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The Ordinary Bruja: Marisol’s Story
Johanny Ortega
(Las Cerradoras, #1)
Publication date: November 1st 2025
Genres: Adult, Horror, Magical Realism, Psychological
The Ordinary Bruja is a haunting and heartfelt coming-of-age novel wrapped in Dominican magical realism and psychological horror.
Marisol Espinal doesn’t believe she’s special. Not when she’s back in her small Ohio hometown, working as a barista, haunted by grief and the girls who once made her life hell. But when mirrors flicker with strange words, cigar smoke curls where no one is smoking, and voices whisper from Hallowthorn Hill, she realizes something darker has always been watching.
The Espinal family magic was buried generations ago-forced into silence by Salvador, the ancestor who bound their power for himself. Now his ghost feeds on fear and doubt, and Marisol is his next target. To survive, she must reclaim her heritage, unearth the truth hidden in her mother’s journal, and face the hill that has been waiting for her all along.
Atmospheric and emotionally charged, The Ordinary Bruja blends generational trauma, identity reclamation, and queer love with a creeping sense of dread. Perfect for fans of The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina and Mexican Gothic, this novel asks: What does it cost to embrace every part of yourself-even the parts the world taught you to bury?
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo
“Ten months since she had dropped out and came home, to the place she promised herself she’d never return to. She was bad at keeping promises. That was for sure.”
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PRAISE for The Ordinary Bruja
“There is spirituality, magic, ghosts, there is plenty of love, there is loss; and above all there is familia, both genetic and of choice.”
“…An impactful horror story that blew me away.”
“This book . . . pushed me to confront my own assumptions about history.”
“You can absolutely feel the anguish Marisol feels at the loss of her mother.”
“I absolutely enjoyed “The Ordinary Bruja”. It was a perfect mix between horror (with a slight humor – thank you early Marisol and her “nope” moments + Kia) and a story that shows you that you need to find your own way, even if everything is pushing you down.”
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Enjoy this peek inside:
Marisol’s ghosts
Marisol Espinal’s name tag glinted under the harsh café lights, a cruel little mirror. The letters wavered, morphing into something off. God, she hated mirrors. The letters twisted like heat waves on pavement. Her stomach squeezed. Does it say “ordinary”? Heat rose to her neck. She blinked, but the word was still there, pulsing as if alive, refusing to prove her sight wrong.
Right then, the faint scent of cigar smoke drifted past her, starkly out of place amid the café’s familiar aroma of espresso and pastries. Marisol glanced around, wondering if someone was smoking inside or lingering too close to the door. She tore her gaze from the nametag. She had always hated mirrors, but this felt different.
Still, she wondered if someone was playing a sick joke on her.
She crossed to the café’s large selfie mirror by the corner booth. Eyes followed her, but she didn’t care.
Who would play with my name tag? ¿Las tres mojonas? They had been cruel enough in school, and she was sure they still were.
She felt a tug on her sleeve and looked behind her. Her jaw clenched, half expecting to see Delgada or one of her cronies, but it was Kia. Tall, calm, and somehow always exactly where Marisol needed her to be. Her hair was in a high puff, the café’s soft light haloing it, and her hoodie hung off one shoulder as if she hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. Kia never tried too hard, and maybe that’s what made her magnetic, steady in a way that made Marisol memorize every line of her face. She smelled faintly of coffee beans and peppermint lotion, always carrying the scent of the café with her, as if it clung to her skin.
“You good, Mari? You’ve got that faraway look again.”
Marisol released a shaky breath. She took a glance at the mirror, just long enough to catch her nametag’s glint. The letters seemed to shift.
That is a “B,” not an “O,” right?
Her stomach twisted again.
“Mari?” Kia called.
Marisol blinked at her reflection. Same old word: Barista. Nothing had changed. It’s just exhaustion. Yet the unease gnawed at her stomach.
She turned away from the mirror, silently promising herself not to look at it for the rest of her shift.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired.”
Kia nodded, but Marisol could tell she wasn’t buying it.
This was why she avoided mirrors. They showed too much.
It had only been ten months since Mami died. The mirror showed that too. Ten months since she had dropped out and come back to the place she promised herself she’d never return to. Gosh. Every time she thought of having come so close only to come home with a diploma-shaped hole filled with student debt, it made her feel like she was walking around with a wet shirt on during winter, and everyone staring at her.
