Everyday and Not-so Everyday Magic & Miracles
I am a big believer in miracles and magic. Yes, I write about fantabulous things, magical creatures and wondrous sorcery, but I see quieter magic all around us. People can do great things on a daily basis. The power of a hug, the comfort of prayer, and the outcome of a sympathetic ear all have a ripple effect upon the world at large. One person holds a door for another, then that second person picks up something someone dropped, the third subsequently compliments a friend on something and so on. The positive vibes flow, changing each personâs day for the better.
Itâs no less special than the stuff in my books though itâs easier to miss the power of a kind word than a dragon appearing in the sky before your disbelieving eyes. And on that note, Iâd like to share exactly that. This is an excerpt from my new novel The Dragon in The Garden. This is Daisy the dragon coming home. Please enjoy.
***
âSiobhan,â Turel said. The intensity of his tone caught my ear, and I turned to him. He lingered a few feet away from me, his eyes fixed serenely on a point far away.
I joined him, my eyes on the horizon. The setting sun painted the sky a vivid seascape of blues, pinks, violets and oranges. As the sun lowered to the lowest point in the sky, in the instant before its rays spilled over the back of the world, there shone a beam of concentrated light, as precise as a laser. After a second, the light expanded, becoming a brilliant, white ray. It continued to grow, morphing into a tunnel in reverse, but instead of darkness, it blazed a corridor of light. The white light became prismatic, flickering with a rainbow of dancing diamond sparkles, splashing colors of all hues in front of my dazzled eyes.
Turel enclosed one of my hands in his warm grasp. âIt is something to see, yes?â His tone reflected true awe.
âIs this your first time seeing this?â I asked in a whisper. The tunnel became larger, dwarfing us. With my free hand I shielded my eyes. Leia sat at my side, gazing in the distance.
âNo, I have seen this many times.â He held out his other hand and waved it at the mighty light show. âBut a miracle is no less glorious for having previously happened.â
To my left Tim and Alex continued their ridiculous rock throwing competition. Their stones sailed right through the expanding brilliance they could not see. âGuys, are you kidding me?â In the emotion of the moment, my voice growled, low and hoarse.
They stopped and gave me matching blank expressions. âWhat?â Alex said.
âHey, what are you guys staring at?â Tim sounded defensive.
Before I could answer their questions, I heard it. A sweet sound, soft at first, barely a whisper, carried on the breeze. Turelâs smile grew even brighter, matching the shining portal. âShe comes.â His eyes shone as they met mine.
Alex glanced this way and that. âDoes anyone hear that sound?â he asked.
Tim craned his head. âI hear it. It sounds like bells.â
âWind chimes,â I corrected, still staring straight ahead. âItâs wind chimes.â The air shimmered. Light danced in an intense aurora borealis. Patterns of colors streaked and swooped in a heavenly painting. One hue dominated the others. The deep shade of jade green spread. An enormous form took shape, dressing itself in swathes of color. The huge outline solidified: graceful wings, a serpentine neck, and a curving tail. Two amber lights appeared like jewels in the viridian air. Everything intensified, heightening each of my senses; the lights pulsed. A beautiful, green dragon hovered in the air. With two mighty beats of her massive wings, she crested then landed behind us. I ran forward with a cry. âDaisy.â
âDamn it,â growled Tim. âI canât see anything even a bit like a dragon.â
âUnless itâs a super little one,â said Alex, his face downcast.
Turel laughedâ a big, belly laugh full of joy. âGwyrdd, you sly minx, show them. Drop the glamour and let our friends see you.â
Daisy twisted her head to one side in a coquettish gesture and in that voice I had never forgotten said, âCertainly, Turiel, dear one.â Suppressed mirth laced her tone. âHowâs this, children?â
When she spoke these last words the music of wind chimes came again, louder this time. As their bright notes sounded around us, I saw the precise instant when both my brother and my first love, the two who believed in me all these years, finally saw my dragon.
To purchase The Dragon in The Gardenplease see:
http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Gardner_Erika/the-dragon-in-the-garden.htm
To find Erika Online please check out:
Twitter- @Erika_Gardner
Instagram- TheErikaGardner
This post was written by Erika Gardner. Sheâs a native Californian, lifelong lover of fantastical adventures, and a dedicated Whovian. If you enjoyed it, please sign up to receive updates on www.erikagardner.com Or you can follow Erika on Twitter @Erika_Gardner, âLikeâ her Facebook page Erika Gardner- Writer and Storyteller. Or check out her contributions to the BBB Blog.
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JACK'S MAGICAL BEANSTALK series
by Pablo Michaels
Official genre of book: Adult fairy tale, gay erotica
In this adult fairy tale young, awkward, young Jack sells their prize cow Pearly White for magical beans to a strange man in a red bikini. Little does Jack’s mother, Lorene, know that the beans grow into a giant, magical beanstalk, high above the clouds?
Jack ascends the beanstalk to a land where a Giant Slave serves his larger Master, Jack begs Slave for food to satisfy his hunger from his long journey. But Jack finds Master hoarding treasures.
Attempting to escape the wrath of Master and Slave with the treasures, Jack encounters a handsome, engaging normal sized human man. Sam lives with others that live naturally without clothing deep in the forest. As Jack ages he becomes a handsome man, just like his father, attracting many men, including the two farmhands, Zeke and Adam.
Even though Jack has enabled the farm to prosper with the treasures he stole from Master and is met with increasing danger, he climbs the magical beanstalk again and again to find more treasures and pursue Sam.
Once upon a time, there was a poor widow named Lorene who lived on a reclusive, neglected farm with her frail son, Jack, and their dairy cow, Pearly White, a prime Guernsey. They also had several other milking cows which were Pearly White’s offspring. The poor widow raised Jack the best she knew how. They survived by selling milk at a distant farmer’s market each day to buy small amounts of food. While her handsome, masculine husband, Bill, was alive, she had been a real beauty. Bill, a strong six foot two man, had managed the crops without any help.
Bill and Lorene met at the county fair after a couple of rowdy, uncouth men made crude comments to Lorene regarding her beauty. Bill stepped in, discouraging any further catcalls. “Excuse me, Miss, are these men bothering you?” He had asked.
“I don’t appreciate what they have been saying, it’s true.” Lorene blushed at their vulgar behavior.
“Okay, you cowards, it’s time you’re on your way if you know what’s good for you.”
The men immediately fled. Bill’s tall stature, muscular build, and commanding baritone voice left no room for argument.
“How can I repay you?” Lorene smiled at Bill. “May I offer you one of my pies?” She had entered her award-winning pies in the county competition.
“You needn’t repay me, Miss. Any gentleman would treat a beautiful young woman such as you with respect.”
Lorene not only gave him one of her blue ribbon peach pies but invited him for Sunday dinner. During their brief courtship, Bill wooed Lorene with beautiful love songs, serenading her with his smooth, baritone voice. They married that November.
They started their farm with a prize milking cow, Pearly White, and planted crops. Bill bred Pearly White over the years, her offspring providing more milk. In the evenings after they had eaten dinner, Bill would sing songs of love to his wife. Afterward they would make passionate love. Two years later, Lorene gave birth to their son, Jack.
Bill’s son brought a sparkle to his eyes. When Jack was three, he began taking him along while doing the farm chores. Jack idolized his parents drawing pictures of them. For such a young boy, he was quite talented. His parents encouraged him to pursue his art, allowing him to draw and paint whenever and wherever he desired.
Bill died when Jack was only five. He was struck by a lightning bolt during a severe thunderstorm while trying to bridal his horse and fetch Pearly White after she broke through a fence and ran off in fear. Jack remembered that day vividly. He had not feared the continuous lightning flashes, the loud booming thunder, or the rising water of the ensuing flash flood. He feared only the expression on his mother’s face when they found his father, his body singed from the heat of the lightning. His eyes were open, frozen with the undeniable pain. His mother’s face had always radiated peace and serenity, until that moment.
In this sequel to the adult fairy tale book, Jack and the Magical Beanstalk, Jack and Sam have been living happily together on Jack’s prosperous farm with Jack’s widowed mother, Lorene, and the two farmhands, Zeke and Adam.
When Sam started having nightmare concerning his father’s health, Sam became distraught and felt helpless not being able to go back to the land he was born, even though Jack attempted to find a way to climb back up high in the sky to Sam’s native land.
When Sam traded five prized bean seeds and a golden egg to the peculiar old man wearing only a red bikini underwear for five magic beans, he agreed to make it a secret and was unable to tell Jack. Adam was aware Sam was dealing with the peculiar old man and blackmailed Sam into having sex to keep his secret before Sam grew another magical beanstalk.
Before Sam could climb Sam climbed the beanstalk to help his ailing father, unaware there were two new villainous giants, Duchess Luscious Lips Loretta and Queen Buxom Bosom Belinda inhabiting the castle. Jack was left behind to save the farm after a late spring blizzard killed the crop of beans without any more prized seeds to plant.
Did Sam Save his ailing father and brothers? Did Jack figure out a way to save the farm from ruin? Did Jack follow Sam and save him from the wrath of the giants?
As a new member of the adopted family, Sam had to learn new customs. He had to adapt to his new way of life by wearing pants, shirts and shoes. As he had been accustomed in his tribe, hunting and harvesting food from the forests, he continued to gather food around the farm. Jack taught him how to farm on a larger scale, rather than the small, family garden Sam’s father had tended.
Jack learned new innovations from Sam for growing crops, such as building a pond to store water for irrigating the crops when no rain fell. One month, when they received no rain, the pond supplied water to the crops until the next rains came. Jack took Sam to market so he could know how to barter with the milk and crops in exchange for food and supplies that were needed on the farm. Although Zeke and Adam taught Sam new skills to help out on the farm, Jack made it clear that they were to keep their hands off the new handsome man.
Zeke abided by that rule.
Adam’s advances rose occasionally, but Sam soundly rejected any of his foolish fantasies.
Lorene loved Sam like another son she never was able to have.
Jack knew Sam well enough to know he was an independent man, not prone to confiding or dwelling on his worries. Jack felt comfortable with Sam’s easygoing nature and enjoyed his jovial sense of humor, especially the repartee of stories about growing up with his brothers.
But after a year, Jack detected traces of despondency Sam was hiding from him and the others. He knew very well Sam missed his father and brothers. It made Jack’s need to find a solution to take Sam back to the land he was born all the more important.
But in the spring, Jack’s responsibility to the welfare of the farm took presentence. He had a dream to diversify the kind of crops they grew. Walking through the fallow fields, he discussed his plans with Sam.
“I’m going to ask Zeke and Adam to plant most of the prized bean seeds.”
“Don’t you think that rash?” Sam questioned the large amount of seeds to be used. “Don’t we need those seeds to last for more than one season? You know the beans those seeds produce won’t grow the same beanstalks. They’re just ordinary beanstalks and don’t spread for the large distances.”
“That’s exactly my point. Those seeds won’t last forever. If we have a huge yield of beans, we’ll make more to trade with. We will be able to plant a variety of crops, next year. We’ll diversify and thrive.”
“I guess.” Sam hesitated with his approval. “It’s risky.”
