Posts Tagged ‘women’s fiction’

 

Book Details:
Book Title:  The Golden Manuscripts: A Novel (Between Two Worlds, Book 6) by Evy Journey
Category:  Adult Fiction 18+, 340 pages
Genre: Women’s Literary Fiction
Publisher:  Evy Journey
Release date:  April 2, 2023
Content Rating:  PG: Some kissing, no bad language, no sex scenes

 

Book Description:

Clarissa, an Asian/Caucasian young woman has lived in seven different countries and has no lasting connection to any place. She thinks it’s time to settle somewhere she could eventually call home. But where?

She decides to live in the city of her birth. There, she joins a quest for the provenance of stolen illuminated manuscripts—a medieval art form that languished with the fifteenth-century invention of the printing press—hoping it would give her the sense of belonging she craves. But will it be enough?

For her, these ancient manuscripts elicit cherished memories of children’s picture books her mother read to her, nourishing a passion for art.

The trail of the manuscripts leads to an American soldier who served in World War II. Clarissa is anxious to know what motivated him to steal and keep the artwork for fifty years. But instead of easy answers, she finds bigger questions.

Immersed in art, but naïve about life, she’s disheartened and disillusioned by the machinations the quest reveals of an esoteric, sometimes unscrupulous art world. What compels individuals to steal artworks, and conquerors to plunder them from the vanquished? Why do collectors buy artworks for hundreds of millions of dollars? Who decides the value of an art piece and how?

The Golden Manuscripts: A Novel is inspired by the actual theft of medieval manuscript illuminations during the second world war.

 
Buy the Book:
Amazon B&N 
Bookbub
​add to goodreads
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MY REVIEW

Clarissa has lived in many places and now she’s trying to put down roots. This takes her back to the US, where she was born. Looking for a subject for her MA theses, she comes across an article in a art newspaper. It’s about illuminated manuscripts that were supposedly stolen during WWII and disappeared. Their reappearance raises many questions.

I’d not heard of illuminated manuscripts so I did a search to understand what they were. I got lost down the rabbit hole and quickly realized how this would be a great subject for Clarissa’s thesis. And how daunting the task would be to prove their authenticity and ownership. Of course, she’d need help and someone from her past is called upon to help. As Clarissa and Nathan dig deeper into the mystery of the manuscripts, their attraction to each other grows.

As much a mystery as a romance and a woman seeking a place to call home, The Golden Manuscripts was a fascinating and hopeful read.

4 STARS

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Book Details:
Book Title:  The Golden Manuscripts: A Novel (Between Two Worlds, Book 6) by Evy Journey
Category:  Adult Fiction 18+, 340 pages
Genre: Women’s Literary Fiction
Publisher:  Evy Journey
Release date:  April 2, 2023
Content Rating:  PG: Some kissing, no bad language, no sex scenes

 

Book Description:

Clarissa, an Asian/Caucasian young woman has lived in seven different countries and has no lasting connection to any place. She thinks it’s time to settle somewhere she could eventually call home. But where?

She decides to live in the city of her birth. There, she joins a quest for the provenance of stolen illuminated manuscripts—a medieval art form that languished with the fifteenth-century invention of the printing press—hoping it would give her the sense of belonging she craves. But will it be enough?

For her, these ancient manuscripts elicit cherished memories of children’s picture books her mother read to her, nourishing a passion for art.

The trail of the manuscripts leads to an American soldier who served in World War II. Clarissa is anxious to know what motivated him to steal and keep the artwork for fifty years. But instead of easy answers, she finds bigger questions.

Immersed in art, but naïve about life, she’s disheartened and disillusioned by the machinations the quest reveals of an esoteric, sometimes unscrupulous art world. What compels individuals to steal artworks, and conquerors to plunder them from the vanquished? Why do collectors buy artworks for hundreds of millions of dollars? Who decides the value of an art piece and how?

The Golden Manuscripts: A Novel is inspired by the actual theft of medieval manuscript illuminations during the second world war.

 
Buy the Book:
Amazon B&N 
Bookbub
​add to goodreads
 

 

Book Details:
Book Title:  The Golden Manuscripts: A Novel (Between Two Worlds, Book 6) by Evy Journey
Category:  Adult Fiction 18+, 340 pages
Genre: Women’s Literary Fiction
Publisher:  Evy Journey
Release date:  April 2, 2023
Content Rating:  PG: Some kissing, no bad language, no sex scenes

 

Book Description:

Clarissa, an Asian/Caucasian young woman has lived in seven different countries and has no lasting connection to any place. She thinks it’s time to settle somewhere she could eventually call home. But where?

She decides to live in the city of her birth. There, she joins a quest for the provenance of stolen illuminated manuscripts—a medieval art form that languished with the fifteenth-century invention of the printing press—hoping it would give her the sense of belonging she craves. But will it be enough?

For her, these ancient manuscripts elicit cherished memories of children’s picture books her mother read to her, nourishing a passion for art.

The trail of the manuscripts leads to an American soldier who served in World War II. Clarissa is anxious to know what motivated him to steal and keep the artwork for fifty years. But instead of easy answers, she finds bigger questions.

Immersed in art, but naïve about life, she’s disheartened and disillusioned by the machinations the quest reveals of an esoteric, sometimes unscrupulous art world. What compels individuals to steal artworks, and conquerors to plunder them from the vanquished? Why do collectors buy artworks for hundreds of millions of dollars? Who decides the value of an art piece and how?

The Golden Manuscripts: A Novel is inspired by the actual theft of medieval manuscript illuminations during the second world war.

 
Buy the Book:
Amazon B&N 
Bookbub
​add to goodreads
 

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Welcome To Wonderland organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.Author

Bobbie Candas will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter! And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Welcome To Wonderland

by Bobbie Candas

 

 

Genre: Women’s Fiction / Romance

Synopsis

A recently fired biologist with mommy issues, a successful entrepreneur with a dead wife, and an immigrant hiding from gang violence…These three have only one thing in common.

They’re all screwed up

Biology researcher, Violet Hill, was just let go and is devastated. She found the solitary lab and long hours the ideal respite for her anxiety issues–doing meaningful work while avoiding people and conversation. Now unemployed, with diminishing finances, Violet is forced to face the enemy, her mother.

For years, Turner Cooper was consumed with building his company’s client roster, until the sudden death of his wife throws him totally off kilter. Now, instead of work, Turner’s guilt and alcohol issues consume him.

Living a reclusive life in Dallas, Rosario Guzman is hiding from a Mexican cartel while working in the shadows at three part-time jobs. Finally, the item she covets the most, a Green Card, arrives in her mailbox. But Rosario quickly realizes the paper card doesn’t solve all her problems.