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About Author Johanny Ortega:
Johanny Ortega is a Dominican American author who writes across genres—blending psychological horror, literary fiction, magical realism, and thrillers that punch you right in the gut. Whether writing about haunted hills, generational trauma, or the quiet unraveling of everyday life, her stories center marginalized voices, morally complex women, and the messy truth about survival.
She is the founder of Have a Cup of Johanny, a creative platform where she blogs, podcasts, and advocates for inclusive storytelling. Her award-winning middle-grade and adult fiction has resonated with readers who crave depth, grit, and emotional honesty.
When she’s not writing, she’s raising kids in a blended military family, reading books that wreck her soul in the best way, and saying what others are afraid to.
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For a list of my reviews go HERE.
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The Magic of Painted Creek
by Robyn Kilgore
Publication date: June 24th 2025
Genres: Adult, Magical Realism
She only came back to settle a will, but her roots ran deeper than she bargained for…
Mabel Morrison considers herself fortunate to have a thriving art business at only twenty-five years old. After the sudden passing of her grandmother, Mabel leaves her mother, her only living relative, in Columbus, Ohio and finds herself back in Painted Creek, North Carolina to settle her grandmother’s affairs.
The longer she is stuck in town, the more she learns about her grandmother’s legacy and the family that came before her. As she starts to piece together a found family of her own, Mabel begins to embrace her other natural gifts within her paintings that she’s been denying for years. Suddenly, she imagines what life could be like in Painted Creek surrounded by friends, magic, and love. The future seems brighter than ever as she slowly begins to stray further from the path that was laid out for her when she was young.
But her newfound confidence is shaken when her new friendships are tested, setting off a chain of events that could change the course of Mabel’s life forever. Has Mabel inherited more than she bargained for? Or will she find the inner strength to embrace all of her gifts and hold on to everything she has never let herself want?
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Enjoy this peek inside:
The alarm clock crashed to the floor as I smacked at it for the last time. “I’m leaving that damn thing here,” I grumbled to myself. I felt crazy for having such strong feelings about an inanimate object, but I hated that alarm clock. Sitting upright and running my hands down my face, I felt more like a zombie than a human girl. Woman.
Whatever.
Unfortunately, I’d missed the off button for the alarm and the clock’s fall from the table hadn’t broken it or ripped the plug from the wall, so it was still happily wailing away from under the bed. And it didn’t sound muted. Oh no, now it somehow seemed to reverberate through the entire room as if the under bed acoustics were the perfect amplifier for my morning agony. Flipping myself over the edge of the bed and hanging upside down, I yanked the cord from the wall and huffed in relief at the sudden silence. Calling on core strength I absolutely did not have, I wriggled upright and collapsed back into the pillows.
In the sudden stillness, I took a moment to really look around my bedroom in the apartment I’d had for the last five years, the first place I could call my own when I moved out of my mother’s house. Looking at it now though, I wondered if I really could call it mine. I paid the rent and other bills, sure, and maintained my responsibilities, and theoretically made all the decisions. But I felt no sense of “me” in this space. The walls were a dull builder grade beige, as was the carpet. Hell, even my comforter was a slightly darker shade of beige. The only pop of personality in the room was my dark purple sheets, and even they were hidden away when the bed was made.
My mother had helped me choose the apartment, and all the things in it, when she finally conceded to my desire to move out at twenty years old. I had been financially self sufficient for a couple years, I was lucky in that way. My painting business had really taken off right after high school, and in a mere year I had acquired a nice little nest egg that continued to grow while I still lived at home.
I shook my head, not wanting to mentally relive the fights we’d had when I told her I wanted a place of my own. But I couldn’t help but wonder as I looked around my bedroom if this is what I would have chosen for myself. Even the artwork, now carefully wrapped up and ready to move, was bland and muted in color. Neutral. Safe.
I glanced back over at the offending alarm clock. My mother had even gifted me that alarm clock, saying that productive people got their day started early. “You started this.” I narrowed my eyes, pointed at it, and huffed. I realized the clock probably sounded louder because the room was now almost completely empty, and therefore echoey, not because the electronic device was actually yelling at me.