“I know, but it could prove highly successful. Go get Zeke and Adam. I want to get started right away.”
Jack instructed Zeke and Adam to till the soil and ready the fields for planting.
Jack’s Magical Beanstalk & Sam’s Quandary is the story of Jack and the Magical Beanstalk seen through Jack’s partner and lover’s eyes.
The story began when Jack’s future love interest, Sam watched him flee from the evil giant Master with his bag of gold coins. When they met they were infatuated with each other. Through Jack’s escapades with Master, Sam eventually followed Jack down the magical beanstalk to live with Jack but the beanstalk had to be cut down.
Subsequently, Sam was prevented from seeing his father and brothers. When Sam discovered his father’s illness, he conspired to plant a new magical beanstalk, having to do so secretly. Adam the farmhand had his suspicions and blackmailed Sam into a sexual fling to keep the secret.
Did Sam save his father from sickness? Did Jack follow his lover when the farm faces ruin?
Once upon a time, two equally handsome young men lived on a prosperous farm. Sam and Jack were deeply in love and had devoted their lives to their relationship, their happiness, and the wellbeing of their parents, Jack’s mother, Lorene, and Sam’s father, Jason. But their widowed parents lived in different, far away worlds. Jack grew up on the farm, while Sam grew up high in a faraway land. They currently employed two loyal farmhands, Zeke and Adam, and had a prized cow, Pearly White that helped them survive through leaner times.
Sam and Jack fell in love years before when Sam lived in a land high above the clouds. In this different world, Sam lived with his father and brothers in a tribe inhabiting the forests, bordering a cobblestone road, leading to a majestic castle possessed by two giants, Master and his submissive servant, Slave. Often, Sam snuck into the castle to steal food for his family, especially when a member of his family became ill, the sickness usually Giant Fever. Although Slave gave morsels of food when Sam begged, Master delighted in feasting on humans like Sam. Sam developed his skill in running with exceptional speed to prevent being captured by the giants. Living naturally without clothes was a necessity to hastily flee them. Nudity, also enabled the people in his tribe to select their mates. It was only natural they went about their daily lives uninhibited and naked.
Sam first met Jack from a distance when Sam lurked in the background after getting food from Slave for his ailing father. Sam noticed a strange man who wore clothing, like the giants, but fleeing with Master’s bag of gold coins. Sam’s thought about this man he saw running for his life.
How strange. A man like me who wears cloths like the giants. There is something about that man I like. Where is he going? He’s definitely in a hurry to get away from Master. He must know that Master loves to eat us. That man must be adventurous to be bold enough to steal from this villain. I would like to meet him. Sam stared, and stared, and stared.
As Jack fled the pursuit of Master and Slave with the coins, he noticed Sam watching him from a distance. Their eyes locked with more interest than curiosity. Jack disappeared down through the ground, vanishing from Sam and the giants. Oh, no. Master has stopped chasing him. The man must have fallen off the ground into oblivion. That’s disappointing. I wonder where he was from. Sam thought the man had fallen off the edge of the world. So he returned to his family with food for his ailing father, thinking of the man who wore clothes. The clothed man left a deep impression in Sam’s mind, a rush of sensations breeding curiosity and desire.
Pablo Michaels disguised himself as a shy, friendly heterosexual during his adolescence, fantasizing other males. Falling in love with another man his first year in college, he followed this man to another university to maintain their platonic love, while he continued in his in studies. When he had his first sexual encounter with another man, just before turning twenty-one, he exploded into gay life with lust and rage. He attempted to live his new life naturally, seeking love, ignoring the statistics of the books he read on homosexuality in high school, and proving what he had read was wrong.
Pablo Michaels is a gay man who writes gay romantic genre fiction from a gay man’s perspective. He is driven to educate and enlighten readers with the true beauty of love between men. He has published several books over the span of the last five years. He has found a new home to publish his stories with Yellow Silk Dreams, a publisher composed of a coop of authors. He grew up in a working class family that taught him the values of hard work, regardless of the profession, and helped him acquire a diverse education. The family motto is “People can take everything away from you. But they never can take away your education.” He is legally married to his soulmate, a man he has lived with for twenty years.
Pablo Michaels was born in the story, “Raging Silence”, which is included in the book, “This Beautiful Escape”. The silence raging in Pablo Michaels was his inherit sexual orientation, suppressed in his adolescent years. Through years of struggles he finds peace in his current life with his legal husband, a partnership of 20 years.
He wrote poetry and stories since third grade. When he turned twenty-one, he moved to San Francisco to work and write, experiencing more of gay life. In the 1980's he wrote every chance he had, trying and failing miserably at publishing mainstream fiction. He published his first story, Reunion on the Trail, in 1986 in a literary magazine When the Mockingbird Sings.
After writing plays, short stories, poetry, and two novels, he began writing gay genre stories, feeling he had more knowledge and experience with gay lifestyle. Trying to publish, he went to a library seminar hosted by two published authors. Inspired by the gay writer, Scott Kemble he connected with him on the internet site for The San Francisco Bay Area Literary Arts Newsletter and Review, which published four of Pablo's short stories.
Constantly, writing since 2004, he published his first e-book, Pagan Knights of Cambria, with Life of Riley Productions in London. Soon a mainstream story, When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again Hooray, published also. In 2012 Pablo self-published his first novel, Catnip, Rosemary, Rage and Time, combining mystery and humor in a gay, erotic romance. He continues to write more episodes in his next novel, The Deer in the Forest The plot spreads over several decades, about a man's attempts to adapt to the world he lives, all with love, heartache, history and survival at no cost.
His latest article, Why Gay Men Retire to Palm Springs, was just published in the very popular SimplySxy.com online magazine. You can read the insightful article here. http://simplysxy.com/articles/2015/06/08/why-gay-men-retire-to-palm-springs/
Pablo retired from gardening and landscaping to devote his energy to write fiction. As a gay man he wishes to promote his writing gay genre fiction to help others understand the necessity for equal rights for LGBT people and comprehend that love between a man and a man, people of the same sex, is as natural as love between a man and a woman. Throughout his lifetime he has experienced the long battle of achieving acceptance. He has searched for a committed relationship with another man. He has loved his partner for twenty years. They were legally married in front of Harvey Milk's bust in the rotunda of San Francisco City Hall by a judge, in 2008. Although their marriage remained legal after the passage of Proposition 8, they continued to work to repeal DOMA and Prop. 8. Throughout his life he has attempted to live and practice peace as a process for living.
His published books include the book, Blood, Sweat and Black Leather, a gay paranormal romance, published by Yellow Silk Dreams in January 2015. Affairs of Men’s Hearts, published in May 2015 by Yellow Silk Dreams is an anthology of four stories connected by the themes of gay men seeking love with another man, from wishful thinking male to male romance to gay marriage. His latest book, Jack and the Magical Beanstalk is an adult version with a gay twist of the fairytale classic, Jack and the Beanstalk, published in December 2015 by Yellow Silk Dreams. He has rewritten his first novel, Catnip. Rosemary, Rage and Time, and its prequel, Learning to Love Again, both soon to be published. He is currently working on the sequel to Jack and the Magical Beanstalk. The working title is Climbing Another Magical Beanstalk.
Retired homicide detective Michaela McPherson and the aging Countess Dorothy Borghase team up again—this time to match wits with two serial killers stalking children, women and the elderly. When Dottie Borghase's friend Camilla Rothrock collapses at a lunch gathering of old friends, the countess's only concern is to dial 911 for help. But Camilla's subsequent death has authorities buzzing about international safety and retaliation, because her son is decorated U.S. Army General Stuart Rothrock.
As other restaurant patrons in Richmond meet similar fates, Michaela and Dottie join forces with the Richmond Police and the FBI to track down the pair of heinous murderers. But in order to catch the killers, they will put their own lives and the lives of others in in serious jeopardy.What Price Must a City Pay to Keep its Citizen's Safe?
