Natalina Reis's Blog, page 14
June 2, 2022
Buttons for Peace
My grandmother had a tin full of buttons. It was a pretty tin, that had probably been full of cookies or other treats at some point, but was now filled with buttons.
Random buttons.
I have no idea where they came from. Maybe my grandma had bought them but never used them. Or maybe they were the leftovers of clothes no longer worn. Or maybe she had just found them.
There were lots of them of all colors, sizes and shapes and I was fascinated by them. Nothing made me happier than shaking and opening that tin to go through its contents over and over again. Every time I did, I’d find something I hadn’t noticed before.
All those buttons were a treasure to me, and I remember hoping my grandmother would one day give it to me.
Cookie TinNow, I think of all the different shapes and colors inside that tin and I understand the reason for my fascination. Even as a child, and way before I could begin to understand it, I was already in awe of diversity.
Those pretty—and some not so pretty—buttons were an allegory to the human race: chaotic, thrown together into a shrinking planet, beautifully colorful and varied, each one with its own role, its own use. All perfect in their own way.
It also reflected, I think, my longtime wish for peace and harmony.
I grew up at a time when war was still raging in our then African colonies and in Vietnam. The Cold War held a threat of nuclear war over our heads at all times. My country’s government was overthrown during a revolution that propelled the nation into euphoric chaos and led the way to the pouring of refugees into our tiny country with no resources or the infrastructure needed to accommodate so many people.
Anger, hate, racism, and all kinds of negative feelings born of fear hung over our society like a nasty, dark bird of prey ready to pounce.
Even as a child, I wanted peace. I wanted my friends to not be hated or discriminated against because of their gender, where they came from, or the color of their skin. I wanted people not to hate me for the same reasons.
It was a time of unrest and those buttons, sitting cozily inside the tin, mixing and mingling in peaceful bliss made me feel hopeful that one day humans would do the same.
I’m old now and I’m still waiting. We’ve made great strides in the right direction only to backtrack as if history has taught us nothing.
Einstein once said that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing and expect a different outcome. Humans seem to have history on a loop, making the same mistakes again and again only to be shocked when things don’t get better.
We need to take a lesson from my grandmother’s button collection, don’t you think?
Buttons
May 30, 2022
The Madness of Mental Health
I don’t normally write about things like this. Anyone who follows me on social media knows I very rarely comment or post about anything on the news, be it political or about some terrible tragedy. I keep those thoughts for myself and my closest friends. No judgement. It is just the way I am.
However, I feel the need to address (vent?) this after what has recently happened in Texas. Some of you know I am an elementary school teacher. I also happen to teach mostly 4th grade and 99% of my students are Hispanic. So this horrifying massacre hit a special cord for me and all of my coworkers.
But despite what you might have guessed, I am not here to talk about guns or the wisdom of allowing teenagers (or anyone really) whose prefrontal cortex, responsible for things like self-control, planning, and self-awareness, is still not fully developed, to buy war weaponry. I’m here to discuss the state of mental health in this country. Because, let’s face, it’s one big slice of the problem.
Before I start, I want to emphasize that having a mental illness does not make you a monster willing to go on senseless killing sprees like the young man in Texas did. Just like everyone else, people who suffer from mental health problems are all individuals who react to things differently. I hate when people automatically pin the label of bipolar on anyone who loses control of their anger or has an explosive temperament. It doesn’t work like that. But I digress…
My youngest son was diagnosed with bipolar disease at the age of nineteen. He had always been hyperactive, creative, stubborn, impulsive, and a risk taker. He was climbing out of his crib before he could even walk. Yes, he was a challenging child who often had trouble with self-control. But he was not an angry kid who bullied others, hurt other children, or had excessive bouts of temper tantrums in school. He was instead the kid who jumped off a high wall with no forethought of how it would hurt him. He was the child who cut his brand new pants with his kindergarten scissors because he wanted to see if the scissors were sharp enough and overlooked the fact it’d destroy his clothes in the process. He was the kind of preteen that would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night–blind to the danger to himself–to go help a friend in trouble.
One summer day, he walked in the house and told us all he was Jesus and that like the original one, he had to die in order to save his friends. Needless to say we called 911 and this was his first of many hospitalizations.
