water, fed by an underground spring. Reflected in the pool’s clear, still surface was the round orb of the moon, casting its light from high above the rocky cliffs which formed the pool’s backdrop. Beside the pool stood the red filly, burnished coat softly aglow. Naya froze, rooted as if she were one of the trees, and stared. The filly, startled by the girl’s approach, stared back. Neither moved. Eventually, Naya remembered to breathe. In the next moment, she realized that she had left her rope, along with everything else she’d brought with her, back on the rise. Still, she and the filly stood motionless, looking at one another.

In that moment, Naya’s senses underwent an almost imperceptible shift; the moonlight became just a little brighter, the stream’s murmur became just a little louder, the slight breeze rustling the leaves in the trees became just a little fresher against her skin. In the next moment, she seemed to feel the filly’s thoughts.

  I will grant your heart’s desire, but only if you are able to grant mine. The musical voice resonated within the core of Naya’s being, even though no sound other than the splash of flowing water and whisper of the wind in the trees disturbed the silence of the grove. What is your heart’s desire?

  Awestruck, Naya could only gaze back at the young horse, who now regarded her with luminous dark eyes in which fear had given way to curiosity. Finally, she found her own voice. “I wish to be with you,” she said simply. “I wish to touch your coat.” Then, from deep inside, another longing welled up, a yearning so audacious she almost couldn’t bring herself to speak. Hesitatingly, she uttered the words. “I wish,” she said, “to ride upon your back.”

  Ah, the red filly seemed to reply, if this is indeed your deepest desire, then you must see with the eyes of your heart and create ties without the use of a rope. And when you have succeeded in granting my heart’s desire, then shall yours be granted also.

  Before Naya could begin to ponder the meaning of the words, the filly brushed past her in a chestnut blur and was gone, disappearing through the trees toward the mouth of the ravine. Gazing after her, Naya shook her head, as if to clear her senses. Water still flowed in the creek and a breeze still rustled among the leaves. The moon still cast its dim glow – but the moment of utter clarity had vanished, just as suddenly as the young horse. Shaking herself again, as if awakening from a dream, Naya retraced her steps to the mouth of the ravine. There was no sign of the red filly…

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Meet the Author:

Sarah V. Barnes, Ph.D. is both an historian and a horsewoman. When Sarah is not writing stories, she practices and teaches riding as a meditative art. She also offers equine-facilitated coaching and wellness workshops.

Sarah holds a Ph.D. in history from Northwestern University and spent many years as a college professor before turning full-time to riding and writing. She has two grown daughters and lives with her husband, her dogs and her horses near Boulder, CO.

connect with the author: website facebook ~  goodreads

 
 
 
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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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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.

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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.

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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