Book link: http://bit.ly/GetCaseofDowager How about an excerpt: Dottie turned off the main highway and headed south to Blackstone Virginia. Madame Toulescent lived just outside of Blackstone and that's where she conducted her psychic readings. She wished away the butterflies that cramped her stomach. She had a sense that what she was going to hear wasn’t good. She wished she didn't believe in the value of psychics or the unknown but she did, and that was that. She’d seen psychic readings and prophecies come true time after time during her life. Mic wasn’t a believer at all but had grudgingly admitted psychics had helped them in a case about ten years ago. The speedometer on her car registered over sixty miles an hour on a forty-five mile limit stretch of highway. I'd better slow down. The last thing I need is a Virginia state trooper on my tail. She braked and her car skidded but she handled it skillfully. The Cadillac was a big, monster car but she really liked it. Since Dottie had lived in the US, she had always preferred German-made cars and previously owned multiple Mercedes Benz. Of course, when Count Borghase had been alive, they’d always driven Italian cars, mainly Ferraris. But now she was pretty much American and she loved her Caddy. There was something about the Cadillac that was so plush and so American that she bought a new one every couple of years. She saw an old gray mule in the pasture out of the corner of her eye and saw the fence that was lying on the side. Dottie didn’t know what she’d do if they ever repaired that fence. She’d been looking at that fence on the ground for years and it was her landmark just before she turned onto Madame’s private road. She knew her turn was just up ahead. She slowed for a farmer carrying a load of hay in an old truck. He was hogging the entire road. Now where in the hell am I supposed to go? She steered her big car to the side of the road as far as she could without falling into the ditch. She cursed and held her breath as the farmer passed her. She swore the farmer missed her by less than an inch. The old codger hadn't even looked her way. She shook her head and cursed again softly. She threw her white Caddy into first gear and roared out of the ditch spewing gravel, dirt, and mud all over the road. She saw three rabbits running for their life and hoped she hadn’t interrupted their nest. Dottie drove a little further and made her left turn. She turned right on the first road and started the difficult trip along the horrible, rutted road to Madame Toulescent’s tiny home. The road was almost a mile long. Dottie's tall, thin frame bounced all over her plush leather seat and her hair fell out of her neatly arranged bun. I'm going to have to take a pain pill. All this jumping around is killing my hips. Secretly Dottie new she needed to have her hips replaced but there was no way she was willing to do that, at least not while she could walk. I wouldn't be able to help Michaela. And then, what would she do? Madame Toulescent waved at Dottie from her front porch filled with flowers and beautiful hanging baskets of petunias and begonias. Her small white cottage was immaculate. Madame Toulescent watched her painstakingly steer her huge Cadillac down her battered road. Dottie brought the iron beast to a stop, looked in her rearview mirror and re-pinned a piece of white hair that had worked its way out of her perfect updo. Even though the Madame lived in a house that was little better than a house trailer, Dottie had been trained from birth to always look perfect when visiting. This task had become monumental at age 82. She reached for her purse and checked to make sure her Glock was nestled in its special pocket. She checked her lipstick in the mirror, pinched her lips together, cursed the fine lines around her mouth and got out of the car. "Hello Madame Toulescent. Thank you for seeing me today on short notice." Dorothy smiled her gracious smile at the psychic, showing her beautiful white veneers, once available for a large price from the famous, dentist-to-the-stars Dr. Michael Smirkowitz. "You are so welcome, Countess Borghase." Madame Toulescent looked around the empty fields and through the trees and gestured with her arm. "As you can see, there is no waiting line. Please come in. I've made us some tea." She paused for a moment and said, "Watch the steps. They're in need of repair," she cautioned. In need of repair, my butt, they need to be rebuilt Dottie climbed the rickety steps dodging rusty nails and wood splinters. She grasped the loose railing and posts that held up the old front porch. The last thing she wanted to do was fall and break something. She followed Madame Toulescent into her small but neat and cozy home. There was a wonderful scent in the air and Dottie’s mouth watered. "Please have a seat in the easy chair," the Madame offered. "I'll bring us some tea and sweet bread." Dottie nodded and smiled her thanks as she carefully studied Madame Toulescent. She wasn't sure of her nationality. She thought she was Eastern European but she seemed very much like the French and her house had several amazing pieces of French country furniture. In years past, she had asked the Madame about her former life, but the psychic seemed unwilling to share her past. Her voice had a strange accent Dottie couldn't identify which frustrated her. Dottie had traveled the world and she knew the languages and dialects of most ethnic populations. But she couldn't figure out Madame Toulescent’s origins. That puzzled her. Madame handed Dottie a cup of herb tea. The aroma alerted her senses and she immediately felt more awake and inspired. The tea had given her energy and awareness. She took a sip. It was delicious. "Oh my, Madame Toulescent. Whatever is in this tea? I feel a million times better just from smelling it. You’ve got to tell me where you got it because I know Cookie would love it too," Dottie gushed as she sipped her tea. Madame Toulescent smiled and said. "I made the tea. It's a blend of ginger, mint, lemon verbena and a few other things I grow in my herb garden. I'll send some home with you. It's sweetened with honey I collected from my bees yesterday." She smiled briefly, and her lips stretched over teeth that could benefit from a cosmetic dentist. "That's probably what you love so much." Dottie nodded and studied the Madame. The years hadn't treated her so well. Dottie didn't know her age but her face was a mass of wrinkles that blended one into the other. Dottie guessed each wrinkle had its own story. Her skin appeared soft but deeply creased. Her jet black hair was streaked with gray and hung freely past her shoulders. She wore a simple blue shift with a silver belt and wore tennis shoes and socks. She smelled of lemon and freesia. Dottie, as usual, smelled of Chanel #5. "It's so lovely out here, Madame. Do you ever come to town?" Madame Toulescent shook her head. "Very rarely. My neighbor collects my groceries for me when I need them and as you know, I have a huge vegetable garden and I can and freeze most everything I need. I like it here and I like to stay with my animals - my dogs, cats, cow, mules and horses. It's quiet here and my love is nature." Dottie nodded. She couldn't imagine staying in these four walls every single day. She supposed she didn't have the patience and gentleness of spirit that the Madame had. But that was okay. Dottie was very happy in her own way. The two women shared a comfortable silence and continued to sip their tea until the Madame asked, "How can I help you today, Countess?" She smiled at her and said, "I can tell you have some significant things on your mind and that you are troubled." Dottie put her teacup down and said, "Yes, I do. Have you been watching the news?" Dottie saw the woman pale under her sun-darkened skin. Madame Toulescent nodded. "You’re here about the poisonings, aren't you?" Dottie held Madame’s dark eyes with her own and said, "Yes, I am. Camilla Rothrock was one of my dearest friends and I need to know who poisoned her." Madame shifted her gaze to the floor and said, "Countess Borghase, this is a very bad business that is happening. I've had some visions and they are upsetting. It reminds me of the evil work of Hitler in Germany." This time it was Dottie who paled, her heart beating so hard she could hardly breathe. "Oh my God, Madame. We both remember his devastation in Europe and the millions of people he murdered." Madame Toulescent rubbed her hands together, her face grim. "Indeed we do. A sad and sorry time. Let's move into the back where I work and see what we can see." Dottie stood and followed Madame to the room in the far back of her modest home. It was a glass room with beautiful views into the forest. She left her teacup on the coffee table. Her heart thumped dangerously in her chest and she was short of breath. She was so terrified she almost lost her balance. She gripped her purse and cell phone in her hand. She was scared and just the idea of having the Glock made her feel safer. Could the evil be so strong it permeated her soul? “Countess, why are you so upset? What can I do to help you?” Madame Toulescent looked at Dottie with concern. Dottie stared at her but her eyes said it all. “Let me get you something to calm you down so we can have a good reading. Please stay in the chair and I’ll be right back,” Madame Toulescent said as she left Dottie and walked to her kitchen. Want To Read More? Read Chapter 35 here! Who Is Judith Lucci??? Dr. Judith Lucci is a bestselling Amazon author and the author of the Alex Destephano Medical Thriller series set in New Orleans and the Michaela McPherson Mystery/Suspense series set in her hometown on Richmond, Virginia. Lucci also has a volume of short stories, Black Magic Bayou, a collection of moralistic tales based on Cajun superstition and lore and a novella, Beach Blanket Murders: The Ocean Can be Deadly. She has contributed to three anthologies and collections, and is the creator of Author 911: The Authors Guide to Writing and Medical Information. She is a registered nurse and college professor and holds graduate degrees from Virginia Commonwealth University and University of Virginia. “Before I wrote fiction, I was an academic writer who published research, theoretical works, authored text books and just about anything a college professor needed to publish to survive.” The differences in academic and fiction writing are dramatic. Writing what I know encourages me to pull from my clinical experiences, some good, some not and use popular fiction as a means to teach and advocate for others. Dr. Lucci’s books have three purposes, to engage the reader, to entertain them and to educate about healthcare and perhaps, the darker side of hospital life and life in general. Her books are described as contemporary novels that focus on and describe current social, moral and ethical issues in present day society. Judith is a true advocate for social justice and that theme is often prevalent in her work. She’s an avid reader and loves making stuff up and writing it down. She’s a member of the Virginia Writers Club, The Gulf Coast Writers Club, The Shenandoah Valley Writers group and Sisters in Crime. When I’m not writing I am probably teaching, painting on silk as I am a multi-media artist or playing with my many dogs. Please feel free to contact me at [email protected]. I am always excited to meet new people!
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PHIL!
By: RP Momsen
A very funny science fiction adventure that will change the way you look at life, the universe and why we're all here. Billions of years ago, our universe was born. Not really that terribly exciting for most life forms except of course yourselves… and, well, Phil. The poor bastard who’s had to watch over all you people the last billion or so years. Well, finally after years of listening to all your griping, bitching and whining, always with some imaginary being getting all the credit, he’s finally had it! Phil has decided to explain what the world is, why you’re here and how you can evolve finally into a species worth talking about at parties. In this hilarious actual account, Phil takes two unwitting Physicists on the adventure of their lives, which isn’t saying much for a couple of physicists, and shows them what life, the universe and lovely little corner pubs really is all about. They’re transported to other dimensions to meet their better looking selves, get taken prisoner by an evil but very good looking race, fly through black holes and help the creation of a new planet all while their greatest challenge hangs in the balance, saving earth from the most evil, and best dressed, species the universe has ever seen. Will they save earth? Has all the years of hard work Phil has done creating you beings be lost? Does any of this really matter? Goodreads Exclusive to Amazon
Enjoy An Excerpt
Ping.
Ping.
“You gonna answer that?” Delphinia slurred. Typically an attractive female colleague, except now she had half a glass of Pan Universal Kumquat Juice down her front, and somehow an equal amount sprayed randomly throughout her hair. We were all drunk—she was winning.
“Just another idiotic human with some whiny ‘I can’t do anything for myself’ question.” “Are they still making you do that? Didn’t you create some god chat line for them to look up on their own?” asked Braithwaight, a much larger and uglier version of myself who had the unusual characteristic of having the largest nostrils in the universe. You wouldn't know them as nostrils, of course, given that their size and look is of one of your outhouses, massively uneven, bright orange and dripping with something I'd rather not discuss.
“Ya, but they seem to be using it mostly for porn and watching other humans or animals doing idiotic stuff, which is even stranger when you realize that the average human does 4.8 stupid things per week; you would think watching each other in real time would keep them amused enough,” I replied. Braithwaight was correct, after all—a number of years ago, I had instructed humans to create something called God Gab to answer all their questions and, hopefully, quit bothering me. As usual, they misunderstood, called it Google, and continued to harass me anyway.
“Slow... what dey say?” Delphinia slurred, spitting Pan Universal Kumquat Juice over both of us, which as it turned out was actually rather tasty; I decided to order one next despite it being a bit of a girly drink.
“Dear Lord.” (Dear Phil, it should have actually read.) Please give me strength in dealing with my two kids; I’m always so tired, they stay awake for hours on end, I seem to be the only one in the house able to nap, they eat all my food, hide my weed and are even messier than my 3 ex husbands. I can’t keep doing it. What should I do?”
“Signed ‘lame-ass, stoned and grumpy Mom.’ I added the last part.” I ordered my drink despite Braithwaighte’s sudden drunken episode of visualizing me in a short skirt with nice big perky ears; an odd and very unsexy effect of the alcohol.
“So, how do you answer it?” Braithwaight asked, refocusing himself.
“ I usually give some form of positive bullshit advice that they ignore, and then they continue doing exactly what they’ve been doing for years,” I replied.
“You should just sway what you twink then; who cares what they do?” Delphinia again slurred, though this time with more drooling than spitting, which was fine with me since I now had my own drink. Oddly enough, this had never occurred to me before, which just goes to show that the advice of a really drunk person should not be discounted even when slurred, spat, or dribbled. I took two large gulps of my drink, hoping to gain some more of this wisdom; my entire mind seemed to open up and swallow everything around me; my eyes fell out of my head, dropped off the table, and rolled under my now very short skirt, and then I spat the remaining mouthful onto my two companions, to which Braithwaight said ‘mmmm’ before promptly ordering one for himself.
If it had seemed like a good idea before, after two sips of Pan Universal Kumquat Juice, it became the most brilliant idea since the first crossing of the universe in a giant Easter egg with very slightly modified snowshoes and a six-pack of Grantham Planetary Beers. Without putting anymore thought into it, or in fact having any more thought left, I promptly replied to my lame ass Mom message “I would suggest refraining from drinking every night until near unconsciousness, or adoption, whichever ones easier. Signed, Phil.
PS. There is no Lord—Surprise!”
Author Info R.P. Momsen was lucky enough to meet Phil in a very lovely but rather smelly pub a few years ago. After listening to the most amazing story of his life, and a half dozen pints, Rick agreed to bring Phil’s story to the world and finally get Phil a vacation. Through an arduous process over the next couple years of intense notes, grand philosophical debates, lengthy trips through multiple universes and numerous beers this masterpiece of answers was named Phil and finally released. A great friendship has been created and Rick has agreed to continue to write the real truth about everything, why it’s kind of a good thing to know and what humankind could do to be invited to the really cool parties.