After one more second of reflection, and one more glare at the clock, I squared my shoulders and got out of bed. “No time like a new beginning to change your interior design choices. And I’m more productive at night anyway.” With that, I headed to the shower, vowing to leave the alarm clock and all things beige behind in the move.
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About Author Robyn Kilgore:
Robyn Kilgore lives in Tennessee with her husband, kids, dog and business manager (the cat). When she’s not working on a writing project or reading, you can find her chauffeuring her kids to activities… usually by way of a coffee shop drive through. Her love of vintage treasures, whimsical findings, and seeking magic in every day life led her easily to write magical realism novels. Robyn also has a small handmade jewelry and craft business, her first (and forever) passion turned business venture. She gives a nod to the experience of making jewelry in her first novel, The Magic of Painted Creek.
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The Magic of Painted Creek Blitz
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For a list of my reviews go HERE.
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Book Details:
The Midnight Of Eights by Justin Newland
Category: Adult Fiction (18 +), 288 pages
Genre: Historical Fiction and Magical Realism
Publisher: The Book Guild
Release date: September 2025
Content Rating: PG:+ M: Young protagonists exploring the world but mature existential themes.
Book Description:
1580.
Nelan Michaels docks at Plymouth after sailing around the world aboard The Golden Hind. He seeks only to master his mystical powers – the mark of the salamander, that mysterious spirit of fire – and reunite with his beloved Eleanor.
After delivering a message to Francis Walsingham, he’s recruited into the service of the Queen’s spymaster, where his astral abilities help him to predict and thwart future plots against the realm.
But in 1588, the Spanish Armada threatened England’s shores.
So, how could the fledgling navy of a small, misty isle on the edge of mainland Europe repulse the greatest fleet in the world?
Was the Queen right when she claimed it was divine intervention, saying, ‘He blew with His winds, and they were scattered!’?
Or was it an entirely different intervention – the extraordinary conjunction of coincidences that Nelan’s astral powers brought to bear on that fateful Midnight of Eights?
Meet Author Justin Newland:
Justin Newland writes secret history thrillers, history with a supernatural twist.
His six novels represent an innovative blend of genres from historical adventure to supernatural thriller and magical realism.
Author, speaker and broadcaster, Justin enjoys giving historical talks and radio interviews.
A Ph.D. in Mathematics, he lives with his partner in plain sight of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, England.
connect with the author:
website ~ X/twitter ~ facebook ~ instagram ~ pinterest ~ bookbub ~ goodreads
THE MIDNIGHT OF EIGHTS Book Tour Giveaway
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Seven Hundred Beachfront
by Ligia de Wit
Publication date: July 22nd 2025
Genres: Adult, Magical Realism, Romance, Women’s Fiction
Some places hold memories. Others have opinions.
I didn’t mean to run again.
But when life gets tangled, I untangle it by leaving. And this time, my escape came with strings attached: a five-year-old brother I never signed up to care for, a seaside town I barely remember, and a tattered house on stilts that belongs in Renter’s Hell.
I told myself it was just for the summer. A break. A pause. A way to escape the people I care about but can’t seem to fit with anymore, and the choices I don’t know how to fix.
But the sea doesn’t let you stay distant for long.
Then there’s him. Quiet. Grumpy. Mysterious. The kind of man who doesn’t ask questions, but somehow sees more than he should. I don’t even like talking to him, and yet… here we are. Sharing long silences. Unexpected moments. Maybe even something more.
And as for the house? Let’s just say it has opinions—and it’s not afraid to share them.
Seven Hundred Beachfront is a heartfelt, magical story about learning to stay, letting people in, and discovering that healing doesn’t always come the way you expect it. But when it does, you’ll feel it down to your bones.
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Enjoy this peek inside:
Carole hadn’t sent a thing to keep him busy, damn woman, and I’d only used the TV for movies. Wait a sec—Jessie left a Star Wars movie at my place, the first one, so I should have it here.
“No Scooby, kiddo,” I said while looking in the boxes, “but you’re gonna like this one. It’s the real thing, not a single goofy character one mile near it.”
“ ’Kay.” He sat on the old, flowery couch and gazed at me, expectant.
“How do you want your fish?” I asked while putting the movie on, realizing I had no idea what Bobby liked.
“Dead.”
I gave a small smile. “But how do you like it prepared? Pan fried?”
“No. Like Mom does it.” He lifted his little arms and mimed putting something in a pan. “Like this.”