Keep in mind that we, the parents, are financially supporting him (he was in his first year in community college at the time). That he lives with us and an older brother. That his pain becomes our pain because we love him. A mother does not dream of having her child committed to a mental institution and to watch her child’s life go from full of promise to one of helplessness and despair.
Like most people who suffer from a mental illness, he has always had the tendency to self-medicate which 99% of the time only makes his psychosis and his depression worse. As the years went by, things got worse and worse. He was hospitalized five times, most of them involuntarily. In order for him to get the help he needed, we as parents had only ONE option: to call the police and have him taken away like a criminal to be assessed and then placed in a mental hospital.
One time he had a bad reaction to one of his meds and was extremely agitated. He has never been physically violent towards others but he can get verbally abusive and destructive of things around him. When we visited him at the hospital and had a meeting with one of the doctors there, he was not hiding the fact he was angry at us for putting him in the hospital and that he was obviously not okay to put it mildly. Despite that, they decided to let him go and let us, the family, deal with someone who at the time was being assailed by psychosis and believed the world was out to get him. Nothing we said mattered because he was an adult and he wanted to go home.
The whole family suffers from PTSD. Even our dog suffered from it. Watching your son go to bed with gardening implements and cry all night because he thought there were people coming to kill us all, does a number on your emotions. Walking in your son’s room and find him with a belt wrapped around his neck is not something you will ever be able to erase from your memory. And through it all we, the parents, couldn’t do anything to get the help he desperately needed. Every time he went to the hospital, he was let go after a few days without any signs of recovery.
Why?
Because the system must protect his right to privacy as an adult. Parents have NO saying in their adult children’s health care, not even when they are so obviously unable to do it themselves.
I get it. I totally agree that we all have the right to privacy. However to not allow family members, those who love the patients, to do anything (other than call the police on them) to help those who by definition cannot be expected to make the right choices because of their illness seems to be counterproductive. If not outright criminal.
A mental disorder, also called a mental illness or psychiatric disorder, is a behavioral or mental pattern that causes significant distress or impairment of personal functioning.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mental_disorder
Any time something like Texas happens, people tend to blame the parents. They brought them up wrong. They did nothing to control them. They were bad parents.
Not necessarily so. The system does not allow parents of adult children to do anything about their mental health. I have a friend whose brother in law suffers from schizophrenia. The man is harmless but oftentimes he is “out there” like my son, incapable of taking care of himself. His parents with whom he lives have tried to help him with no success. This man who often doesn’t even know who he is or where he lives is expected to make his own health decisions.
Is it me or is there something terribly wrong with this?
Mental Health needs a facelift. We went from a time when everyone who did not fit in the box was diagnosed as mad and taken to a mental institution to the very extreme opposite; now we have people who obviously need the care and can’t find it because they are expected to do it themselves. Do you see what I am getting at?
The way it stands today mental health care is, well, total madness.
May 27, 2022
Bed of Roses and Thorns – Cover Reveal
Sir Ezra is an Elysian Bell; he has a frightening potential that he keeps hidden deep beneath tight layers of steel armor. He secretly loves a dark Queen whose touch would mean his death.
Banished for brutally slaughtering the Prince of Erle and husband to the Queen, Sir Ezra can only dream of seeing her again. Every night, his soul travels to distant lands, remembering the Queen, her deep convictions, brilliant mind, unending work, hidden loneliness, and a single night of horrific bloodshed.
Recalled to the Queendom after eleven years, Ezra hopes to catch at least a fleeting glimpse of the woman he was sacrificed for. Instead, he finds a nation in rebellion and the Queen to be an elusive phantom. His only friend, Sir Marigold, challenges his presence and tells him that he is not needed in the capitol. Looking for both the truth and the absent Queen, Ezra finds only more secrets and enemies.
Ezra’s armor is dented, scarred, and ruined by friend and enemy alike; his secret potential is about to become unbound.
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Excerpt
A man alone, thirsty, falls asleep.
***“Where am I?” asks the man. He seems to be bobbing high in clear aquamarine water. All he can see is a vast expanse of ocean and a clear crystalline structure that floats nearby. Something seems familiar. He had been in a desert, travelling with friends, but now he swims upon an endless ocean.
“Have I been here before?” he asks. The tug of oceanic currents and the endless blue horizon pull on some memory . . . something important.