While navigating social issues, private demons, and nightmare memories, these three lives collide as they find each other at a place none of them ever imagined they’d be working at. As their mutual relationship evolves, Violet, Turner and Rosario lean into each other and unexpectedly find their lives unfurling in remarkable and magical ways.

Enjoy this peek inside:

The Winning Ticket
Rosario Guzman

The alarm went off with news blaring through the radio, jolting me awake from a deep sleep. It was ten PM. I’d showered before bed and rarely bothered with makeup anymore. When your job was washing and folding laundry at a twenty-four-hour lavanderia, what was the point? I put on my favorite fitted jeans, a clean white tee shirt, and pulled my shoulder length brown hair into a tidy bun. I forced a smile in the bathroom mirror before brushing my teeth and then repeated my mantra, “It’s going to be a great day!” I tried to keep the sound of my voice upbeat, but lately, maintaining positivity was becoming more challenging each day.

My second cousin, Miguel, owned Bright White Laundry, where I’d worked the eleven PM to six AM shift for a year. I was grateful for the work but knew I was capable of so much more. It was boring, repetitious, and surprisingly busy. At eleven PM, Diaz Avenue in East Dallas was dark, but Bright White Laundry sat on the corner of the sketchy business block like a shiny fluorescent-lit beacon for the unwashed.

I walked in waving to co-worker, Enrique, another distant cousin. I hated following Enrique’s shift. He was lazy and usually left a string of unfinished tasks in his wake after clocking out.

“¿Qué pasa, Enrique? How ‘s business tonight?”

Seeing me, he’d already grabbed his backpack and was walking to the office to clock out. He stopped and nodded towards the bathroom. “Welcome to Wonderland, Rosario. I just locked the bathroom. Man…you do not wanna go in there. That place is nasty. Tonight, if I was you, I’d keep the street people outta there.”

I shook my head, once again surprised at his lack of work ethic. “Enrique, you know the person on each shift has to clean the bathroom. That’s your job. You expect me to work ‘till six tomorrow morning and not use it?”

“Well, I’m not doing it. It’s up to you, chica. Gotta fly. Things to do tonight.”

“OK, but I’m telling Miguel.”

“Do what you have to do, man,” he said with a little laugh. “Do you think I give a flying fuck about this job?”

Apparently not. I watched him walk out, while shaking my head. What a jerk! Sad to think I was loosely related to him. Very loosely.

I checked out the place. One lady and two guys were doing laundry after carving out their own personal space amongst the machines. Pretty slow for a Thursday night. I gingerly unlocked the bathroom, needing to see what I was dealing with. Yeah, it was bad. I took a picture to show our boss, pulled up my mask. put on rubber gloves, and got to work.

At six AM, I clocked out and went next door to Daylight Donuts, also owned by Miguel. As usual, I grabbed a chair in the back, craving my morning cup of hot fresh coffee with lots of milk, and then bit into a soft and sweet pineapple empanada. Heaven! The front doorbell began to jingle as I tied on my white apron, ready to face the early risers and day laborers needing their morning sugar rush. I put on my smile and joined the team of two others already manning the front counter.

By eleven AM there were a few late donut-seeking stragglers, but two could easily run the front while I finished clean-up in the back. After clocking out, I walked down the street and boarded DART, eating my lunch from a paper bag as the yellow city bus carried me to the outskirts of Dallas. From there, I walked the remaining few blocks to Construction Connection. From noon until four, I worked the final leg of my day in a warehouse cleaning porta orinales, or what everyone here calls Port-A-Potties. A place filled with tall, nasty smelling blue boxes that needed a thorough scrubbing and sanitizing before they were sent out for another day of duty at construction sites.

A co-worker, Yolanda, and I punched in at the same time. From our assigned lockers we donned knee-high black, lug-soled rubber boots, elbow length rubber gloves, and tied on long black canvas aprons.

Trudging out to the warehouse, we crossed a road where two guys driving forklifts were moving sanitized port-a-potties onto trucks. As I walked by, they both hooted, whistled, and called out, “Looking good today, Rosario! Your ass, in those jeans… so hot.”

I blushed and tried to ignore them, amazed anybody would think me sexy in my rubber encased work clothes.

Yolanda tapped my shoulder. “Hey, don’t mind them; they’re harmless. Enjoy it while you can. Trust me, nobody’s whistled at me in ages.”

“How long you worked here, Yolanda?”

“Ten years, girl. Can you believe it?”

“Shit!”

“That’s right. Ten years of shit.”

I pulled the mask up over my mouth and nose, grabbed a power hose and yelled, “If we’re both working here ten years from now, just shoot me. Promise, OK?”

Yolanda laughed and nodded, “Sure, but then who’s gonna shoot me?”

At four my shift ended and once home, I had five hours before the whole crazy cycle started again. I knew the schedule was extreme but it was the only way I could maintain an apartment and manage to send a bit of money to my mother in Mexico.

Standing outside my apartment, I pulled a white envelope out of the dented tin mailbox. A thrill momentarily pulsed through me. Carefully opening the white envelope from the U.S. government, I pulled out an unimpressive looking, but oh-so-important, printed paper card qualifying me for legal work in the United States. The coveted Green Card. My ticket out of the shadows, away from working lousy jobs that nobody else wanted to do for less than minimum wage.

I’d applied a year ago–scrimping and saving, paying all the filing fees, going to interviews, paying an immigration attorney. And now, here it was; but suddenly my excitement fizzled. Receiving it felt so bittersweet because I had no one here to share my news or happiness with.

I’d purposely tried not to befriend people since coming to Dallas. And I didn’t want the people I worked with to know I’d be looking for other work. I wasn’t sure who I could trust. Most of my family, the few I cared about, were in Ciudad Juarez in Mexico or dead. That evening, I felt so alone.

I placed the card in a hidden compartment in my wallet, set my alarm for ten PM, removed my clothes, took a shower, and then smiled to myself in the mirror.

About Author Bobbie Candas:

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Bobbie Candas lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband, Mehmet Candas, a stray gray cat, and a jealous tabby who does not enjoy sharing affection with the interloper. Bobbie attended The University of Texas in Austin, earning her degree in journalism. She took a detour with a career in retail management, and found her happy place when she returned to writing fiction about nine years ago.

Author Links: Amazon Author Page / Facebook / Goodreads / Instagram

Purchase Links: Amazon

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

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I saved my daughter. But how do I save myself when I have a secret that is going to turn the entire werewolf world upside down?