“You’re not much help, kiddo. I’ll cook it pan fried.”
“ ’Kay,” Bobby whispered, gaze down.
After leaving him with the movie, I got ready to cook. The stove burners were a little rusty but worked. I prepared pan-fried fish, along with steamed vegetables and wild rice. Maybe I didn’t have many accomplishments in my life, but, damn, I could cook. It had been either that or be resigned to eating frozen dinners.
When other kids watched cartoons, I watched cooking shows. At ten, I prepared chicken cordon-bleu. Even Aunt Marie was impressed. Carole just grimaced. It’s overcooked, she’d said.
The aroma of spices and well-cooked fish filled the space, and any knot in my body vanished.
My cell rang, and I picked it up, frowning at the caller ID. “Hey,” I answered flatly.
“Honey!” Carole’s voice came clear. “Darling, you have no idea what a marvelous flight we had.” She laughed, evidently delighted. “First class. The only way to fly. Don’t you ever dare fly coach again, Beverly.”
“Sure. Will do that next time I fly overseas in, I don’t know, my next life, I guess.”
“Oh, don’t be such a bore! Don’t you want me to spill the tea, girlfriend?”
She giggled. Giggled.
“Are you drunk, Mother?”
She sobered up. Nothing like reminding Carole of the maternity role she’d never wanted.
“Sweetheart, you are such a bore.”
I put her on speaker and placed one of my unopened boxes on the counter while Carole talked nonstop about her marvelous, fantastic flight and the wonderful five-star hotel in Madrid.
My Lladró figurine lay wrapped in newspaper. Carefully, I unwrapped it and placed it on the counter. Crap, one of the fruits had broken off.
“Bobby and I are okay,” I managed to say when she took a small pause. “The house’s too old, though. I don’t know if this is a good place for me.”
The wind moaned, and the noisy branch thumped above.
“You haven’t asked me a thing about Madrid,” Carole complained. “Make sure to check the pictures I posted because they are a-ma-zing. I already have more than one-hundred likes!”
“Thank heavens for the social media gods.”
“Don’t give me that snarky tone of yours. You need more good energy in your life, girlfriend. You need a man.”
“Ugh, please.”
“You do. And not that silly cowboy—”
“Gary’s a friend. One of my best friends, actually. Since you’re my girlfriend, then you certainly remember I’ve known him since the seventh grade.”
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About Author Ligia de Wit:
Ligia de Wit writes fantasy romance adventures with heart, humor, and just the right dose of magic. A lifelong romantic with a soft spot for fairy tales and found family tropes, Ligia writes characters who are strong in more than just a physical sense. Her characters face fears, fight for themselves, and find love in the most unexpected places.
When she’s not writing (or rewriting) her imaginary worlds, she works for a global distribution company and dreams up stories during lunch breaks. You’ll often find her with her nose in a book, exploring a new city, hiking through forests, or acting like a total goof at theme parks. She’s a proud kid at heart—and owns it.
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For a list of my reviews go HERE.
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A supernatural thriller of vengeance and occultic magic.
A powerful American leader is reborn as a black child in an
African hut.
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The Fake Ghost
by Nuzo Onoh
Genre: Supernatural Horror, Magical Realism
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A dark farce and a
supernatural thriller of rebirth, betrayal, vengeance, occultic magic,
mysterious invocations and creepy rituals–from Nuzo Onoh, recipient of the Bram
Stoker Award for Lifetime Achievement and “the Queen of African Horror.”
Set both in Nigeria and the USA, The Fake Ghost follows
the whacky and sinister travails of the President of the United States, reborn
as a black child in a tiny African hut. As the child grows, he insists on being
called POTUS and hears disturbing voices in his head that often cause him to be
cruel and selfish. Until one day an accident separates the linked souls. With
the help of a medicine-man, the president must find a way to free his trapped
soul and return to the United States to prevent a dastardly political plot
against him. But first, he must enter a diabolical blood pact, which might
return to haunt him with devastating consequences.
“Sometimes shocking, fantastical and hilarious, but
also tinged with hope, this ghost will haunt you long after the final
page.” —Tim Lebbon, author of The Last Storm
**Releases Aug 12, 2025!**
Amazon
* Apple
* B&N
* Indigo.ca
* Deadsky
Publishing * Goodreads
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Life isn’t fair. Why don’t I have a real dad like President King? He couldn’t ever imagine the president raising a fist or a belt to his daughter.