Other FB: https://www.facebook.com/rickhunterBM
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“There’s enough here to kill everybody..." The Case of the Dead #Dowager @JudithLucci #RPBP #IARTG10/7/2016
The Michaela McPherson Mysery Series
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About The Books
A young woman disappears after a job interview at a
well-known dentist’s office in Richmond, Virginia and retired homicide detective Michaela McPherson, along with her close friend, the aging Countess Dorothy Borghase, and Richmond police join forces to solve the crime. This case pits them against evil and greed armed with tentacles that span continents and generations.
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A lunch gathering of old friends at Richmond’s historic Hotel Jefferson finds Countess Dottie Borghase dialing 911 to report the sudden collapse of her dear friend, Camilla. The subsequent death of Camilla Rothrock, the mother of decorated U.S. Army General Stuart Rothrock, has authorities buzzing with concerns about international safety and retaliation. When other restaurants have patrons succumb to similar illnesses and death, the Richmond Police, local FBI and their Washington profilers assist Michaela and Dottie in the chase of two nefarious and heinous mass murderers without souls or conscious.
The Case of the Dead Dowager
A Michela McPherson Mystery
Chapter 1
“Perfecto, this stuff looks flawless,” Boris said in his thickly accented voice as he held a test tube to the light. The Russian smiled broadly, his thin lips stretched across his decayed teeth and skeletal face. The light from the window outlined his permanently crushed, but healed anterior skull that gave him the look of the monster he truly was. He agitated the test tube between his fingers and re-examined its contents. It was a masterpiece. “There’s enough here to kill everybody in Yankee Stadium and all the cops in Richmond,” he predicted from his tall, though stooped height of six feet, five inches. He reached for a small glass container and transferred a portion of the five gallons to a laboratory beaker. He held the larger quantity up to the window and examined the liquid. “And look, there’s no residue in the bottom and the fluid is perfectly clear.” He turned around to his partner and gushed, “Perfecto, my tovarich, perfecto!” Snake laughed and clapped his partner on the back. “Way to go, tall guy. Good deal. You know we gotta maximize our efforts. Neither one of us wants to work hard or take extra chances, especially now since they’re lookin’ for me anyway.” Snake moved closer to the glass carboy and smiled as he saw the colorless, odorless and tasteless five gallon drum of liquid. “Man, that looks good. Does it have a smell?” Boris bent his shiny, bald head forward and sniffed deeply. “No, not that I can tell. I can’t smell anything, but I haven’t got a good nose anyway. “You give it a sniff and see what you think,” he said as he gestured towards the liquid. Snake moved next to the large glass container and noticed additional small beakers and test tubes of fluid sitting to the side. Each container was labeled and numbered. “You must’ve been a hell of a chemist back in the day,” he remarked as he finger-combed his greasy black hair off his face. Sometimes he wore it in a ponytail but he hadn’t pulled it back today. He bent over and sniffed the carboy. “Nah. Nothing.” He shook his head and said, “I can’t smell nuthin’ either. Good job, my man,” he said enthusiastically, a slow smile spreading across his swarthy, pockmarked face. “You’re a real scientist.” Boris lit a cigarette, coughed and said, “Man, you have no idea of the stuff I can do. You ain’t seen nothing. I got more killing recipes than Carter’s got little liver pills.” He smiled ominously and showed his rotten teeth. Snake felt a tinge run up his spine. This guy even looked like the monster his reputation claimed he was. He decided to watch himself carefully around Boris and never give him the upper hand. Snake nodded, “Yeah. Well, I got plenty of chances to see your talents this week!” Once again he checked out his partner and sized him up. He was a dangerous, unpredictable, scary dude. “Yeah, but I’m never tellin’ you much,” Boris assured him. “There’ll most likely be one day I’ll wanna kill you,” he admitted, the broad grin again slicing through his pale, skeletal face. This guy’s serious. He is crazy. Snake ignored him and brushed invisible lint off the front of his blue scrubs. “Shut-up man. No need for talk like that.” He knew Boris was a madman, totally wacko. His handlers had told him to be careful. But the money had been too good to pass up and besides, he could take good care of himself. His reputation spoke for him. He had no idea who his bosses were and little was known about the Russian scientist. Rumor suggested he’d long been a mortal enemy of the United States and other stories suggested he was an assassin. Snake didn’t want to push the point. He picked up the container of fluid and placed it in front of him, his face a mask of evil. “You know what, Boris, old man, I’m thinking we can wipe out an army… or at least a police force with this stuff. Whatdaya think?” He gave him a half smile. Boris stared at him, his cold grey eyes, bony face and crushed skull glistened in the low light from the barred windows. His eyes roamed the room to the large aquarium that housed all kinds of prickly fish and marine life. The huge tank glowed eerily in the fading light. Boris stared at his fish fondly and gave Snake a strange look and said in a quiet voice, “Of course we can. I already said that. What do you think the plan is?”
Chapter 2
“Dottie, where did you get that marvelous Italian leather bag? I’d die for one like that,” Camilla Rothrock gushed in her drawn out Alabama accent. “I’ve just gotta have one.” Dottie held up her newest leather pocketbook so all of her best friends could ooh and ah over it. “I had it made especially for me in Italy,” she bragged. The bag was beautiful, soft and buttery between her fingers. “I really love it. Look, it has a special gun pocket stitched in so I can carry my very own Glock,” she said proudly as she pulled her gun holster out of her purse and swiftly returned it before anyone noticed. Margaret Massie glared from her from across the round table. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Dottie! Give it a rest! Whatever do you need to carry a gun around for? We’re a bunch of old ladies. No one is gonna mess with us,” she admonished as she rolled her eyes and batted her false eyelashes at her best friend of many years. “We’re hardly ever left on our own.” She glowered as her friend. “Margaret Massie, how can you possibly be so short-sighted?” The Countess Dorothy Borghase exclaimed, disgust evident on her aging, but still lovely face. She flipped her head and a long piece of silver-white hair escaped from her elegant chignon. “After all you’ve been through?” She stared at her friend in disbelief and continued, “That’s precisely the reason we need to pack some heat. Because we are old and weak and can’t run as fast. We’re sitting ducks for most of the bad guys out there.” Margaret squinted her eyes and frowned at her. “Pack some heat? Really. You sound like you’re in a …” Margaret paused for a moment and looked at her friends, “what do they call it, a gang. What is it? Gangsta talk, or however you say it?” she added sarcastically. As the wife of one of the wealthiest men in Virginia and a blueblood from birth, Margaret didn’t know much about gangs or crime. “But still, Dottie… really, a handmade purse… from Italy, nonetheless, especially designed for your gun? Puhleeze. That’s ridiculous, a bit over the top, wouldn’t you agree, Kathryn?” Margaret asked as she glanced over at Kathryn Lee who was watching her friends an amused look on her face. Kathryn Lee of Wyndley Farm in Hanover County laughed, her blue eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiled over her water goblet at her friends of many years. Kathryn was the wife of law and order politician Congressman Adam Patrick Lee of Virginia and she clearly had an opinion. She was one of the best target shooters around and could shoot better than most men. She opened her mouth to respond when Dottie interrupted her. Dottie rearranged one of the intricate wire combs holding her classic up do in place. Her silver hair gleamed under the brass and crystal chandelier in Lamaire Restaurant at Richmond’s historical Hotel Jefferson. “I didn’t design it just for my gun,” she said defensively. “I designed it for my cell phone, my makeup, for the color of the leather, the intricate stitching, the design, and beyond that, the label,” she replied in a snarky voice. Dottie paused for a moment and added, “Besides Vitrio Lanbrucci has been designing fine leather for the Borghase family for over a hundred years.” Margaret rolled her eyes and turned to Kathryn. “So, Kathryn, what do you think? I know you’d tried to answer my question a few minutes ago,” she said pointedly as she turned to stare at Dottie, “but the Countess forgot her manners. Don’t you think Dottie’s gun purse is a little over the top?” Really,” she opined, a smirk on her face. Kathryn opened her mouth to answer when Dottie interrupted again, her vivid blue eyes wide with concern. She stared at Camilla who looked strange, frightened, actually. Her pupils were wide and she seemed unable to speak. “Camilla, whatever is the matter with you? Your face is flushed and your eyes are enormous. Are you ill?” Dottie asked as she rose from her seat. Kathryn was alarmed as well since Camilla was unable to respond. Her eyes stared wildly at them and she opened her mouth but no words came out. Suddenly, she fell forward, and her head lolled on the table. “Kathryn, call 911 on your phone. She must’ve had a stroke of something,” Dottie commanded as her heart raced with fear. It could be my head lying on the table and not Camilla’s. Life seemed very precious to Dottie at that second. I sure don’t wanna die in Lamaire restaurant in the Hotel Jefferson. What a spectacle that would be! Of course, she knew Camilla’s didn’t either and as she stood by her friend, tears popped into her eyes. I’ll have to call General Rothrock and tell him something dreadful has happened to his mother. Kathryn flagged a waiter and moved closer to Camilla’s chair and checked her pulse. She could barely feel it as it was weak and irregular. Kathryn looked into Camilla’s eyes and her pupils that were huge and dark, liquids pools of fluid that saw nothing. Her face was flushed and red. A moment later, a young waitress carrying a huge serving tray staggered forward and then fell to the floor, spilling food, water and wine all over the oriental carpet. She lay prone and unresponsive. “Make that two ambulances,” Dottie motioned to the maitre’d who was on his way over.
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It is 1994. Our junior lawyer narrator leaves behind a small, mean and viciously circular life representing petty criminals and takes to the road.
'East-A Novel'
by
Peri Hoskins
It’s 1994. Junior lawyer, Vince Osbourne, leaves behind a small,mean and viciously circular life in the city representing petty criminals and takes to the road. He’s lived 30 years. The wide continent of Australia is out in front. He’s almost young. Where will the road lead? East takes in sunsets; rain in the desert; a five-year-old girl on a bike; a battered former thief and jockey; old-timers; young lovers; beautiful women, and aboriginals in public bars. The open road connects many vignettes making a rich tapestry of human encounters.
East is poignant, gritty, funny, sad and above all: human. Hoskins’ laconic prose captures the harsh, arid country in all its big, empty beauty along with quirky exchanges with strangers, travel buddies, shop assistants, workmates, and friends old and new. A journey without and within, East taps into the spiritual realm that lies beneath this land and its people.Leaving
The bonnet in front of me is big and white. Rain on the windscreen – the wipers sweep it away. The clouds are grey, the road is grey, the suburbs are grey and I am leaving. There is joy in that. I’m leaving it behind – a life – small, petty, viciously circular. Out in front is the road and I don’t know where it will end. I am free. I’m almost young.