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Blame It On Midnight

A Midnight Madness Nightcreature Novel Book 2

by Lori Handeland

Genre: Paranormal Women’s Fiction

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I saved my daughter. But how do I save myself?

I did what I had to. Try and kill my girl? I will end you faster than you can say have mercy. Sure I broke a cardinal pack rule, which will get me executed by my mate. If they find out. If they find me.

Saved from capture by Zane, the sexiest of sexy werewolves, my rescue comes with a price. Zane wants a favor, one that could cause an all-out pack war. The last thing I need is to make more enemies, but lives are at stake if I don’t make a stand.
Not only that, but I have a secret. An impossible secret that is going to turn the entire werewolf world upside down.

From the voice of New York Times bestselling author Lori Handeland, a new volume in her Nightcreature world, complete with the humor, depth of characterization and fast-paced plot lines she is known for while showcasing the author’s incredible range.

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Smashwords * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads

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I found the country lane that led to where I was going. Several minutes later, the overgrown driveway spit me into a clearing tucked into a deep, dark wood. The place had always given me Hansel and Gretel vibes, but now, considering, it felt more Little Red Riding Hood.

I cast uneasy glances at the thick, dense trees, which, thanks to my fairy-tale thoughts—curse them!—appeared to heave and hum. Despite the ungodly hour, seemingly every available light fixture blazed within the gorgeous log home.

Why Frankie—my late husband’s assistant, a beautiful young man with ridiculously long, dark lashes and very shiny teeth—had built a place that fit him as well as shitkicker boots fit a gazelle had always been unclear.

Frankie’s baby—a peacock-blue 1957 Ford Fairlane convertible—shone beneath the light of the undulating moon, and before I could even knock, the door swung open.

Middle of the night and Frankie matched his car. Smooth. Cool. Classic. His cream trousers held a perfect crease, and his apricot button-down had never known a crinkle. The only indication of the ungodly hour were his bare, narrow feet.  We matched.

I lifted my hand. “Hi.”

His unwrinkled brow wrinkled. “People have been searching for you.”

Old news. The only one who hadn’t been, come to think of it, was Frankie. And now that I did think of it, and considering . . . everything . . . that was suspect.

“I told them you were visiting a friend.”

Oh. Right. I had said that. Had, in fact, pushed him with my mind—my innate werewolf gift—into believing it despite—

“Then someone mentioned you don’t have friends.”

That.

I had contractors. Suppliers. Consultants. I had made Patrick’s Victorian family home into a showplace once featured in Architectural Digest, something that had made Patrick proud of the place for the first, and last, time I could recall.

I had neighbors. Fellow members of charitable organizations. Spouses of other politicians. Basically acquaintances. I’d never fit in. Not anywhere. Ever. Except with Patrick. With Gideon. And I hadn’t wanted to.

But now would have been a good time to have friends. Someone I could go to for help besides my husband’s lover. But you get what you get.

The wind chose that second to rustle through the trees and waft the scent of rotting walnuts across my face. I tensed and whirled, spreading my arms wide, putting myself between that scent and Frankie.

But behind me—to the left and to the right—there was nothing but trees, and when I took another whiff . . . more nothing. Because I’d killed the last werewolf that smelled like that. I knew I had.

“Sarah, what the he—?”

I shoved Frankie inside and slammed the door, flicked the lock, looked for a dead bolt. Didn’t find one, but a dead bolt wasn’t going to help if a werewolf wanted in. A werewolf would just jump through one of the far too numerous windows.

“Did you ever consider storm shutters for those?”

“To prep for the hurricane that isn’t going to hit Wisconsin ever?” Frankie asked.

I started turning off the lights. “Better safe than sorry.”

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AUTHOR GUEST POST

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What inspired you to write this book?

 

A few years back at a writer’s conference a writer friend who had started writing Paranormal Women’s Fiction suggested I give it a try.  While I finished with other commitments, an idea began to form about a mother who would do anything, lost love and werewolves.  Bit by bit, Sarah came to life.  

 

Can you tell us a little bit about the characters in the books?

 

NOTHING GOOD HAPPENS AFTER MIDNIGHT introduces Sarah Sullivan, a recent widow who gets the phone call all mother’s dread in the middle of the night.  Her daughter, Jenna, is missing from college.  This sets Sarah on a journey of discovery, both for her daughter’s whereabouts and for the answer to a mystery in her past.

Ash has a lot of secrets too.  Sarah is that mother we all hope to be—she will do anything—ANYTHING—to find her daughter and keep her safe.  Even sacrifice herself.

 

BLAME IT ON MIDNIGHT continues Sarah’s story.  She now lives in a world of werewolves.  She’s one of them.  There’s a civil werewolf war brewing and she’s right in the middle of it.  There’s a tug of war over her between the high school love of her life turned alpha werewolf, Gideon, and the incredibly sexy Zane,  former beta of a pack Gideon has taken over.  

 

IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR finds Sarah uncovering more and more secrets as she hides one of her own. She has choices to make and werewolves to kill.  She has become the Luna werewolf queen she didn’t want to be.

 

In all three of these novels we meet, or perhaps meet again if you’ve read my Nightcreature Novels, Edward Mandenauer, leader of the Jager-Suchers (hunter searchers, monster hunters he organized after WW2, when Hitler’s werewolf army was released into the world. Edward is rough, tough, no one to mess with and as always, and incredible hoot.

 

Where did you come up with the names in the story?

 

I have a notebook where I keep a list of names I’ve heard or read that struck me as a name I’d like to use in the future.  Then I test them out on the characters as they come to me. There have been times when a character arrives in my brain with a name attached.  No idea why.

 

What did you enjoy most about writing this book?

 

Revisiting characters I’d created in my “Nightcreature Novels,” specifically Edward and the voodoo queen, Renee.

 

I have written 2 short stories about Edward and Renee, which you can read for free on Bookfunnel.

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Nothing Good Happens After Midnight

A Midnight Madness Nightcreature Novel Book 1

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They say a mother will do anything for her child . . . I’m living proof

This nightmare began when I got the call every parent dreads. My daughter, Jenna, was missing from her college campus. Of course, my mind went to the worst place. After all, my late husband was a powerful senator. Was this some political payback?

I call in a favor and soon I’m partnered with an FBI sex trafficking agent. He tells me local girls have been disappearing for some time now, and he finally has a lead. But what we find at that abandoned warehouse is something out of a horror movie.

Werewolves! Two rival packs, their alphas fighting, winner take all––the pack and the trafficked girls. The werewolves must replenish their breeders, recently decimated by a virus that killed only the females.