“Anyways, if things work out swell, you’ll soon be visiting the Big Apple or any one of our marvellous states. We’ve got fifty-four states since we split Texas and California into two. America is now the greatest, and you, lucky boy, are now speaking with the ruler of the entire damn world—”
“China is the new ruler since—”
“Fuck China!” The president snarled. “I’m the most important guy in Terra Firma. Hell! Even aliens from Mars speak with me, and I ain’t kidding you.”
POTUS’ eyes widened into saucers. “No way! Your Excellency, you’ve actually seen real aliens, like in the films, Liberation Night and Independence Day and Women in Green and Men in Black. Real mothership aliens?”
President King preened, chest all puffed out, a grim smile on his face. “Yep. This is top secret, right? I’m not supposed to tell that we got aliens running wild amongst us, but take it from me, there are loads of them and—”
“Are there any aliens that are famous?” POTUS cut in, his heart thudding with excitement—Oh my God! Just wait till I tell Frankie. Mega wicked!
“Sure. Listen, promise you won’t tell, right? Swear on your life, and I’ll give you a coupla names.”
“I swear on my life,” POTUS crossed his heart feverishly. His love affair with sci-fi was only second to his boxing reruns on archive hologram channel.
“Okay. You know the actor guy, Tom Cruise? Yep! He’s one of the Martians.”
“No way! Tom Cruise?” POTUS’ ears were literally burning—Tom Cruise is an alien! Oh my God!
“Yep! Ever ask yourself how come he does all his own stunts despite his age? I mean, the guy’s older than me in human years, right? Last time I checked, he was almost seventy years old, and he’s still scaling walls and jumping parachutes and driving cars over cliffs. Hell! It’s even rumoured the guy never bleeds, never sleeps, and never been sick either. Now, who wouldn’t want that kinda power, right? A real charmer and superman, literally,” the president shook his head, his eyes glittering with admiration. POTUS could tell he liked alien Tom Cruise a lot.
“Are there women aliens too, Your Excellency?”
“Sure thing. The singer broad, Taylor Swift. Yep. Little green girl, I’m afraid. Psycho-bitch is a cloner and can split herself into thirteen alien Taylors, ensuring she has enough of herself to wreak chaos on humanity whenever she wants. Why do you think she always wears those creepy number 13 earrings? The alien bitch claims she was born on the 13th of the month and turned 13 years on a Friday the 13th, but we know who her real parents are and trust me, they ain’t humans; alien mummy and daddy, just like their spawn. As I said, that psycho bird is the mistress of chaos. She can sow anarchy, cause riots, and destruction just by showing her friggin’ face and opening her big mouth to spout garbage. And boom! Instantly, humanity turns into crazy zombies; wild, rabid squad dogs who just want to cancel out everyone without having a friggin’ idea why they’re doing it. And she has thirteen clones to help her sew unrest around the world. Most times you see her having a concert in different countries, it’s actually one of her thirteen alien clones performing. But as I said, this is top secret, got it? Just between the two of us, right?”
“Right,” POTUS nodded. He was so relieved Rihanna wasn’t amongst the named aliens. It would’ve killed him if his all-time celebrity crush was one of the little green people from Mars. She might be older now, but he still had endless hologram recordings of her in her hay days to feed his besotted eyes.
Something niggled him.
“Your Excellency, are all the aliens white people, or do we have any black aliens too?”
President King barked a grim laugh. “Sure thing. We got loads of black aliens, even yellow ones. They hold annual Alien Zoom meetings to catch up with their alien stuff. I hear Will Smith’s been begging them to let him into the meetings but they keep voting him out. I reckon the alien motherfuckers think he has too many lethal Men in Black anti-alien arsenals. So, they don’t trust him and who can blame them? Mind you, Will’s no alien, but the fashion designer guy that used to be a singer, Pharrell Williams, and the F1 champion, Sir Lewis Hamilton…” he paused and nodded grimly as POTUS’ eyes goggled. “Yep! Sorry to disappoint you, kiddo, but they’re both little green men too. Not forgetting the Korean megastar singer, Taemin. That guy doesn’t even need to hide the fact that he’s an alien. He looks like one and moves like one. Little wonder they call him the reincarnated Michael Jackson, who was another alien freak, by the way. Yeah, these alien fuckers have got their people practically in every country, although we have the most in America. I’m guessing Martians know a quality country when they see one. Fuck China!” The president glided closer till he was practically whispering. “You see, they send them down with special powers. The aliens we gotta fear are the singers and the drivers.”