A beginning. Renewal pulses in my blood, pumping out from my heart, through my veins, feeding me, making me new again, a keenly conscious being reaching out to the uncertainty. This road will lead me to places that I have not seen – to people I have not met. There’s no place I have to be and no time I have to be there.I drive on and on leaving the city far behind. The rain clears. Sunlight glints on wet grass and trees. I see farmhouses, fences and cows. The gnawing in my belly eases as I’m gently enveloped by the freedom of the great mystery now upon me. The shackles of the old life fall away, for I’m shedding a skin – dry, worn, old and scaly. I found the courage to step into the dream. And the dream has become real. The life of a suburban lawyer is behind me. Small decisions. Small repetitions. Which tie to wear today. Pay the electricity bill. Sunday – iron five shirts for the week ahead. See the same people. Say the same things. Hear the same things said. In that life I wondered whether I had it better than the petty criminals I represented in court. Some had no job and no home. They pleaded guilty and I said what I could say, for something had to be said. And then the court, that street-sweeper of humanity, tidied them away. For there must be a place – there must be somewhere for them to go: a prison, a halfway house, a drug rehab centre. There must be a place for everyone – somewhere. These people had fallen through cracks and become untidy. Did they envy my tidy life, those that I helped to tidy away? Did they see my life as I saw it – not a tidy life, but a tidy prison? Tidiness. I had been taught to lead a tidy life. What was it they had said – the teachers, the headmasters? Work hard at school. Get a good job. Be a good employee. Pay your taxes. Mow your lawns. Be a good neighbour. Be a good citizen. Lead a tidy life. Not a full life, a varied life, a great life – no, a tidy life of small neat circles. I have lived thirty years. As the trees and houses and petrol stations whistle by, the reasons for leaving once again crowd my mind. At thirty, life no longer stretches out before me like an uncharted great ocean. If I live to be eighty, more than one third of my life is spent. Where am I? At a time of life when I’m supposed to be somewhere – I’m nowhere I ever wanted to be. I’ll taste the last drops of youth before the cup passes from my lips, forever. The familiar yearning claws at my insides again – but it’s different now – it’s happy knowing I have been true to it – finally. The yearning … a murmur in a corner of my soul ... that’s how it started … a couple of years ago ... I pushed it away. I was busy; there were things to do. It kept coming back, stronger and stronger: a growing gnawing that would not be denied. The day I turned thirty, I came to know what it was, finally. It was the feeling of having missed my destiny. At one of life’s important junctures, I don’t know when or where, I’d taken the wrong turn. So maybe that’s what it is: a journey back down life’s highway to try and find the turn I missed. A journey to reconnect with who I am and what I should be doing here – in this life. Did I ever really want to be a lawyer? Maybe I did it because my father didn’t finish law school. Maybe I did it for him, and not for me. Didn’t have the courage to find my destiny and follow it … settled for safety and caution. And the small repetitions of the safe life had closed in and were suffocating me. Don’t know if that’s what it is … I had to go – I know that much … it was the most honest thing I could do. And now it’s real: this journey with no end and no decided route. It’s a big country. Yeah, I’ll head east ... And in my travels maybe I’ll find something of the soul of this land and its people ... I have been at the wheel for four hours. The muscular movements needed to keep the car on course have become automatic. My thoughts drift freely now, first to the future – new, pregnant with possibility – before anchoring in my childhood. I recall a long-buried idea – from a time of wonder at a world full of possibilities. As a child I thought I could see into people, a kind of second sight. Memories flow into my mind – sharp, clear, focused. I see things now as I saw things then. I am a small boy sitting in the passenger seat of a car. My father is driving. We approach an intersection. A policeman is standing in the middle directing traffic. He signals the car in front to stop. The policeman fascinates me – his neat blue uniform, high black boots, long white gloves – his precise hand signals. He makes cars stop and go by moving his hands like the man who made the puppets move at the fairground. The gloved hands move and the cars obey, crossing the intersection, slowly and respectfully passing the uniformed man. From above I hear the noise of a plane. In the eye of my mind as a child I see the silver wings and fuselage. The policeman’s eyes turn skyward to the plane I see clearly in the window of my imagination. The officer’s long-gloved hands slowly fall to rest at his heavy belt. Cars bank up at the intersection. The driver in front looks at him for directions but he gives none. Unconscious of the traffic, his attention is focused in the sky above. The face of the policeman loses form and I see into him. First I feel his discomfort in the hot uniform, the dryness in his throat and the tiredness behind his eyes. Gradually my perception deepens. I sense the numbed heart, the thwarted ambitions – the hopes and dreams unrealized and gone awry. He doesn’t want to be here, directing traffic. The past has cheated him. He is disconnected from the present and fearful of the future. A car horn honks from behind. A driver doesn’t know why the traffic is not moving. The policeman’s eyes return to the traffic, his arms snapping up with military precision. As he waves us on, the look of purpose clothes his face once again and the moment of seeing into him has passed. The second sight would come to me without warning and always just for a fleeting moment or two. I would see my mother trying to hide an emotion or catch my father unguarded, looking into the distance. In the moment of second sight the physical would melt – the body become transparent and amorphous. Instead of seeing the person I would see into the person – reach inside to the heart, sense the fears, touch the dreams – see the humanity, raw and struggling. Want To Sample More? Click Here!
5 Stars Across The Board
A winner!To be honest; ‘East’ is not the kind of book that I typically read. I am more used to Zombies taking over the world and all kinds of science fiction. I read ‘East’ in an attempt to diversify. I am glad that I did. There were no Zombies, no alien attacks, but instead; I was presented with the story of a lawyer in Australia who walked out on his old life and started a new one. He has adventures; some good, some bad as he travels across the country. Hoskins writes with a brutal honesty that brings the character to life. After reading this book, I felt like I had an “insider’s view” into what life was like for some folks in Australia in the mid-90’s. That is the whole purpose of reading; isn’t it? To get into other character’s lives and to experience things you would otherwise have no clue about. Hoskins does a masterful job of drawing you in to his world with vivid descriptions and a detailed insight of the character’s observations as he travels from big cities to remote locations. It wasn’t an easy journey; but it certainly was entertaining!
~By Ken Gusler
Once again, as with Hoskins’ other book, Millennium, I was not disappointed. The novel, East, has something of a Kerouac and Cormac McCarthy feel to it; a tone that suits the on the road style journey that the main character, Vince, takes. East is refreshingly honest in its commentary about society’s foibles, life, the people Vince meets (themselves on their own journeys) and Vince’s own reasons for self-exploration. In some ways, the characters Vince meets along the way are a perfect foil for Vince's reflection; themselves giving the reader greater insight, not just into humanity, but also into Vince himself (and, dare I say it - ourselves). Through his travels, we learn more about Vince’s life and the need to connect with his father, seek approval; and in doing so, find some form of self-acceptance within a society that is quick to identify and perhaps vilify, the “other”. Hoskins’ ability to capture the humanity in the characters he writes of, some of them less than sympathetic in personality, prevents the personalities that populate East, from existing as caricatures secondary to the main character, Vince’s, own journey. East will make you think, smile, laugh, gasp, shake your head and reflect upon your own attitude to yourself and your place in the world around you. Oh, and the moment with his father – perfect. I thoroughly recommend this novel.
~By Kate 'griz' Pill
Excellent writing and an awesome book.
I loved this book it made me want to pack up my truck and take an adventure like the author Peri's character Vince did. I really enjoyed this book set in Australia in the style of Jack Kerouac On the Road. The author Peri paints a picture of a dissatisfied lawyer, named Vince who decides to pack up his car and head east for new adventures. He comes across many interesting characters each impacting his life in their own ways. He's 30 years old and searching for his life's purpose after leaving his promising career in law. He sets off on his soul searching journey to find himself and gets entwined in the lives of the supporting characters. Staying with friends, youth hostels, and camping he finds his nomadic journey to become a spiritual quest and opens himself to whatever is meant to be. I felt invested in Vince as the main character and I wanted him to find his life's purpose and happiness. I highly recommend this wonderful book especially if you're a traveller or are ready for a new adventure.
□~By Jsack
I couldn't put it down. The way in which Vince's experiences are delivered is morishly unique; both unsettlingly raw and yet comfortingly nonjudgmental. Peri Hoskins drew me into the life of his protagonist with humble mastery.
~By Teresa Herleth
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Who Is Peri Hoskins?Peri Hoskins is the author of 'Millennium – A Memoir’, a travelogue memoir that has received many five star reader reviews. Christopher Moore of the New Zealand Listener had this to say about ‘Millennium – A Memoir’: 'Written with perhaps the merest of bows to Joseph Conrad and Robert Louis Stevenson, the book’s colourful cast of characters come together to greet the dawn of the 21st century. It’s a vigorously written sly-humoured account of human encounters in a small place lapped by the tides of change…It’s a genial well observed book that insinuates itself into the affections.’
~Christopher Moore, New Zealand Listener, 2 August 2014.
Peri Hoskins was born in Wellington, New Zealand. He is the second son of a family of five children, four boys and a girl. He is of mixed Maori and Anglo-Celtic ancestry. Peri grew up in Whangarei, Northland, New Zealand, a provincial city then home to about 30,000 people. He was educated at Whangarei Boys’ High School where he twice won a national essay competition. After completing high school and winning the school prizes for English, History and Geography, Peri went to Auckland University where he studied law and the humanities, including history and English literature.Peri was substantially based in Australia between 1985 and 2005. He completed his study of law and the humanities at the University of Sydney including several courses in philosophy. He worked as a lawyer in New South Wales before embarking on a 1995 five-month road trip all around Australia. This road trip comprises the material for his soon to be published second book, East. Peri subsequently worked as a lawyer in both New South Wales and Queensland, and developed his current specialisation in legal work – civil litigation. In December 1999 Peri travelled to the Kingdom of Tonga to be in the first country in the world to see in the new millennium. The diary of his three weeks in Tonga has become his first book, Millennium – A Memoir. In 2004 Peri completed a post graduate diploma in film and television production at Queensland University of Technology. Peri now lives, writes and works as a barrister (being a self-employed lawyer) in Northland, New Zealand.
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It’s December 1999, the cusp of a new millennium. The tiny Pacific Kingdom of Tonga will be first in the world to usher it in. We travel there with our narrator to see the sun set on the old and the dawn rise on the new. We discover much more.
In a time and place of old customs we see the gentle advance of the new. This Pacific paradise is home to a diverse group of human beings at this unique time. Our journey with our narrator through many human exchanges – quirky, funny, and sad – accompanied by quotes from Hindu scripture echoes through the millennia and asks us what it is to be human in these dark times. This book constantly entertains and delves beneath a fascinating surface to examine the quality of our age. Millennium – A Memoir is a novella-sized slice of life travelogue of about 25,000 words. In capturing the time and the place this book evokes the work of Ernest Hemingway.
Get Millennium Here>>books2read.com/millennium
East-A Novel
By Peri Hoskions
Preorder Now
End of August Release
‘About ‘East – A Novel'
It’s 1994. Junior lawyer, Vince Osbourne, leaves behind a small, mean and viciously circular life in the city representing petty criminals and takes to the road. He’s lived 30 years. The wide continent of Australia is out in front. He’s almost young. Where will the road lead?
East takes in sunsets; rain in the desert; a five-year-old girl on a bike; a battered former thief and jockey; old-timers; young lovers; beautiful women, and aboriginals in public bars. The open road connects many vignettes making a rich tapestry of human encounters.
East is poignant, gritty, funny, sad and above all: human. Hoskins’ laconic prose captures the harsh, arid country in all its big, empty beauty along with quirky exchanges with strangers, travel buddies, shop assistants, workmates, and friends old and new. A journey without and within, East taps into the spiritual realm that lies beneath this land and its people.