But Jenna’s been keeping a secret, which only makes two of us. Though I should be angry, I know the lies I’ve told play a huge role in why we’re here. I’ll do anything to make it right. No way is my girl going to become a sacrificial mate for the greater good––even if she is the ‘chosen one.’ So, I do what any mother would do, I take her place, offering myself to Gideon, the winning alpha, as his mate.

Gideon’s goal is to live in harmony with the human world, but there are others who exist for the power, for the violence, and they don’t plan to let peace prevail.

There’s a civil werewolf war brewing and I am right in the middle of it.

From the voice of New York Times bestselling author Lori Handeland, a new volume in her Nightcreature world, complete with the humor, depth of characterization and fast-paced plot lines she is known for while showcasing the author’s incredible range.

Amazon * B&N * Kobo * Smashwords * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads

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When the phone rings in the middle of the night, everything changes.

Mother always said: Nothing good happens after midnight. I’d found in my forty-one years on this earth, in that at least, Mom had been right.

I sat up so fast I jiggled the mattress. I froze, my gaze shifting to, then away from the empty side of the bed. I still hadn’t gotten used to Patrick not being there. Would I ever?

The shrill slice of sound continued to cut through the oh so silent night. I only had one ringtone left on my allowed calls after that indelible hour of midnight, and this was it. My heart rate increased from WTF? to OMG!

“Jenna?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Sullivan. It’s Cammy.”

I searched my memory for the identity of Cammy, feeling slow, stupid despite the far too rapid rate of my heart.

Spring, same time two years ago, my OB had diagnosed the reason for my newly sluggish brain and sudden ability to fry eggs atop my head as premature menopause.

Look at it this way, you won’t have to worry about getting pregnant for very much longer.

Not that I had for decades. However, having my body betray me like that—basically saying I was old, when I never really got to be young—had stung. It still did.

Cammy’s tentative voice brought me back to the right now. “I’m Jenna’s roommate.”

My skin prickled with heat and a fine sheen of sweat started up at my hairline. “What’s wrong?”

“Jenna hasn’t been here since Tuesday.”

Here being the University of Wisconsin. I’d been so proud when Jenna had decided to go to UW like me. Or like the me I could have been, would have been if not for her.

“Tuesday,” I repeated. “But it’s . . .”

Come on, brain, don’t fail me now!

Thursday! I thought at the same time Cammy said, “Thursday.”

For an instant, I was near ecstatic to have concluded something at the same speed as a millennial. Then I did the math, never my strong suit even before all the brain-fart BS. “That’s two days, and you’re just calling me now?”

“Sometimes she pulls an all-nighter. Stays at the library or goes to a study group. But she lets me know. I didn’t really worry until I called her phone, and it was . . .”

My skin did that prickle again. Jenna’s phone was in Cammy’s hand, obviously, since she was talking to me on it. That I hadn’t asked why earlier put another notch in my losin’ it belt.

“Her phone was in her backpack,” Cammy continued. “In her room, along with her laptop and her books.”

Cammy paused, waiting for me to fill in the blanks. Jenna probably wouldn’t be studying without her backpack, and the notes and books and computer within. But even if she’d grabbed a few things and left the rest, she never would have left her cell phone. I didn’t think it had been out of her sight—more accurately, out of her hand—since I’d handed it to her when she was ten.

“In Lunar Lake, anywhere can be reached from anywhere in a handful of minutes,” Patrick had argued. “Even if she falls off her bike and breaks her leg, someone’s gonna be at her side quicker than she can make a call. She’s safer than safe, like every other kid in town. What are you worried about?”

When I lifted my eyebrows, he’d blinked, said, “Oh,” and that had been the last Patrick had said about that. He knew why I was the way I was better than anyone. It was one of the reasons I’d married him.

I’d devoted my life to raising Jenna. She was everything. The only thing. When she’d gone to college, I’d been proud but also terrified. This exact scenario—a midnight phone call, a missing child—played through my mind far too often. Sadly, what I should do about it had never played through as well.

“Hello?” Cammy’s worried voice broke into my thoughts. She probably thought I’d fainted. Or stroked out. I was tempted.

But all Jenna had was me now, and all I had was her. If that meant facing my greatest fear again, I’d face it. What choice did I have?

She was my baby.

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Lori Handeland is a five-time nominee and two-time winner of the prestigious RITA™ Award from Romance Writers of America, as well as the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over sixty novels spanning the genres of paranormal romance, urban fantasy, contemporary romance, historical romance, historical fantasy and women’s fiction. Her novel Just Once received a coveted, starred review from Library Journal and was optioned as a feature film by Catalyst Global Media.

Lori set her sight on being an author at the age of ten. She remembers sitting at a typewriter before she knew how to type, pecking out a story about a family who went into space. As an only child her summers were spent with that typewriter, television, and, above all, books. As a young adult, she got sidetracked by the need to make a living. She worked as a waitress and later enrolled in college to become a teacher.

Lori lives in Southern Wisconsin with her husband of over thirty-five years. In between writing and reading, she enjoys long walks with their rescue mutt, Arnold, and visits from her two grown sons, awesome daughter-in-law and perfectly adorable grandchildren.

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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Stuffed Wolf Plush,

$20 Amazon giftcard

– 1 winner each!

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a Rafflecopter 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.

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They say a mother will do anything for her child . . . I’m living proof

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Nothing Good Happens After Midnight

A Midnight Madness Nightcreature Novel Book 1

by Lori Handeland

Genre: Paranormal Women’s Fiction

.

They say a mother will do anything for her child . . . I’m living proof

This nightmare began when I got the call every parent dreads. My daughter, Jenna, was missing from her college campus. Of course, my mind went to the worst place. After all, my late husband was a powerful senator. Was this some political payback?

I call in a favor and soon I’m partnered with an FBI sex trafficking agent. He tells me local girls have been disappearing for some time now, and he finally has a lead. But what we find at that abandoned warehouse is something out of a horror movie.

Werewolves! Two rival packs, their alphas fighting, winner take all––the pack and the trafficked girls. The werewolves must replenish their breeders, recently decimated by a virus that killed only the females.

But Jenna’s been keeping a secret, which only makes two of us. Though I should be angry, I know the lies I’ve told play a huge role in why we’re here. I’ll do anything to make it right. No way is my girl going to become a sacrificial mate for the greater good––even if she is the ‘chosen one.’ So, I do what any mother would do, I take her place, offering myself to Gideon, the winning alpha, as his mate.

Gideon’s goal is to live in harmony with the human world, but there are others who exist for the power, for the violence, and they don’t plan to let peace prevail.

There’s a civil werewolf war brewing and I am right in the middle of it.