“You are in the sea of Eydos,” says the crystalline structure. It has been floating toward him, quietly, its approach, until then, unnoticed.
“And you are an iceberg,” the man says, smiling, unconcerned, unsurprised by the nearness of the mountainous structure. He does not know what Eydos is, but he thinks he may recognize this vast icy creature. Something tells him that he may have seen her before, though his memory is as difficult to make out as a words written on water.
The iceberg shakes from side to side, creating little ripples and dancing waves. “I suppose that I am.”
“Your sides are so smooth,” says the man. “I like you.”
The iceberg shakes again and glides right up beside the man. He floats high enough in the water that her ripples of laughter do not threaten to drown him. “You are brave, aren’t you?”
“I am not afraid to look upon that which I like. And say so.”
“Look down then, man, and tell me what you see.”
The man dives down a few body lengths, searching. When he resurfaces, he is smiling even more widely than before. “You go down and down, out of sight, beyond light and reckoning.” He shakes his head at her. “Most of you is down below, unknowable. How vast are you?”
“Never ask a lady her size,” the iceberg says, creating even bigger waves as she shakes the waters, laughing. “My size is my depth, and my depth is my size.”
“Well, I like it. I am just a man. Not vast or mysterious like an iceberg.”
“An amusing man, I think,” replies the berg.
The man asks, “Where are you going?”
“On currents that are my own, on purposes that are my own, for reasons that are my own.”
“I don’t know what I am doing here or where I am going,” says the man.
“Typical,” replies the iceberg lightly. “Most do not.”
The man, swimming hard beside her, says, “You are certainly moving fast through this ocean.”
“Indeed,” says the iceberg. “I am an agent of my own destiny.” After a moment, she adds, “If you come around back and swim in my eddy, you will be pulled along. You can rest while we talk.”
The man looks at the smooth surface of the iceberg. “Can I not just slide up onto you and rest there?”
“No!” says the iceberg, firm. “I am hard and cold. I would burn you. If you touch me, you will be undone.” Her voice softens as she adds, “It is nice in my eddy. Swim there, man.”
He shrugs and does as she says.
“Oh, this is nice,” says the man. “I can look at you and talk at the same time.”
“Glad to help you do two things at once,” giggles the iceberg, making tears of water jiggle and parade.
And they talk on through the day, the man endlessly curious about the magnificent creature of the waters.
***“I love you, iceberg,” declares the man.
“That’s nice, but you don’t even know a tenth of me.”
“Good point,” laughs the man. “I need to dive deeper.” He takes a deep breath and dives into the dark again.
Missing completely the iceberg’s cry of “No!”
The water starts at a clear color, or is it green? Then it turns light blue, and then to deeper and darker shades. The man pushes and kicks, fighting his buoyancy, feeling the weight of water build and build, following the clean lines of ice down into oblivion.
Heavy, crushing pressure begins to squeeze him. It is like the weight of memory, everywhere pushing, everywhere trying to change and deform him from his human shape, trying to make his courage fail and shatter his hope. But he loves the iceberg and he needs to follow her down.
At the utmost point of indigo darkness, he finds a new light. It shines from a clear chamber in the ice where a figure waits. Lungs bursting, he pushes deeper, drawing level to the translucent walls and the woman who lies inside.
She is naked but for her long, tawny hair. Like a lion’s mane, it frames her long, pure face and spills over her delicate, perfect shoulders. She looks at peace. Her eyes are closed, but she is smiling.
This is the heart of the iceberg, the man thinks, in the crushing pressure of the deep. So beautiful.
Then he sees that she rests upon a bed of long, sharp thorns.
Author Bio
Born with only one working lung and having had the last rights read to him and dying of an influenza related viral pneumonia, 25-year-old geophysicist Lee Hunt experienced several near-death dreams. The power of communication and the need to both understand and be understood was at the heart of each. He had already found that nothing was more important than being able to cross the distance between people.
Lee’s interests are eclectic. He is an Ironman Triathlete, hiker, traveler, and an enthusiastic sport rock climber. Lee also continues to work as a geophysicist on Carbon Capture and Sequestration projects, and is a writer for BIG-Media.ca.
The dream of understanding and being understood has never left his mind, and Lee continues that in his works of fiction through metaphor. His works include The Dynamicist Trilogy, Last Worst Hopes and Bed of Rose and Thorns.
Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com)
May 22, 2022
To Fill or Not To Fill
I am reading a book (second in a series) by an author I love and have uber respect for. I’m not pleased. In fact, I’m extremely disappointed. Let me explain.
The first book was great. The writing was what I came to expect from that author, the characters were three-dimensional and fascinating, and the plot was intriguing and surprising at times. The book ended in a cliffhanger of sorts so I bought the second one without hesitation. I’m 70% into it and I’m at the point of DNFing it.
By now you must be asking yourself why? What can this author, who I love so much, be doing to warrant such thing?
Unfortunately it seems to be a trend lately. This is at least the third book I read (from different favorite writers) that follows this trend. The worst part–arguably–is that I don’t even blame the authors. Judging from reviews I have received for some of my own books, this is what many modern readers want to see in a fantasy romance/romantic fantasy.
So what is this trend you speak of?
Fillers that normally translate into either lengthy and repetitive conversations and/or extremely long and detailed sex scenes. Disclosure: I have nothing against a good sex scene. Have quite a few in my own stories. My issue with these scenes–especially the ones in this particular book–is that they don’t seem to fit with the story and also because there isn’t much going on in terms of plot. It really feel as the author is using these scenes and the repetitive conversations to stretch the series and thus sell more books (Who can blame her? We all want to sell more books. I mean, it is a job after all).
Another issue (for me) with the sex scenes in this book is the language used. This is a fantasy and even though the language is modern (no problem there) when the male protagonist started talking dirty during sex, it just totally ruined the fantasy/magical tone of the whole story. It took me out of the story world and that really pissed me off. I read for escapism so the fact that the fantastic, well-thought world this author created came crushing down when the MC started using certain lewd terms to address his love upset me to no end.
I started skipping parts of these scenes which makes me nervous because I’m always afraid I will miss something important in the plot. After reading most of the book, it’s a safe bet I won’t miss anything though. I will not DNF it because I do love this author’s stories, and I am hoping the third in the series is better. I doubt, however, that I will be reading it any time soon.
This creates a conundrum for other fantasy romance authors like me. I have been writing a short story that takes on something one of the side characters in Sleeping Love says and I’m planning to give it away to my followers and subscribers. It was agonizing to figure out how much detail to add to the sex scene in the story. I wanted to be a bit of a fade-to-black scene since it’s a 3K story, but every time I read it I would ask myself, “What if my readers want more? What if they’ll be upset that the scene is cut short? Will I lose some of my readers because of it?”
I considered expanding it and after a few days of painful deliberation, I decided against it. It just didn’t feel right for this particular story. But I can’t say I’m not nervous about it, because of what seems to be the current trend.
So what do you think? Are fillers (sexual or otherwise) acceptable to stretch a series and therefore expand the chances of income? Or not?
I want to know your opinion on this but please, do not name titles or authors in the comments. Thank you.
April 16, 2022
Heaven Official’s Blessing-Vol.2 Review
Heaven Official’s Blessing: Tian Guan Ci Fu (Novel) Vol. 2 by Mò Xiāng Tóng Xiù
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
MXTX’s writing takes a while to get used to (at least it did for me) but I am now a huge fan. Love the odd couple who complete and complement each other’s very distinct personalities. Being a lover of the underdog, MXTX’s characters are just up my aisle. Outcasts rock!
Now I have to wait for volume 3. Not fair, lol.
April 12, 2022
Trigger Warnings-Yes or No?
I’ve been told more than once that I should put trigger warnings in some of my books. For example, Lavender Fields has a couple scenes where the main character, an angel, is tortured by Asmodeus, a very dark angel. It never occurred to me to place a trigger warning about torture (which is always horrifying and it should trigger feelings of anger and sorrow no matter what) but one reader got very upset with me.
Unfortunately other than the real obvious ones, like rape on the page or child abuse, what might trigger someone is very hard to predict because we all have had different experiences and react differently to things. To give you a couple examples from my own experience, I cannot read anything that connects violence (or threat thereof) with sexual pleasure. BDSM or some of these new dark romances are out of the question for me because I know I will be upset (to put it mildly). A scene in Outlander that nobody else even seems to remember, where Jamie gets a little aggressive with his wife while having sex, made me stop reading a series that I otherwise loved. I just couldn’t stomach it.