President King caught the stunned look on POTUS’ face and nodded again with that hard smile that POTUS was starting to admire. It was a smile of power, of strength, of knowledge and ruthlessness. It was the kind of smile that said the president had the aliens well sourced and could handle them with ruthless ease.
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Nuzo Onoh is an award-winning Nigerian-British writer of
speculative fiction She is a pioneer of the African horror literary genre.
Hailed as the “Queen of African Horror”, Nuzo’s writing showcases both the
beautiful and horrific in the African culture within fictitious narratives.
Nuzo’s works have featured in numerous magazines, podcasts and anthologies, as
well as in academic studies. She has given talks and lectures about African
Horror, including at the prestigious Miskatonic Institute of Horror Studies,
London. She is a Bram Stoker Lifetime Achievement Award recipient. Nuzo holds a
Law degree and Masters degree in Writing, both from Warwick University,
England. She is a certified Civil Funeral Celebrant, licensed to conduct
non-religious burial services. An avid musician with an addiction to JungYup
and K-indie, Nuzo plays both the guitar and piano, and holds an NVQ in Digital
Music Production. She resides in the West Midlands, United Kingdom.
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For a list of my reviews go HERE.
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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Crossing Day organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.
Author Laura Koerber will award a $20 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!
And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Encounters With Old Coyote
by Laura Koerber
Genre: Magical Realism
Synopsis
“One thing about people—they need to tell stories. They can’t stop themselves. Stories all the time. That’s how they understand things.” So said Coyote to Andrea, shortly after she died. Andrea had never believed in any kind of afterlife or gods, so she was surprised to find herself still somewhat alive, floating in the form of a ghost in the soft, dry desert air of Nevada. She was even more surprised to meet a supernatural being with a coyote’s face, antlers, and the supplies for making coffee.
“I don’t understand why I’m a ghost,” Andrea said.
Coyote set his coffee cup down on the dirt beside his rock. He glanced at Andrea, grimaced, and said, “Okay, I’ll try to explain. Since you humans like stories, I’ll try to explain that way. I’ll tell you some stories.”
So come along with Coyote and Andrea as they share stories about life and death, spiders in the bathroom and how Andrea lost her bra at a truck stop, enemy gods and pottery shards, adventures in vomit, what scientists say about dark matter and the fifth force, and other topics both sublime and ridiculous.
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Enjoy this peek inside:
“Well, you know I love nature,” Andrea said, “but there are some creatures that give me the creeps. Snakes, for example.” She added earnestly, “I appreciate their role in the ecology and respect their right to exist, but I don’t want them anywhere near me. I’m a NIMBY when it comes to snakes. And I can’t abide a spider.”
“Spider is an asshole, too,” Coyote commented. “Not the same kind of asshole as Rabbit. Different kind.”
Andrea waited, but he seemed to have finished his thought. “Well, anyway,” she went on, “I was aghast when one caught me naked in the shower.”
Coyote’s black cowboy hat had vanished and instead he was wearing aviator shades that gave him the look of a preying mantis. Andrea blinked with surprise. He said, “Go on. Tell your story.”
“Okay. This is a story about why the bathroom waste basket got out in the front yard.”
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About Author Laura Koerber:
I live on a island in the Puget Sound with my husband and my dogs. I am a retired teacher, presently doing in -home care for disabled people while volunteering at a cat rescue
My degree is in art, and I am a painter, graphic artist, and ceramic sculptor. The writing started about five years ago, a surprise to me and everyone who knows me, since I had never written anything before. To my immense gratitude, my first book received outstanding reviews and made the Kirkus Review list of one hundred best indy books of 2015.
Since then, I have written ten books. People seem to like them; I get lots of four and five star reviews. My books are a bit unconventional; I mix magical realism with dystopia in many of them. My stories tend to be character-driven and include ghosts and spirits.
I think I learned to write by reading. I am a voracious omnivore of books.
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For a list of my reviews go HERE.
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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for The Big Comb Over organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.