From the voice of New York Times bestselling author Lori Handeland, a new volume in her Nightcreature world, complete with the humor, depth of characterization and fast-paced plot lines she is known for while showcasing the author’s incredible range.

Amazon * B&N * Kobo * Smashwords * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads

.

.

When the phone rings in the middle of the night, everything changes.

Mother always said: Nothing good happens after midnight. I’d found in my forty-one years on this earth, in that at least, Mom had been right.

I sat up so fast I jiggled the mattress. I froze, my gaze shifting to, then away from the empty side of the bed. I still hadn’t gotten used to Patrick not being there. Would I ever?

The shrill slice of sound continued to cut through the oh so silent night. I only had one ringtone left on my allowed calls after that indelible hour of midnight, and this was it. My heart rate increased from WTF? to OMG!

“Jenna?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Sullivan. It’s Cammy.”

I searched my memory for the identity of Cammy, feeling slow, stupid despite the far too rapid rate of my heart.

Spring, same time two years ago, my OB had diagnosed the reason for my newly sluggish brain and sudden ability to fry eggs atop my head as premature menopause.

Look at it this way, you won’t have to worry about getting pregnant for very much longer.

Not that I had for decades. However, having my body betray me like that—basically saying I was old, when I never really got to be young—had stung. It still did.

Cammy’s tentative voice brought me back to the right now. “I’m Jenna’s roommate.”

My skin prickled with heat and a fine sheen of sweat started up at my hairline. “What’s wrong?”

“Jenna hasn’t been here since Tuesday.”

Here being the University of Wisconsin. I’d been so proud when Jenna had decided to go to UW like me. Or like the me I could have been, would have been if not for her.

“Tuesday,” I repeated. “But it’s . . .”

Come on, brain, don’t fail me now!

Thursday! I thought at the same time Cammy said, “Thursday.”

For an instant, I was near ecstatic to have concluded something at the same speed as a millennial. Then I did the math, never my strong suit even before all the brain-fart BS. “That’s two days, and you’re just calling me now?”

“Sometimes she pulls an all-nighter. Stays at the library or goes to a study group. But she lets me know. I didn’t really worry until I called her phone, and it was . . .”

My skin did that prickle again. Jenna’s phone was in Cammy’s hand, obviously, since she was talking to me on it. That I hadn’t asked why earlier put another notch in my losin’ it belt.

“Her phone was in her backpack,” Cammy continued. “In her room, along with her laptop and her books.”

Cammy paused, waiting for me to fill in the blanks. Jenna probably wouldn’t be studying without her backpack, and the notes and books and computer within. But even if she’d grabbed a few things and left the rest, she never would have left her cell phone. I didn’t think it had been out of her sight—more accurately, out of her hand—since I’d handed it to her when she was ten.

“In Lunar Lake, anywhere can be reached from anywhere in a handful of minutes,” Patrick had argued. “Even if she falls off her bike and breaks her leg, someone’s gonna be at her side quicker than she can make a call. She’s safer than safe, like every other kid in town. What are you worried about?”

When I lifted my eyebrows, he’d blinked, said, “Oh,” and that had been the last Patrick had said about that. He knew why I was the way I was better than anyone. It was one of the reasons I’d married him.

I’d devoted my life to raising Jenna. She was everything. The only thing. When she’d gone to college, I’d been proud but also terrified. This exact scenario—a midnight phone call, a missing child—played through my mind far too often. Sadly, what I should do about it had never played through as well.

“Hello?” Cammy’s worried voice broke into my thoughts. She probably thought I’d fainted. Or stroked out. I was tempted.

But all Jenna had was me now, and all I had was her. If that meant facing my greatest fear again, I’d face it. What choice did I have?

She was my baby.

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Can you, for those who don’t know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?

 

Hi, I’m Lori Handeland and I always wanted to be an author even while I was studying to be a high school English teacher. (Hey, they have summers off for a reason, right? Besides sanity, that is.) Life intervened and while home with two boys under the age of three, I decided to try writing the book I always wanted to.

 

That book, SECOND CHANCE, won the Wisconsin Romance Writers Fabulous Five contest and was requested by an editor at Harlequin.  Several revisions and submissions and years later, it sold to Dorchester Publishing.

 

If you knew you’d die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day?

 

With my grandchildren, doing whatever they wanted to.  

 

What kind of world ruler would you be?

 

No nonsense.  I have no patience for it.  Behave or b-bye.

 

What do you do to unwind and relax?

I go on wonderful writing retreats with my writing friends, where we write all day, drink wine and chat at night.  The perfect recharge.

 

How to find time to write as a parent?

 

When my boys were small I wrote at 5 am, midnight, whenever (if) they napped.  I also exchanged babysitting with other moms so I could have uninterrupted writing time.

 

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

 

When my first fan letter arrived.

 

Do you have a favorite movie?

 

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

 

Which of your novels can you imagine made into a movie?

 

JUST ONCE. And it almost was. The book was optioned by Catalyst Global Media.  I even wrote the screenplay. But as those things go, it did not.  I am still submitting my screenplay.  It’s done, so why not?

 

As a writer, what would you choose as your mascot/avatar/spirit animal?

 

A wolf, of course.

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Lori Handeland is a five-time nominee and two-time winner of the prestigious RITA™ Award from Romance Writers of America, as well as the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over sixty novels spanning the genres of paranormal romance, urban fantasy, contemporary romance, historical romance, historical fantasy and women’s fiction. Her novel Just Once received a coveted, starred review from Library Journal and was optioned as a feature film by Catalyst Global Media.

Lori set her sight on being an author at the age of ten. She remembers sitting at a typewriter before she knew how to type, pecking out a story about a family who went into space. As an only child her summers were spent with that typewriter, television, and, above all, books. As a young adult, she got sidetracked by the need to make a living. She worked as a waitress and later enrolled in college to become a teacher.

Lori lives in Southern Wisconsin with her husband of over thirty-five years. In between writing and reading, she enjoys long walks with their rescue mutt, Arnold, and visits from her two grown sons, awesome daughter-in-law and perfectly adorable grandchildren.

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Babe in the Woods

by Jude Hopkins

 

Published by: The Wild Rose Press
Publication date: June 7th 2023
Genres: Women’s Fiction

It’s September 1995, the first year of the rest of Hadley Todd’s life. After living in Los Angeles, Hadley returns to her hometown in rural New York to write and be near her father. In addition to looking after him and teaching high school malcontents, Hadley hopes to channel her recent L.A. heartbreak into a play about the last moment of a woman’s innocence. But she seeks inspiration.