[image error]Pexels.com" data-medium-file="https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr..." data-large-file="https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr..." src="https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr..." alt="" class="wp-image-9028" width="263" height="175" srcset="https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr... 263w, https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr... 526w, https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr... 150w, https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr... 300w" sizes="(max-width: 263px) 100vw, 263px" />Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.comAnother thing I cannot handle is drug abuse in stories, especially if the main characters are young. I had a friend who wrote amazing YA gritty stories (fabulous writer) but a lot of her main characters had issues with drug abuse. I had to tell her I could no longer read her work. Having had two sons who got involved with drugs in their teens made me hyper sensitive to that kind of thing.
You never know what can trigger someone. A newly divorced woman might be triggered by scenes of infidelity if her husband cheated on her. My son gets triggered by heavy metal music because of a bad experience he had as a teen. I have a friend who cannot read or listen to anything that deals with cancer after almost losing her life to it at the age of 27. I can’t stand bar scenes because bars were the stage for a very difficult time in my life. We all have our triggers and while some are more common than others, the point is that it is almost impossible to predict what will upset someone else. Sometimes the most ordinary of things can throw someone’s emotions into a meltdown.
So my question is, should we as authors use trigger warnings (other than the big ones like rape, physical abuse, etc) and how do we know when to use them? I have a tendency to mix elements of different genres into my romances which makes it even more difficult to figure out. A mystery reader won’t expect to see a trigger warning for violence or even rape on a gritty book about sex traffickers’, right? I didn’t think of a trigger warning for Lavender Fields because the blurb clearly specified that he was dealing with the forces of evil.
I recently started adding a warning on my book descriptions on Amazon. My upcoming book Queen of Hearts deals with violence against women so I added something to the description and on my foreword inside the book. I was unsure if I should have added something like that for my fairytale retelling Kiss of the Swan where there are scenes about (not on page, but mentioned) violence against women as well. In my mind, one that started listening to Grimm’s Fairytales even before she could read on her own, fairytales are inherently dark and cruel so I didn’t. But should I have?
[image error]Pexels.com" data-medium-file="https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr..." data-large-file="https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr..." src="https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr..." alt="" class="wp-image-9032" width="207" height="310" srcset="https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr... 207w, https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr... 414w, https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr... 100w, https://catarinadeobidos.files.wordpr... 200w" sizes="(max-width: 207px) 100vw, 207px" />Photo by Olya Kobruseva on Pexels.comAs a GenXer/Baby Boomer I am also a bit more “immune” to certain things. I grew up in a time where personal sensibilities were not much taken into account, where people didn’t tiptoe around tough issues on the off chance it would hurt someone’s feelings. I’m not saying that was the right attitude either. I’m just explaining why people of my generation seem to be more tolerant of certain things–not because we feel they don’t matter, but because we have built a sort of emotional armor against them. That alone makes it harder for me sometimes to identify what could be a trigger in my stories.
I’d love to hear your opinion on this. Should trigger warning be a thing in fictional novels and if so which ones should be identified as necessary?
April 1, 2022
Heels, Rhymes & Nursery Crimes -Cover Reveal
SERIES COVER REVEALHEELS, RHYMES, AND NURSERY CRIMESSERIES TWOAll new stories, new rhymes, and so much more crime. Are you ready for a new set of ladies who love to bend the law?Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever after’s are not always guaranteed…
PREORDER LINK: https://books2read.com/u/mlAvYq\Merry had a little LambWho didn’t really know,That everywhere her pretty Lamb went,Merry was sure to go. She peeked in through his windows,and watched him by the pool.She stayed amongst the shadows,just waiting to make her move. But her little Lamb had a secret,and Merry didn’t know,that everywhere that Merry wentHer Little Lamb would also go. Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed. FOLLOW V. KELLY HERE:
https://www.facebook.com/vkellyauthor
PREORDER LINK:
https://books2read.com/u/b6M6Kp
If she leaves you a rhyme for your treacherous crime, then your future is hexed and you’ll soon be next.Hey, diddle, diddle,Kat and her fiddle,The unlucky disappeared under the moon,The corrupt men laughed,To hear of a woman famous for such sport,Until they lay silent and never undertake another villainous tune.Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed…FOLLOW CRYSTAL ST.CLAIR HERE:
https://www.amazon.com/Crystal-St.Clair/e/B00LLSKIZM
PREORDER LINK:
https://bookgoodies.com/a/B09WRBP1B1
Row, row, row your boatYour wedding’s your new dreamI’ll take the ship and cut you outRelishing each and every scream.Row, row, row your boatYour life is what I’ll takeYou left me to die, so eye for an eyeMy revenge will make you quake.Nell Ward always dreamed of finding the one man who would love her, and she thought she found her knight in shining armor when Matthew Black rescued her. She was wrong. He left her heart shattered and her life on the line.