A randomly drawn winner will receive a $25 Amazon or B&N Gift Card.. Don’t forget to enter!
And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
The Big Comb Over
by J.P. Rieger
Genre: Family Satire / Farce / Magical realism
Synopsis
Three nephews and three eccentric uncles.
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It’s 2050 and Robbie Elders has all but forgotten about his oddball, religious fanatic uncle, tim tim. He’s taken up the latest fad, genealogical research based solely on DNA. But Robbie’s “inconclusive” DNA results are unsettling. He crashes back to his childhood, back to his world of comic books and tim tim.
“I opt for posh and London” declares Lady Florence Stour. It’s 2019 and time for a Royal Wedding. Robbie’s uncle, Stef, is engaged to Lady Florence, a distant member of the British royal family. Stef’s Baltimore clan have been invited, but Robbie’s mom and dad can’t attend. They’ve entrusted Robbie and big brother, Doyle, to their mom’s two eccentric brothers, uncles Roy and Roland. Roy, a weathered waterman with a severe Baltimore accent, lives for Maryland blue crabs. Roland, a mildly hypochondriacal actor, lives to survive the Karens he unavoidably encounters. And then there’s Desales, Roy’s smart aleck, teenage son. He lives to prank. They’ve descended upon London. What could possibly go wrong?
Meanwhile, tim tim has been coaching Robbie on “the mission.” A silly religious fantasy according to Robbie’s atheist parents and the therapists. Or perhaps not? Things are not always as they appear in The Big Comb Over.
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Enjoy this peek inside:
Roland looked at the bottle in awe. “Fletcher’s Dry Shampoo – Hint of Almond.” He looked over the directions and ingredients on the back. “Wow! It’s gluten-free and approved by PETA, too!” He handed back the bottle, gingerly, as though it were an egg.
“Yes! So, I’ll get things started, today, but when you use it, remember to follow the instructions carefully. You have to shake the thing like a bastard.”
He pulled off the top cap and shook the bottle frantically.
“Okay, shield your eyes with your hands, Roland.”
Morris began carefully spraying the bald spot. The bottle produced several quick spurts—the initial “targeting” move. He then pulled the can back several inches and sprayed in a wider arc, slowly filling in the surrounding areas. Excess brown powder fell gently onto the cape; iron filings mixed with cinnamon.
“Yes, there we go! Success! Let me give it a brush-through and a good zhuzh!”
Morris began to carefully run the boar’s hairbrush through the mixture of hair and powdered shampoo. There was that one tricky area, so he gave it another quick blast with the aerosol can. He completed brushing and found the most optimal place for the all-important part. Something natural. Avoiding the comb-over effect was difficult. Balance . . . balance . . .
He then gave Roland’s hair a quick blast with the hair dryer. Not too much, as there was not much to dry. The shampoo had absorbed most of the hemp oil treatment. He put the dryer aside and gave Roland’s hair a two-handed, final zhuzh. He spun the chair around, dramatically, and placed a hand mirror in front of Roland’s face so that he could check out the back.
“Looky loo, Sir Roland! Nary a hint of . . . deficiency!”
Roland looked with disbelief. He no longer had that bald spot! It was gone!
“Oh dear Lord, Morris! You are a genius! Look at this! Michelangelo!” He handed back the mirror, stunned.
“Thank you, thank you!” Morris took a quick bow and rapidly turned the chair back around, causing Roland some dizziness. “Now, let me hit you with a finishing spray to hold everything in place!”
He dramatically removed the top of the hairspray aerosol and shook the can furiously. He sprayed the mist in a near random fashion near the scalp and then away from the scalp and then back toward and quickly away again—a symphony conductor of a twelve-tone sound poem.
He spun Roland around again and thrust the mirror before his face. “What do you think?!”
“Yes, yes, Morris, this is perfect! This is what I’ve been waiting for . . . dreaming about!”
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About Author J.P. Rieger:
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The Black Leopard’s Kiss & The Writer Remembers by Laury A. Egan
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Category: Adult Fiction (18+), 306 pages
Genre: Literary, with magical realism
Publisher: Spectrum Books
Release Date: Dec 16, 2023
Content Rating: PG + M. Language is moderate; scenes of attempted incest and lesbian encounter.