Enter Trey Harding, a young, handsome reporter who covers sports at the high school. Trey reminds Hadley of her L.A. ex and is the perfect spark to fire up her imagination. The fact that Trey is an aspiring rock star and she has L.A. record biz connections makes the alliance perfect. She dangles promises of music biz glory while watching his moves. But the surprising twist that transpires when the two of them go to Hollywood is not something Hadley prepared for.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“Have you ever fallen in love?”

He winked at her. “All the time.”

She’d have the last word, something she realized was important to her. “I think it’s wrong, all these women you lead on. Don’t you? I mean, they may get attached, fall for you. But you seem to use them, to see what you can get out of them for your own purposes. I think that’s wrong, They’re human beings, after all. With feelings.”

He turned around, his eyes drained of any light. “They use me, too. It’s not like they’re not getting anything out of it.”

“What am I getting out of this?” she asked him, if not rhetorically.

He stood on one hip, a move that made him appear more rakish than usual. “I really don’t know, Miss Todd. I wondered that myself. I thought perhaps you were bored or intrigued. Or maybe you’re a control freak.” He took a step toward her so he was within half an inch of her face. “Or maybe you’re just like the rest and can’t resist me.”

Hadley stood her ground. “How do you know when it’s over? The moment when love, or lust, turns into something else. Something not as passionate?”

“I don’t think about it,” he said, returning her gaze. “It’s something that happens. Maybe it’s not one moment. It just is.”

He turned around and walked out of the room.

About Author Jude Hopkins:

Women’s fiction—with a splash of romance, albeit tempered. I was once an adjunct professor in English at various universities, expecting a lot of my students. But the need to write something besides comments on student essays gnawed at me. I wrote poems and essays, one of which appeared in the L.A. Times. One day, I took out my old self-help book manuscript from a cobwebby drawer and began the process of turning it into a novel. That novel became Babe in the Woods, coming out June 7, 2023. I was a runner-up in the 2018 Personal Essay Contest by Proximity Magazine, judged by Hanif Abdurraqib. Besides the essay in The Los Angeles Times, you’ll find me on Medium, including The Belladonna, The Writing Cooperative and others, and have had poems published in Timber Creek Review and California Quarterly, among other journals. My publications can be seen on my website: judehopkinswriting.net/. Thanks for visiting!

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Welcome to my stop on the blog tour for New Normal by Michelle Paris. New Normal tells the story of a young widow with hope and humor.

This blog tour is organized by Lola’s Blog Tours and the tour runs from 30 May till 12 June. You can see the tour schedule here.

New Normal

By Michelle Paris

 

New Normal by [Michelle Paris]

Genre: Women’s Fiction
Age category: Adult
Release Date: 2 May 2023

Blurb:

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After the sudden death of her husband, Emilie Russell just wants to feel normal. But being a middle-aged widow doesn’t come with a how-to manual. Her well-meaning friend, Viv, believes the cure to all that ails is simple: a new man. So, she sets Emilie up with her handsome and charming new neighbor, widower Colin. There’s only one problem with the plan—Colin is gay.

Emilie embarks on a rollicking journey of self-discovery with Colin as her mentor and best friend. From learning to swipe right without cringing while midlife dating in constricting shapeware to cougar moments in Key West, Emilie reenters the dating pool with both humorous and soul-crushing results.

With the encouragement of her friends, including a new furry one, plus a little therapy, Emilie begins forging a new life, one where she exchanges tears for laughter, and one that maybe—just maybe—includes the courage to find love again.

Links:
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MY REVIEW

My initial attraction to this book was the main character, Emilie. She’s middle aged, as am I, and it helped me relate to her. The sudden death of her husband leaves her dealing with a devastating loss. How will she adjust to being a widow? Will she ever feel happiness again? Will she ever find love again?

Time passes and the pain lessens somewhat and she finds herself ready to get back out there and date. Colin, the first man she’s fixed up with, is perfect, except for one tiny hiccup. He’s gay. His loss of a loved one enables him to guide Emilie and be there when she needs a shoulder to cry on. I loved their friendship.

I felt all the ‘feels’ in New Normal. Grief, fear, courage and happiness. Emilie was a strong character and I was pulling for her all the way. The author was able to touch on a delicate subject and leave me smiling at the ending.

4 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Opening the July fifth Baltimore Sun, Emilie gasped. “Oh, God. No!” The full-page ad she’d taken out for the Nature Channel’s new series on Antarctica—the one she reviewed the copy from several times—had the typo all PR professionals dread. In bold it read, “Penguins: A Cold Reality, premiering on the Nature Channel this fall, for more information contact Emilie Russell, Pubic Relations Manager, American Communications.” There it was, as big as day, her pube exposed for all of Baltimore—maybe even the world—to see. She envisioned herself becoming fodder for late-night television, the internet, oh and the cruel world of social media. Can’t forget that! Pube-gate.

She thought hard about what to do. Maybe she could buy all the newspapers and handwrite an l in all of them. How many papers could there be? A hundred thousand or so? Doing the math not only did she not have forty or fifty thousand dollars to spare, and it would be physically impossible, nor would it solve the problem entirely. What about the deliveries? Her heart sank. She could hear the shrieks of laughter now.

She pounded her fist to her head and said, “Shoot, shoot, shoot!”

Just then, the phone in her office rang.

On the third ring, she answered, “Public Relations, this is Emilie Russell.”

“Hi, Emilie. This is Tina Jenkins from the Inner Harbor

Hotel.”

Oh, dear God! Tina saw my pube! Emilie cringed at the thought.

Emilie decided to play it cool. “Yes, hi, Tina. What’s up?” Emilie had been working with Tina on a black-tie event in conjunction with the Nature Channel show. It was an opportunity for the cable company’s largest ad buyers, and members of the media, to preview the series before it aired on the fall schedule.

“Emilie, I think I know the answer to this question, but here goes. Last week, you emailed me that Perry and Penny Penguin needed a hotel room. I’m just checking to make sure they aren’t, well, you know, real penguins.”

“Yes, they’re real birds.” Emilie laughed. “I’m sorry. I thought I told you we were getting penguins on loan from Arctic Land in New York. They’re going to greet people and provide a photo op. I can see where it may not be a request you get every day.”

“Hmm,” Tina said. “Well then, I see. I thought Perry and Penny were costumed characters . . . like Mickey and Minnie Mouse. Since they are real, we have a problem. Our hotel has a strict no-pet policy. None at all.”