(#travel & Adventure, #Travel, #Aus, #RPBP, #preorder, #ebook, #NewRelease)
~Pre-release review~
A Journey of Self Discovery
This intriguing book is based on the author’s personal memoirs and although it is described as fiction it feels very, very real.
Vince has reached a stage at 30 when he wants to break free from a life that seems to be suffocating him. He has been working as a junior lawyer but needs to do something different and this book tells of his travels towards the East of Australia.
His journey draws you along with him as he discovers himself and realises that he can achieve so much more than he previously thought possible. He settles in places with people from his past that he sees in a new light, along with their prejudices.
Then there are the long and testing journeys across the deserts of Australia, meeting a fascinating mix of people along the way. Vince’s observations on the Aboriginal people, being of Maori origin himself, are extremely revealing. The back breaking work he takes on in a mine, to earn some extra money, couldn’t be further removed from his previous work as a lawyer.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book and would highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys travel writing and journeys of self-discovery. ~Robert Fear 8.10.16
~Enjoy Chapter One From East~
Leaving
The bonnet in front of me is big and white. Rain on the windscreen – the wipers sweep it away. The clouds are grey, the road is grey, the suburbs are grey and I am leaving. There is joy in that. I’m leaving it behind – a life – small, petty, viciously circular. Out in front is the road and I don’t know where it will end. I am free. I’m almost young.A beginning. Renewal pulses in my blood, pumping out from my heart, through my veins, feeding me, making me new again, a keenly conscious being reaching out to the uncertainty. This road will lead me to places that I have not seen – to people I have not met. There’s no place I have to be and no time I have to be there. I drive on and on leaving the city far behind. The rain clears. Sunlight glints on wet grass and trees. I see farmhouses, fences and cows. The gnawing in my belly eases as I’m gently enveloped by the freedom of the great mystery now upon me. The shackles of the old life fall away, for I’m shedding a skin – dry, worn, old and scaly. I found the courage to step into the dream. And the dream has become real. The life of a suburban lawyer is behind me. Small decisions. Small repetitions. Which tie to wear today. Pay the electricity bill. Sunday – iron five shirts for the week ahead. See the same people. Say the same things. Hear the same things said. In that life I wondered whether I had it better than the petty criminals I represented in court. Some had no job and no home. They pleaded guilty and I said what I could say, for something had to be said. And then the court, that street-sweeper of humanity, tidied them away. For there must be a place – there must be somewhere for them to go: a prison, a halfway house, a drug rehab centre. There must be a place for everyone – somewhere. These people had fallen through cracks and become untidy. Did they envy my tidy life, those that I helped to tidy away? Did they see my life as I saw it – not a tidy life, but a tidy prison? Tidiness. I had been taught to lead a tidy life. What was it they had said – the teachers, the headmasters? Work hard at school. Get a good job. Be a good employee. Pay your taxes. Mow your lawns. Be a good neighbour. Be a good citizen. Lead a tidy life. Not a full life, a varied life, a great life – no, a tidy life of small neat circles. I have lived thirty years. As the trees and houses and petrol stations whistle by, the reasons for leaving once again crowd my mind. At thirty, life no longer stretches out before me like an uncharted great ocean. If I live to be eighty, more than one third of my life is spent. Where am I? At a time of life when I’m supposed to be somewhere – I’m nowhere I ever wanted to be. I’ll taste the last drops of youth before the cup passes from my lips, forever. The familiar yearning claws at my insides again – but it’s different now – it’s happy knowing I have been true to it – finally. The yearning … a murmur in a corner of my soul ... that’s how it started … a couple of years ago ... I pushed it away. I was busy; there were things to do. It kept coming back, stronger and stronger: a growing gnawing that would not be denied. The day I turned thirty, I came to know what it was, finally. It was the feeling of having missed my destiny. At one of life’s important junctures, I don’t know when or where, I’d taken the wrong turn. So maybe that’s what it is: a journey back down life’s highway to try and find the turn I missed. A journey to reconnect with who I am and what I should be doing here – in this life. Did I ever really want to be a lawyer? Maybe I did it because my father didn’t finish law school. Maybe I did it for him, and not for me. Didn’t have the courage to find my destiny and follow it … settled for safety and caution. And the small repetitions of the safe life had closed in and were suffocating me. Don’t know if that’s what it is … I had to go – I know that much … it was the most honest thing I could do. And now it’s real: this journey with no end and no decided route. It’s a big country. Yeah, I’ll head east ... And in my travels maybe I’ll find something of the soul of this land and its people ... I have been at the wheel for four hours. The muscular movements needed to keep the car on course have become automatic. My thoughts drift freely now, first to the future – new, pregnant with possibility – before anchoring in my childhood. I recall a long-buried idea – from a time of wonder at a world full of possibilities. As a child I thought I could see into people, a kind of second sight. Memories flow into my mind – sharp, clear, focused. I see things now as I saw things then. I am a small boy sitting in the passenger seat of a car. My father is driving. We approach an intersection. A policeman is standing in the middle directing traffic. He signals the car in front to stop. The policeman fascinates me – his neat blue uniform, high black boots, long white gloves – his precise hand signals. He makes cars stop and go by moving his hands like the man who made the puppets move at the fairground. The gloved hands move and the cars obey, crossing the intersection, slowly and respectfully passing the uniformed man. From above I hear the noise of a plane. In the eye of my mind as a child I see the silver wings and fuselage. The policeman’s eyes turn skyward to the plane I see clearly in the window of my imagination. The officer’s long-gloved hands slowly fall to rest at his heavy belt. Cars bank up at the intersection. The driver in front looks at him for directions but he gives none. Unconscious of the traffic, his attention is focused in the sky above. The face of the policeman loses form and I see into him. First I feel his discomfort in the hot uniform, the dryness in his throat and the tiredness behind his eyes. Gradually my perception deepens. I sense the numbed heart, the thwarted ambitions – the hopes and dreams unrealized and gone awry. He doesn’t want to be here, directing traffic. The past has cheated him. He is disconnected from the present and fearful of the future. A car horn honks from behind. A driver doesn’t know why the traffic is not moving. The policeman’s eyes return to the traffic, his arms snapping up with military precision. As he waves us on, the look of purpose clothes his face once again and the moment of seeing into him has passed. The second sight would come to me without warning and always just for a fleeting moment or two. I would see my mother trying to hide an emotion or catch my father unguarded, looking into the distance. In the moment of second sight the physical would melt – the body become transparent and amorphous. Instead of seeing the person I would see into the person – reach inside to the heart, sense the fears, touch the dreams – see the humanity, raw and struggling.
~About The Author~
Peri Hoskins is the author of 'Millennium – A Memoir’, a travelogue memoir that has received many five star reader reviews.
Christopher Moore of the New Zealand Listener had this to say about ‘Millennium – A Memoir’: 'Written with perhaps the merest of bows to Joseph Conrad and Robert Louis Stevenson, the book’s colourful cast of characters come together to greet the dawn of the 21st century. It’s a vigorously written sly-humoured account of human encounters in a small place lapped by the tides of change…It’s a genial well observed book that insinuates itself into the affections.’
~Christopher Moore, New Zealand Listener, 2 August 2014.
Peri Hoskins was born in Wellington, New Zealand. He is the second son of a family of five children, four boys and a girl. He is of mixed Maori and Anglo-Celtic ancestry. Peri grew up in Whangarei, Northland, New Zealand, a provincial city then home to about 30,000 people. He was educated at Whangarei Boys’ High School where he twice won a national essay competition. After completing high school and winning the school prizes for English, History and Geography, Peri went to Auckland University where he studied law and the humanities, including history and English literature. Peri was substantially based in Australia between 1985 and 2005. He completed his study of law and the humanities at the University of Sydney including several courses in philosophy. He worked as a lawyer in New South Wales before embarking on a 1994 five-month road trip all around Australia. This road trip comprises the material for his soon to be published second book, East. Peri subsequently worked as a lawyer in both New South Wales and Queensland, and developed his current specialisation in legal work – civil litigation. In December 1999 Peri travelled to the Kingdom of Tonga to be in the first country in the world to see in the new millennium. The diary of his three weeks in Tonga has become his first book, Millennium – A Memoir. In 2004 Peri completed a post graduate diploma in film and television production at Queensland University of Technology.
Peri now lives, writes and works as a barrister (being a self-employed lawyer) in Northland, New Zealand.
You can connect With Peri Hoskins here:
Read an interview with author Peri Hoskins here:
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This special offers comes to an end on August 31, 2016
~Follow The Tour~
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Heat Level: Spicy
Book Eleven of the Plus Size Romance Series
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Comedy
Interracial and multicultural Romance
Length: 214 pages
Price: $1.99 or Free with Kindle Unlimited
Amazon Universal Link: http://hyperurl.co/e9tiup
Amazon US link: http://bit.ly/BrownieBoo2aeoFuh
Author: Lynn Cooper
About The Book
Gina Wilde has her sights set on her hot psychology professor, Dr. Trey Stanton. Despite giving him her most seductive come-hither looks in class and sitting on the front row in skimpy outfits, he doesn’t seem to notice she’s alive. Heck, he probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash even if she balanced a brownie—the scrumptious kind she’s been baking for him all semester—on the tip of her nose while spinning around in a tutu. Nonetheless, she will not be deterred. With a relentless stubbornness, she’s determined to crack his stuffy, stoic exterior and worm her way into his heart.
It kills Trey Stanton to rebuff the beautiful, bubbly sophomore sitting in the front row lustily eyeballing him as if he was her favorite dessert. Although he’s flattered and, in another reality might reciprocate, there’s only one bone-crushingly painful reality. One where he can never again risk his damaged heart. So, no matter how she looks at him with those dark-brown, sultry eyes or how much she crosses and uncrosses those shapely legs or leans forward and reveals the swell of her creamy breasts, he must diligently resist her and her delectable, mouthwatering brownies. Brownie Boo is part of the Plus Size Romance Series. Each book is a standalone with no overlapping characters, storylines or cliffhangers. This series is a perfect combination of romance, steamy love scenes and humor. The stories are sensual and romantic, uplifting and lighthearted. Feel-good reads that leave you feeling great!
Even if she balanced a brownie on the tip of her nose while spinning around in a tutu, Gina Wilde doubted Trey Stanton would bat an eyelash.