Book Details:
The Mark of the Salamander by Justin Newland
Category: Adult Fiction (18 +), 246 pages
Genre: Historical Fiction and Magical Realism
Publisher: The Book Guild
Release date: September 2023
Content Rating: PG-13 +M. Mild sex and cruelty. Mature themes.
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Book Description:
1575.
Nelan Michaels is a young Flemish man fleeing religious persecution in the Spanish Netherlands. Settling in Mortlake outside London, he studies under Queen Elizabeth’s court astrologer, conjuring a bright future – until he’s wrongly accused of murder. Forced into the life of a fugitive, Nelan hides in London, before he is dramatically pressed into the crew of the Golden Hind. Thrust into a strange new world on board Francis Drake’s vessel, Nelan sails the seas on a voyage to discover discovery itself. Encountering mutiny, ancient tribes and hordes of treasure, Nelan must explore and master his own mystical powers – including the Mark of the Salamander, the mysterious spirit of fire.
THE MARK OF THE SALAMANDER is the first in The Island of Angels series: a two-book saga that tells the epic story and secret history of England’s coming of age during the Elizabethan era.
My latest historical fiction novel, The Mark of the Salamander, has just hit the shelves. It’s the first title in a two-book series, The Island of Angels, which tells the epic story and secret history of England’s coming of age during the Elizabethan era.
This is blog is about the title, namely The Mark of the Salamander.
First of all, what is a salamander? Well, it’s a spirit of fire.
In Medieval times, Paracelsus, the great Swiss alchemist, identified the four beings or spirits of the elements. While the salamander is the fire elemental, gnomes inhabit the earth, undines swim in the waters of the oceans, and sylphs are air spirits.
As a spirit of fire, the salamander is a lithe creature that occupied the other world, and so would only be appear to be seen those who had the eyes to see them. Just like the other three elemental spirits, the salamander had healing properties, and had to those it attended, it gave the power of foresight, and of insight into the future.
Fire is fascinating. It lives, it’s alive. At the hearth, it warms, and yet it destroys. It melts, it smelts, and it cleanses. It houses the phoenix who rises from the ashes, it begets new birth, and yet Hell is full of the stuff.
It’s the living fire, the fire that we breathe that’s inside the air, the flame of life and living.
And there’s a ruby salamander mentioned in the novel. The idea of it came from this image of a ruby salamander pendant. Gold filigree set with rubies, it was recovered from a Spanish galleon off the coast of Northern Ireland some years after the Armada. So, although it was probably not part of the treasure taken by Drake from the Spanish ship, the Cacafuego, the fact that it was a salamander gave me the idea to use it in the novel.
What about the mark, the mark of the salamander? What’s that?
Well, I got the idea from the Ancient Greek myth about the warrior Achilles. The legend goes that his mother dipped him into the River Styx to make his entire body invulnerable, except for the part of his foot where she held him—the proverbial Achilles heel. That was his identifying feature, in his case, his weakness and ultimately, his destiny.
In a similar way, Nelan, the hero of my novel, is born with three wavy lines beneath the middle finger of his right hand. That’s the mark of the salamander. That way, his supernatural powers, such as clairvoyance, ESP, and telepathy, can be identified with a physical feature, an actual mark on the body.
Meet the Author:
JUSTIN NEWLAND’s novels represent an innovative blend of genres from historical adventure to supernatural thriller and magical realism. His stories explore the themes of war and religion, 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 conceived his debut novel, The Genes of Isis (Matador, 2018), an epic fantasy set under Ancient Egyptian skies.
The historical thriller, The Old Dragon’s Head (Matador, 2018), is set in Ming Dynasty China in the shadows of the Great Wall.
The Coronation (Matador, 2019) was another historical adventure and speculates on the genesis of the most important event in the modern world – the Industrial Revolution.
The Abdication (Matador, 2021) is a mystery thriller in which a young woman confronts her faith in a higher purpose and what it means to abdicate that faith.
The Mark of the Salamander (Book Guild, 2023) is the first in a two-book series, The Island of Angels. Set in the Elizabethan era, it’s an epic tale of England’s coming of age.
His work in progress is the second in the series, The Midnight of Eights, the charting of the uncanny coincidences that led to the repulse of the Spanish Armada.
Author, speaker and broadcaster, Justin appears on LitFest panels, 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
THE MARK OF THE SALAMANDER Book Tour Giveaway
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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.