“What?” Emilie felt her heart begin to beat faster. “Tina, can you hold on for a second?” She pressed the hold button and opened the “Penguin Event” folder. In the file, she found the contract. Hoping she had written something about live penguins in it, Emilie scaled her finger down the first page. Nothing. The second page. Nothing. Midway down the third page, under the subject “Other Considerations” was typed “none.” She closed her eyes and muttered, “No. No. No.” Then she looked on the last page to see when the contract was signed. February twenty-eighth, three weeks after Rob died. Seeing the red blinking hold light, she put her head in her hands and tried to think quickly. Arctic Land was an eight-hour drive from Baltimore. The owners had insisted the penguins have premium housing before they would lend them to the event. Not really knowing what to do, she decided to wing it. She removed the call from hold and said, “Tina, these aren’t pets, they’re actors—show birds,” she said, trying hard not to let her voice crack.

Tina said nothing.

About Author Michelle Paris:

 

Michelle Paris author picture

Michelle Paris is a Maryland writer who believes laughter can heal the heart. Her debut novel, New Normal is loosely based on her own experience as a young widow. Her personal story of overcoming grief was featured on the front page of the Wall Street Journal. And her essays about grief and mid-life dating have appeared in multiple editions of the Chicken Soup for the Soul inspirational book series as well as in other media outlets. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America and the Maryland Writer’s Association. Currently, Michelle is enjoying chapter two of her life with her new husband, Kevin, who keeps her from being a cat lady but only on a technicality. For more information, please visit www.michelleparisauthor.com.

Author links:
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Drink Wine and Be Beautiful

by Kimberly Sullivan

 

 

Publication date: May 26th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Women’s Fiction

Italian Tales of love, betrayal, longing, desire – and hope

Italy serves as the backdrop for stories of Italian women and expatriate women living in Italy.

A freak snowstorm in Rome changes the travel plans of two women, touching their lives in ways they could never have imagined. An ambitious Italian professional working in Brussels rails inwardly at her privileged boss, until fate presents her with a rare opportunity. A long desired trip to Bali, Indonesia serves as a needed chance for introspection. A cautious housewife in Rome thinks back to a fateful missed connection in Florence. A first-time mother feels debilitating guilt for not bonding with her newborn, until an elderly neighbor provides her with a new perspective.

The twenty-one stories in this collection follow women’s lives as they confront betrayal and love, alienation and community, despair and-ultimately-hope.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Snake Charmers and Donkey Carts

Marrakech

THE HAWKERS’ CRIES FILLED THE SQUARE, the guttural sounds of Arabic throbbing in Manuela’s ears. All around her, men yelled out in that strange language. Men were everywhere. They brushed past her in the marketplace crowds, and she shrank back. Unfamiliar smells filled the air.

She clung to Adriano’s hand as they walked through the Jemaa el-Fna square, willing herself not to cry. A cobra reared up his ugly head, its black tongue flickering, only a few feet from where she stood. She bit her tongue to keep herself from screaming. The snake swayed from side to side as the snake charmer played music on his pipe. A fat man in dirty robes approached her with another snake, trying to wrap it around her neck.

She stumbled backward, afraid she might faint, but thankfully Adriano was pulling her away, toward the dark, labyrinthine streets of the souk. Here she would do battle with the scooters and the donkey carts, but at least there were no snake charmers poised to place a slimy, wriggling serpent around her neck in exchange for coins.

Manuela breathed in deeply. It was all too much. The blood coursed through her veins at double-speed. Her heart pounded in fear and revulsion. She leaned in closer to Adriano, his comforting solidity managing to calm her and provide her with the courage she lacked in this odd city.

Min fadlak,” said a robed man, indicating his wares.

Manuela instinctively shrunk from his attentions, but Adriano stepped closer, examining the delicate lamps shining in the dark marketplace. Their intricate patterns cast colorful, elaborate illuminations through inky night sky. Even she could recognize its mystic beauty.

Kam else’er?” said Adriano.

The two men began haggling over the price, and Manuela stood silently, a spectator to the show. Life was a spectacle here, but one she took no pleasure in observing.

Three days into her holiday in Marrakech, Manuela felt only anxious and confused. The streets were too narrow. She had to remain vigilant not to step in the droppings left behind after the donkey carts passed. There were too many people pressed too closely together. People stood so close when they spoke to you. Adriano told her it was rude to step back, but she couldn’t help herself. The yells in Arabic sounded harsh and threatening to her ears. The sights and sounds, the colors and smells were too exotic.

Manuela could only relax when they returned to their riad in the evening, though even there she could not completely escape the lingering sense of foreignness. The wooden keyhole doors were too small, and she kept bumping her head on their frame. The sweet smell of spices filled the apartment with a cloying scent she was unable to banish, even after opening the windows for long periods of time in the hopes of airing the room.

She would step into the shower and rinse the city’s dirt and grime from her body, before enveloping her skin in a soft robe. When Adriano pushed her gently down to the bed, a sense of familiarity would calm her, and she could temporarily forget all about the stresses of this chaotic city.

Yet each morning she felt drained and exhausted once again, unable to face another day, desperate to return home, where things were safe and familiar. She longed to hear Italian spoken in the squares, to enter a restaurant and know that familiar foods were on the menu, to be capable of conversing with the shopkeepers.

To belong.

But what could she do? Adriano seemed to thrive in this new environment. He craved exotic places. Where had he learned to count in Arabic? He and the hawker were aggressively shouting figures back and forth, and she saw the spark of excitement in Adriano’s eyes. For her, this city was hell on earth. For him, an exotic tale out of Arabian Nights.

She breathed in deeply once again, attempting to quell the panic attack she could feel working its way through her body. The hawkers came closer with their oils and their soaps and their leather slippers. She closed her eyes and suppressed the desire to scream.

Back home, her days were spent cutting through the red tape of property purchases in Tivoli and placating demanding clients. Her hard-earned vacation was supposed to relax her, not cause greater stress.

She’d begged Adriano to go back to the Sardinian resort they’d visited this past spring, with its well-designed bungalows, soft, white sand beaches, perfectly ordered rows of umbrellas and beach chairs, and crystalline waters beckoning just before them.

Just smelling the salt air caused a sense of well-being to wash over her body. She’d thought Adriano would book the tickets for the resort, as they discussed. It was charged to her account, after all. Instead, he stopped off at her house with two tickets to Marrakech.

“You’re going to love it,” he said, kissing her on the neck. “It will be an adventure. I swear, you’ll never want to come back to Italy.”

She sighed. Not wanting to return to Italy wasn’t the problem. It was Morocco where she never wished to set foot again.

 

Author Kimberly Sullivan:

Kimberly grew up in the suburbs of Boston and in Saratoga Springs, New York, although she now calls the Harlem neighborhood of New York City home when she’s back in the US. She studied political science and history at Cornell University and earned her MBA, with a concentration in strategy and marketing, from Bocconi University in Milan.