A long, sexy eyelash. For a man, he sure did have dark, luxuriously-thick ones. Of course everything about the thirty-something screamed hotness. The fact that he seemed unaware of his good looks made him all the sexier. He had longish black hair that splayed on his collar and was just starting to show a little gray, which gave him an ultra-distinguished look. His eyes were a soft, sensuous green and kept all of his female students mesmerized whether they were interested in what he was lecturing about or not. Gina was very much interested. She hung on every word passing through those full, kissable lips. Unlike most of her other professors, Dr. Stanton wasn’t stuffy. He didn’t wear shiny, tasseled shoes or suits with bowties. Most days he wore brown, penny loafers, khaki-colored Dockers and a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He kept the sleeves rolled halfway up his muscular forearms, which kept Gina thinking about how good those arms would feel wrapped around her. To her knowledge, he was available. While students always knew one or two tidbits of gossip about their professors, all anyone seemed to know about him was that his wife had died ten years ago. Other than that, he was a mystery man. And a bear. Gina could tell by the thick tufts of chest hair peeking out at the opening of his shirt. God help her, but she loved a hairy man. Even if a tutu would have grabbed Professor Stanton’s attention, Gina hadn’t worn one since she and her identical twin Tina were eight, performing in Miss Dod’s ballet recital in the O.T. Earl Elementary School auditorium. She wasn’t planning on doing any pliés or pirouettes now; but, she was determined to let her handsome professor know how unhappy she was about a certain situation. Being a big believer in discretion, she hung back and waited for the other students to leave before making her move. As he sat at his desk, putting papers into a briefcase, Gina boldly approached him. Really working her high heels, denim miniskirt and tight, pink T-shirt, she sashayed up to his podium and planted her hand on her hip. “Times up,” she said. Understandably, he looked puzzled, but Gina wasn’t about to back down. Not even when his deep, honey-tinged voice reverberated through the empty classroom nearly buckling her knees. “For what?” “For you to stop acting like an asshole and start behaving like a decent human being.” “I see. Exactly what act of asshole-ishness have I committed, miss?” “Don’t you even pretend you don’t know my name! I’ve been baking brownies and leaving them on your desk this entire semester. Not one damn time have you bothered to say thank you, kiss my ass or anything else. What the hell’s wrong with you?” With a characteristic calm Gina usually found intriguing but, in this moment, was majorly irritating, Dr. Stanton pushed the Tupperware container of brownies across his desk toward her. “Thank you for the brownies, Miss Boo. I’m sure they are delicious, but I don’t need the extra calories. Perhaps you should take this batch back home with you.” Stunned, Gina stood there blinking for a few seconds. When she finally spoke, she hated how weak and disappointed she sounded. “You didn’t even try one?” “No offense, but I usually don’t eat things prepared by people I don’t know.” “I’ve been in your class since January.” “You’re being too literal.” “What about restaurants? Don’t tell me you don’t go out to eat.” “Of course I do. But those places are regulated by the Board of Health.” On some level, Gina realized she was being ridiculous. Nothing said the man had to consume or even like her brownies. But she couldn’t help but feel his rejection of her confections was a rejection of her. Which hurt her heart. And, when she was hurt, she got mad. “If you didn’t eat any, what did you do with them?” Dr. Stanton shrugged. “I took them by the homeless shelter. I didn’t want them going to waste, and I knew they would be appreciated there.” Damn him, she couldn’t be upset about that. Helping those less fortunate was a selfless, noble act she greatly respected. For years, she and Tina had volunteered during the summer to build houses with Homes for Habitat, strapping on their tool belts so those who couldn’t afford a place of their own could have one. Even after Tina’s death four years ago, Gina had continued volunteering after school. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Instead of letting me make a fool of myself. “I should have. I apologize for my oversight.” Oversight? Just because his clothes weren’t stuffy didn’t mean the man wearing them wasn’t. Sexy-as-hell or not, he was acting like a gigantic prick. She definitely needed to work on her character-judging skills. “Well, you should,” she snapped. Snatching up the Tupperware bowl, Gina whirled and stormed out his classroom. FEELING LIKE THE WORLD’S biggest jerk, along with being just as big a liar, Trey shut his eyes. Inwardly kicking himself, he listened to Gina Wilde’s high heels echoing down the stairs. There was no homeless shelter; he had eaten every single one of her delectable, mouthwatering brownies. Hell, he even had to add an extra hour to his evening exercise routine to burn off the delicious treats. It would probably take him two hours to will away the massive erection he’d kept hidden from her behind his desk. The curvy spitfire was doing things to his body no other woman had for years. It killed him to have to rebuff her like that. But it had to be done. Trey had recognized early on that the beautiful sophomore who sat in the front row lustily eyeballed him as if he was her favorite dessert. So, during class or any other time he had crossed her path, he had gone out of his way not to encourage her. On those many occasions when she yelled out a greeting or waved from across campus, he had pretended not to hear or see her. When he was lecturing and caught her eyes locking intently on his, he would quickly glance down at his notes. The ironic thing was, he found her infatuation flattering. He even let himself be enthralled by the sensuous heat that constantly emanated from her. In another reality, he might have reciprocated. But there was no other reality. Just the bone-crushingly painful one he had many times thought about abandoning altogether. But, since he was still here, he needed to nip this thing with Gina Wilde in the bud. A platonic student-teacher relationship was all he could offer her. Philosophically speaking, while these short-lived dalliances were acceptable at the college level, Trey believed such behavior was reckless. Morally, he had a problem with young, susceptible, vulnerable females being taken unfair advantage of by someone older, wiser and in a position of authority. Psychologically speaking, college women were just beginning to blossom. To find out who they were and what they wanted from life. To his way of thinking, that meant discovering those things in the company of males their own age. Guys who were also in the first, full blush of adulthood. He wanted that for Gina. Such a sexy, vibrant female needed youth and vitality and newness in her world—not cynicism and brokenness and memories of a misery too deep to be overcome. Still, he couldn’t help but smile when he thought of the note she always attached to the Tupperware lid: Dr. Stanton, may your week be filled with laughter and love. Yours truly, Brownie Boo. Her nickname was every bit as cute as she was. Any red-blooded male would be attracted to such a sensual combination of womanly body and youthful, innocent exuberance. Including him. That was the best reason of all to keep Gina at arm’s length. For the first time since losing his wife in the tragic accident that had destroyed his world, his body had begun involuntarily responding to another woman. During the last decade, he had felt nothing more than a defeated numbness inside. The hollowness of being an empty shell. Blood flowed through him, but it was cool and placid. He breathed in and out and put one foot in front of the other because they were habits. Merely part of a routine which made up his mundane existence. But now, every time Gina Wilde turned those dark-brown eyes on him or crossed and uncrossed those shapely legs or leaned forward and revealed the swell of her creamy breasts, his cock twitched like a damn divining rod. Because of her, he had spent most of the semester hiding a raging hard-on behind his desk and podium. But his physical reaction to her was of no consequence. Soon enough, her crush would run its course. A young man worthy of her spirit, vivacity and even her temper would come along to turn her head. When that happened she would be extremely grateful her psych professor had behaved like a rude bastard. Besides, her wishing him a week filled with laughter and love just proved how innocent and naïve she really was. At her age, life was still filled with rainbows and roses. She was far too young and optimistic to be tied to a grieving widower. A man who, at the ripe old age of thirty-six, was bitter and viewed life as a cruel trap. One randomly set with heart-wrenching misery for any fool who dared to believe happiness could ever last. There was no need for Gina to ever find out about these purely autonomic responses of his body to hers. Bodies were not hearts. Once those were crushed beyond repair, they were best left to beat in solitary silence.
About The Author
Lynn Cooper grew up in a small town in South Carolina with big dreams of becoming a ventriloquist. She ordered her first and last dummy from a Sears catalog. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was never going to be able to talk without moving her lips.She got married at the age of twenty-three and worked for a decade in the health field as a surgical technologist and later as a dental assistant. When she grew tired of looking at people’s innards, she decided to give writing a try. As it turns out, she’s pretty good at it. Lynn lives to write plus-size romance. It is her greatest desire to create stories that entertain and provide a sensual escape for all the amazing women who need one. You can connect with Lynn here: Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Cooper/e/B00LPX4HGO/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1454551014&sr=8-1 Website: http://www.writesromances.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lynn.cooper.940 Twitter: https://twitter.com/WritesRomances Email: [email protected]
It's A Giveaway!!!
Hurry, this giveaway is for a
LIMITED TIME ONLY!
Buy Brownie Boo and get one of the adorable hats hand made by Lynn Cooper herself delivered to your door!
Available to US residents only at this time.
We wish we could offer this internationally, but the cost of shipping outside the US is astronomical:{
What you need to do:
Purchase your copy of Brownie Boo by Lynn Cooper, send her the proof of purchase by email to [email protected]
~ Subject: Boggan Giveaway
But Wait, we aren't done yet.....
To make up for not being able to offer a hand made hat to you fans outside the US, Lynn is offering up a free eBook to all international purchasers!
What you need to do:
Purchase your copy of Brownie Boo by Lynn Cooper, send her the proof of purchase by email to [email protected] ~ Subject: Licorice Lass Giveaway.
She will send an eBook of 'Licorice Lass' to the first three respondents! So get your copy of 'Brownie Boo' and send the proof of purchase to get 'Licorice Lass' for free!
Read about this eBook here: http://hyperurl.co/rid09j
New Release From Amazon #1 and Top 100 Bestselling and Award Winning author P.Mattern
'Roue Of The Dragon'
by P. Mattern
What if you could start completely over?Clean slate Without limitations or disabilities Without human failures of any kind …and all it cost was your SOUL? The question is-would you do it?
Well, would you?
About The Book
Full Moon Series Book 5: Roue of the DragonAmazon Top 100 Best Selling Series! There be dragons -- Argent has taken over Faquier Hall after his mother Mitzi kills his father Adrastos. Not all of the vampires and humans transition into the new step-dimension intact. ..And is Charley Rabbit really gone for good? The amazing and popular saga continues!
You can get your copy today!
Enjoy A Excerpt
EXCERPT:COPYRIGHT BY P.MATTERN 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Rue Of The Dragon Book 5 from The Full Moon SreiesRosalie stirred in her sleep, then opened her eyes. Standing over her, her pearl grey hair in an uncombed tumble, was her best friend in Training Camp, Nanny. “Rosie!” she repeated , shaking Rosalie gently,”Wake up. The sun is just coming up over the hill, and today is Dante’s birthday! There will be a sacred ceremony on Tranquility Hill at dawn before Waterwalking practice, and whichever group gets there first gets breakfast afterward!” Inwardly Rosalie groaned as she stretched. It was difficult sleeping in a separate dorm from Jaxon. Those apprenticed to Dante Febere were required to live segregated lives and the lifestyle as an ascetic ,abstaining from physical contact for the duration of the training. Rosalie was determined to learn all that she could of both the White Arts and also Magick, the darker arts, but keeping her high libido in check, and especially staying ‘pure’ when Jaxon was in proximity was pure torture. Her dreams were filled with Jaxon and all the creative lovemaking they had done before taking the Mage’s Oath to learn from the Most High Mage Dante Febere. Feeling her personal power increase with each session was a pure adrenalin rush. Living a nun’s life plain sucked. They were rarely partnered up for the sessions, and Rosalee never was partnered with Jaxon. As far as she could tell Dante was making a massive effort to keep them apart. Still, every time they were in training, she could feel his eyes on her. He returned her glances with wink and smiles. Rosalie thought that Jaxon had the sexiest smile she’d ever seen: his lips were long and curvy and his smiling eyes were full of secrets. Dante’s mistress Miel ( the French word for honey) entered the sleeping and dressing chamber for the young women and clapped her long white hands together to get their attention. Please wear your best robes over your Combat Attire ladies,” she told them, ”And proceed to Tranquility Hill. The young men are already gathered there! Hurry—the sun has almost gained the crest of the hill.” All conversation fell off and the young women followed Mistress Miel in pairs. Rosalie was grateful to have Nanny by her side. Nanny was a rare soul, with prematurely light grey hair and violet eyes. Her features were even, and she might have been considered beautiful were it not for her withered left hand. Curious about it, and being blunt by nature, Rosalie had asked her about it one evening as they shared two cups of Earl Grey tea spiked with honey wine. Nanny had looked down shyly before answering her. “My mother told me that my hand is withered because of a curse. My father had cut off the hand of a man caught stealing coins from my mother’s household chest in the middle of the night after he broke the lock with a file. The man was in agony of course, and swore that he would have his gypsy mother curse my father’s firstborn with a withered hand… “Say what you will about gypsies—their magic is powerful, so you can see.” Rosalie was appalled. “But you were innocent of all wrongdoing! How can it be that such a curse was manifested? The act was your father’s…and not without reason!” “Ay that,” Nanny answered her , her Irish brogue kicking in, ”But curses are carried in the blood to ten generations. “And I AM my father’s child!” Remembering that conversation, Rosalie impulsively took Nanny’s withered hand , which was on the side facing her as she walked side by side with Nanny. It was soft, and smaller, but she felt the need to let Nanny know that she was valued just as she was. Nanny, as if she could read both Rosalie’s thoughts and intent, turned and blew her a kiss with her other, perfectly formed hand. At last they reached the crest of the hills. All the young males flanked Dante’s left side. Their hoods were pulled so far forward over their faces that it was impossible to guess their individual identities. Dante gestured that the young woman should line up facing the young men, leaving an aisle 15 feet wide between them. As soon as they were situated, and while Rosalie was ruing the fact that the boys would be getting the Breakfast with Dante, he began to speak. “Glorious Sun, giver of warmth and life in many realms, we greet you! Embrace us with your divine light. Grant us your eternal burning brightness and impart to us your fierceness. Kiss the faces of those who gather here this morning for they are bold and desire to know your mysteries. Without warning, Dante raised both of his golden robe clad arms above his head in a wave motion and then stretched his hands forward, turning his head to the side as bright multicolored flames sprang from the tips of his fingers. Pouring like liquid to the ground, the river of flame quickly coursed up the small gully between the male and female Mages in training, growing higher and higher as it did so, until there was a mounting wall of flame that stretched 15 feet into the air. Rosalie could barely see the male students through the flames, which seemed to operate apart from all natural law, burning brightly although the ground underneath remained unscorched. As suddenly as the wall of flame had appeared, it disappeared, and several of the apprentice Mages gasped and press their hands to their cheeks. Each had a roughly heart shaped burn on one cheek: the kiss of the sun. As the entire group turned to go to the Eastern Lake for their Waterwalking practice, Rosalie noticed the mage speaking to two of the apprentices. He had a serious look on his face, and the female apprentice immediately buried her face in her hands. The Male apprentice’s face looked ashen even under the shade of his hood. Dante pointed in the direction of Castle Febere and the couple walked off in that direction their shoulders slumped. Rosalie could hear the muffled weeping of the girl as she walked away from the group. One of Rosalie’s gifts was a high amount of prescience, and she knew instantly why the couple had been sent off—they had violated the abstinence rule. Because they were not pure they had not received the Kiss of the Sun, and with it, the ability to make fire flow from their fingers. Their lust had cost them dearly. Rosalie swallowed hard, vowing to herself that she would not meet the same fate. What Mage Dante Febere was offering them was an opportunity to become powerful, but with the opportunity would come responsibilities, as well as the continued observance of many rituals. Rosalie remembered the first lesson the Mage had taught them: Where power is taken, control is given… Where control is taken, power is given. In order to access the kind of power Dante Febere had sacrifice would be required, but the outcome would be worth it: all of them would retain a level of power and control never granted humans and rarely gifted to immortals.
In Rosalie’s opinion, it was worth it.
Enter The Giveaway!
Connect With P. Mattern!
Learn More About The Full Moon Series!
Start The Series !!!!! Get All The Books!
Parched (The Parched Series Book 1)
Available Now!
from author
Andrew C. Branham
The sun has become a 'red giant' and the world is hot and parched. In California, James and Lexie Deforio have three goals: to find food and water, to survive another day, and to protect their two children. When their home is abruptly robbed and burned to the ground, the family is forced to embark on a cross-country journey in search of safety and water.Facing ruthless bandits, murderers, and some of the most extreme conditions they have ever encountered, they struggle to survive. When James is shot trying to help another family, Lexie and her children set out on a harrowing journey to save him. Finding temporary safety in the abandoned Ohio salt mines deep under Lake Erie, they appear to have found a new home. But, like everything on their journey, not all is as it seems.
Parched - a dystopian thriller by Andrew Branham V4
On that particular day, relative calm engulfed them. Only a few trails of smoke rose up in the distance toward the west and the Oakland Hills. Usually it was worse—the smoke was more like the dense cloud of marine fog that used to roll in daily. Now, the arid air, once fresh with coastal mist and the scent of eucalyptus trees mixed with wild lavender and rosemary, smelled like burning hay. The sun’s transition from an earthly asset to man’s most vicious foe had been going on for decades, but you would never have known it. It had caught humanity ill-prepared. Those who once had awaited its daily arrival now despised its very existence. Scientists had a word for it; scientists had a word for everything. They called it a Red Giant, a star that had exhausted the supply of hydrogen at its core and had switched to thermonuclear fusion. As a result, the Earth found itself baking, its waters evaporating, and humanity’s extinction imminent. No scientist or politician could explain why the sun had made such a drastic transformation; nor did it matter. In the distance, the sound of a laboring sixteen-wheeler lumbering up the road startled James as he popped up from his sleep. Scanning the room, he breathed out his relief. Everybody’s okay, he thought, checking out their California king bed. For a brief moment, he recalled his dream, in which he had been frolicking with his brother along the beaches of Lake Erie, near where they had grown up. But, instead of laughing, shouting, and swimming in cool waters, he was perspiring. Sweat soaked the bed and stained his shirt and underwear. His mouth felt and dry. What’s the truck doing here at this hour? The clanking of the massive tires hitting the potholes brought him back to reality. Rising cautiously, he kicked into the nightstand and let out a yelp, awakening their infant, who began to cry. “What is it?” his wife asked. “Nothing. Just the water truck. Go back to sleep.” His thirteen-year-old son, Silas, was now awake as well and was scanning the room with his eyes. His long blond hair was matted down against his boyish face and, despite his sleep, he still looked extremely fatigued. He was irritated not only at the unrelenting heat and his sister’s cries, but also that he woke up in the same depressing room where they almost always stayed. Sometimes he hoped his life was just a nightmare that he would someday wake up from. Looking around, he saw walls stacked with cardboard boxes, dirty clothing on the floor, and dirt-stained sheets on the bed in which he was lying. The two windows in the room were covered in a thick film of dust and sand. A loaded rifle and handgun were on a box next to the bed. “Can someone keep her quiet?” Silas grumbled as he looked toward his crying infant sister, Charlotte. “It’s impossible to sleep around here.”
Already dressed, James grabbed his shotgun and several plastic gallon water jugs, which he had strung together with nautical rope, and sprinted down the steps, the jugs thumping with each step. He pushed aside the heavy desk and chair he had used to barricade the door and scrunched down to peek out through a two-inch crack he had opened. He saw the truck that had stopped in the middle of the road. As he struggled to focus, he smelled the burning air and saw the heat waves reflecting off the cracked and buckled asphalt. He made out several residents emerging from their deteriorating town-homes, guns and jugs in hand, walking toward the truck with its distinctive Red Cross logo. The sound of his baby crying and the rustling of his waking family echoed through the empty stairwell.
Andrew Branham is an award winning writer and business executive who lives in Jackson, MI. Over the years, he has received several awards for his editorial columns and op-eds. His memoir, Anything for Amelia, has won multiple honors/awards.He was born in the culturally rich and diverse town of Lorain,
Ohio. He is married and they have one daughter. Andrew is an avid writer and has contributed articles and op-eds for multiple major newspapers throughout the country. He also writes business articles for many different publications and websites.
Anything for Amelia is his first book and he was inspired to write it due to his extremely difficult adoption that many experts claimed was 'the most difficult adoption in U.S. history'. Andrew found that writing in a journal each day during the adoption helped him to relieve the extreme levels of stress that he was facing. The journal proved to be the key to him writing the memoir. Andrew hopes that his book will help other adoptive families to avoid some of the mistakes that he made. In addition, he is donating a portion of any profits to the foster care system. He has recently finished his first fiction novel, Parched (available 4/14/16). It is a post-apocalyptic/dystopian novel that is set in a time when the world has nearly run out of water. It follows a family as they attempt to cross the United States in search of food, water and shelter. He was inspired to write this novel while living through the extreme droughts of Northern California.
Giveaway #1
Giveaway #2
Purchase Parched for the special price of
.99 cents and get "Anything for Amelia"
for free!Email your proof of purchase to [email protected]
This giveaway is limited to the first 10 receipts. First Come , First Serve!
This is a fantastic prize- the ebook is listed at $7.99, but today you can get it free when you buy "Parched" for
just
99 cents!
Giveaway #3
Free Competition From Rukia Publishing!
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Email (Andrew responds to all emails) [email protected] Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/drewanddjadoption Linked In: www.linkedin-com/in/authorandrewbranham Twitter: @AuthorAndrewB
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/andrewbranham
Meet The Author: http://www.rukiapublishing.com/meet-the-author-andrew-c-branham.html
Book Showcase: http://www.rukiapublishing.com/book-showcase-for-parched-the-parched-series-book-1.html
“..the relentless pacing of this story, which rarely pauses from the action or relishes in the monotony of life after civilization’s breakdown, keeps the reader engaged throughout. By placing an entire family at the center of his novel, the author makes every challenge feel that much more dangerous. The book concludes with a brief excerpt from a forthcoming sequel, so hopefully readers can expect more adventures in Branham’s fearsome wasteland. A fast-paced post-apocalyptic tale of survival and family.”
~Kirkus Reviews
****
“There is a constant urgency and energy in the writing that makes it difficult to put down. The most powerful parts of this story are when the lines of morality begin to blur in the family’s quest for survival. This resilient family always seems to be running away from something, narrowly escaping danger, and eking by to survive – it was exhausting just reading about their life on the run! At its core, Parched is about hope and survival against all odds, and the personal demons we must face when our bodies and minds are pushed to the limit. However, the underlying message is that the bonds of family, morality, and humanity can be bent, but never broken.”
~Self-Publishing Review.
****
“The story is taut and inventive and Branham makes some bold narrative choices, the stakes are high and no one is safe. With shifts in perspective each character is made sympathetic and three dimensional. PARCHED sets the stage for a suspenseful saga with well-crafted characters and numerous conflicts yet to be resolved.” ~Indie Reader
****
“Parched holds several surprises; not the least of which is its ultimate direction. Readers used to the typical linear progression of many apocalyptic reads will find something unique and special in Parched: highly recommended for any who want a powerful thriller with a strong environmental message.”
~Midwest Book Review—Diane Donovan, Editor/Senior Reviewer
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