Afflicted with a severe case of Wanderlust, she worked in journalism and government in the US, Czech Republic and Austria, before settling down in Rome, where she works in international development, and writes fiction any chance she gets.

She is a member of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association (WFWA) and The Historical Novel Society and has published several short stories and three novels: Three Coins, Dark Blue Waves and In The Shadow of The Apennines.

After years spent living in Italy with her Italian husband and sons, she’s fluent in speaking with her hands, and she loves setting her stories in her beautiful, adoptive country.

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“Gripping. One of the most beautiful books I’ve read in a long time.” 

— International Review of Books

 

 The Shade Under the Mango Tree

  by Evy Journey

Publisher: Sojourner Books

Pages: 288

Genre: Women’s Literary Fiction / Cultural Heritage Fiction

 

After two heartbreaking losses, Luna wants adventure. Something and somewhere very different from the affluent, sheltered home in California and Hawaii where she grew up. An adventure in which she can also make some difference. She ends up in place steeped in an ancient culture and a deadly history.

Raised by her grandmother in a Honolulu suburb, she moves to her parents’ home in California at thirteen and meets her brothers for the first time. Grandma persuades her to write a journal whenever she’s lonely or overwhelmed as a substitute for someone to whom she could reveal her intimate thoughts.

Lucien, a worldly, well-traveled young architect, finds a stranger’s journal at a café. He has qualms and pangs of guilt about reading it. But they don’t stop him. His decision to go on reading changes his life.

Months later, they meet at a bookstore where Luna works and which Lucien frequents. Fascinated by his stories and his adventurous spirit, Luna volunteers for the Peace Corps. Assigned to Cambodia, she lives with a family whose parents are survivors of the Khmer Rouge genocide forty years earlier. What she goes through in a rural rice-growing village defies anything she could have imagined. Will she leave this world unscathed?

Inspired by the healing effects of writing, this is an epistolary tale of love—between an idealistic young woman and her grandmother and between the young woman and a young architect. It’s a tale of courage, resilience of the human spirit, and the bonds that bring diverse people together.

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Also available as an audiobook

 

 

Book Excerpt  

 


Prologue

Ov’s thin upper body is slumped over his crossed legs, his forehead resting on the platform. His brown, wiry arms lie limp, the right one extended forward, hand dangling over the edge of the platform. Dried blood is splattered on his head, and on the collar, right shoulder, and back of his old short-sleeved white shirt.

It seems fitting that he died where he used to spend most of his time when he wasn’t on the rice fields—sitting on a corner of the bamboo platform in the ceiling-high open space under the house. It’s where you get refreshing breezes most afternoons, after a long day of work.

The policeman looks down at Ov’s body as if he’s unsure what to do next. He lays down his camera and the gun in a plastic bag at one end of the platform untainted by splatters of gelled blood.

He steps closer to the body, anchors himself with one knee on top of the platform, and bends over the body. Hooking his arms underneath Ov’s shoulders and upper arms, he pulls the body up, and carefully lays it on its back. He straightens the legs.

He steps off the platform. Stands still for a few seconds to catch his breath. He turns to us and says, “It’s clear what has happened. I have all the pictures I need.”

He points to his camera, maybe to make sure we understand. We have watched him in silence, three zombies still in shock. Me, standing across the bamboo platform from him. Mae and Jorani sitting, tense and quiet, on the hammock to my left.

Is that it? Done already? I want to ask him: Will he have the body taken away for an autopsy? I suppose that’s what is routinely done everywhere in cases like this. But I don’t know enough Khmer.

As if he sensed my unspoken question, he glances at me. A quick glance that comes with a frown. He seems perplexed and chooses to ignore me.

He addresses the three of us, like a captain addressing his troop. “You can clean up.”

The lingering frown on his brow softens into sympathy. He’s gazing at Jorani, whose mournful eyes remain downcast. He looks away and turns toward Mae. Pressing his hands together, he bows to her. A deeper one than the first he gave her when she and Jorani arrived.

He utters Khmer words too many and too fast for me to understand. From the furrowed brow and the look in his eyes, I assume they are words of sympathy. He bows a third time, and turns to go back to where he placed the gun and camera. He picks them up and walks away.

For a moment or two, I stare at the figure of the policeman walking away.  Then I turn to Jorani. Call him back. Don’t we have questions? I can ask and you can translate, if you prefer. But seeing her and Mae sitting as still and silent as rocks, hands on their laps, and eyes glazed as if to block out what’s in front of them, the words get trapped in my brain. Their bodies, rigid just moments before, have gone slack, as if to say: What else can anyone do? What’s done cannot be undone. All that’s left is to clean up, as the policeman said. Get on with our lives.

My gaze wanders again toward the receding figure of the policeman on the dirt road, the plastic bag with the gun dangling in his right hand. Does it really matter how Cambodian police handles Ov’s suicide? I witnessed it. I know the facts. And didn’t I read a while back how Buddhism frowns upon violations on the human body? The family might object against cutting up Ov—the way I’ve seen on TV crime shows—just to declare with certainty what caused his death.

I take in a long breath. I have done all I can and must defer to Cambodian beliefs and customs.

But I can’t let it go yet. Ov chose to end his life in a violent way and I’m curious: Do the agonies of his last moments show on his face? I steal another look.

All I could gather, from where I stand, is life has definitely gone out of every part of him. His eyes are closed and immobile. The tic on his inanimate cheeks hasn’t left a trace. The tic that many times was the only way I could tell he had feelings. Feelings he tried to control or hide. Now, his face is just an expressionless brown mask. Maybe everyone really has a spirit, a soul that rises out of the body when one dies, leaving a man-size mass of clay.

I stare at Ov’s body, lying in a darkened, dried pool of his own blood, bits of his skull and brain scattered next to his feet where his head had been. At that moment, it hits me that this would be the image of Ov I will always remember. I shudder.

My legs begin to buckle underneath me and I turn around, regretting that last look. With outstretched hands, I take a step toward the hammock. Jorani rises to grab my hands, and she helps me sit down next to Mae.

Could I ever forget? Could Mae and Jorani? Would the image of Ov in a pool of blood linger in their memories like it would in mine?

I know I could never tell my parents what happened here this afternoon. But could I tell Lucien? The terrible shock of watching someone, in whose home I found a family, fire a gun to his head? And the almost as horrifying realization—looking back—that I knew what he was going to do, but I hesitated for a few seconds to stop him.

 

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About the Author

 

 

 

 

Her one ungranted wish: To live in Paris where art is everywhere and people have honed aimless roaming to an art form. She has visited and stayed a few months at a time.

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