Unwilling to give up, Nell came back stronger than ever and has plans of her own. On a ship filled with his loved ones, Matthew will learn that his actions have consequences.
Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed.
FOLLOW MARIA VICKERS HERE: https://authormariavickers.blogspot.com
PREORDER LINK:
https://books2read.com/curlsandchaos
There was a pretty girlwho had a little curlright in the middle of her foreheadWhen she was good, she delivered – understood?But when she was bad, she was busted.Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed…Rizzo Maldonado was an unusually adept hacker. Then again, Technomancy was a relatively unknown power, and unless you were into superhero comics or roleplaying games, you wouldn’t know it existed.
Everything’s going great until Rizzo’s new mystery client has her hacking into the wrong system. The worst kind of people take notice and Rizzo’s about to lose her hard-won freedom, until Blake Nolan steps up and helps her take a different path.
For someone who’s avoided trusting or needing anyone else, Rizzo now has to make a hard choice. Will she open her heart and take a chance on Blake? Or will she risk it all – including her freedom?
FOLLOW T.K. ELDRIDGE HERE: https://tkeldridge.com
PREORDER LINK:
https://bookgoodies.com/a/B09WD5LR73
Are you sleeping, or are you creeping ? Daddy dear, I smell fear You won’t hear me coming The blade I slice you with is numbing Never getting in their bed Because you’re dead Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed… FOLLOW LETHA GENE HERE:
www.amazon.com/author/lethagene
PREORDER LINK:
https://books2read.com/eeny-meeny
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a psycho like a pro,Kill them, and then leave a rose. Who am I? You’ll never know. Elizabeth Jacobs has the urge to kill, but her mother stresses the importance of acting with a conscience. Guided by her, Elizabeth has become a loaded weapon, aiming for only the most suitable of targets. Trouble is, no matter the target, the police working her case are hot on her heels. One detective, Isaac Lucas, finds himself caught in the middle of a criminal investigation and his first serious relationship. He never expected the two would be so entwined. Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed…. FOLLOW LAURA N. ANDREWS HERE:
www.facebook.com/lauranandrewsauthor
PREORDER LINK:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09VZRNS6V
The King of HeartsCalled on the tarts,And beat the Queen full sore;The Queen of HeartsNearly fell apartBut vowed she’d be beaten no more.The Queen of Hearts,She played her cards,While poisoning the wine away;And fed it to every King of HeartsWho enjoyed chasingTheir queens like prey.Losing the game of Stolen Hearts is how she gets them to play: the cads, the wife-beaters, the white-slavers. Predators turned into easy prey. It’s no accident that she’s known as the Queen of Hearts by most males in town and she won’t rest until they all pay for their crimes.
Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed….
FOLLOW NATALINA REIS HERE: https://natalinareis.com/
PREORDER LINK:
https://books2read.com/u/bMYgEA
One, Two. I’m coming for you…
Growing up the only child to a wealthy single father had its perks. Strong and independent weren’t the worst qualities a woman could have.
When her father decides to marry her off without her consent, Arabella had no intention of being the dutiful daughter and accepting that fate. Marcello Mancini had taught his daughter to take charge of a situation, after all.
She did what had to be done.
Two arranged marriages.
Four dead bodies.
One not so grieving widow.
Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed.
FOLLOW CAROLYN LAROCHE HERE: https://www.facebook.com/CarolynLaRocheAuthor
PREORDER LINK:
https://amzn.to/3qjdNEL
As Lucy Locket works one of the events she organized, she spots someone wearing a necklace that seems familiar. It’s exactly like the family heirloom that was stolen from her grandparents when she was very young. A locket.
Before she died, her grandmother told her to find it. That it was her destiny. She didn’t understand what Grandma Maeve meant by that until she was standing face-to-face with that necklace. The stories all made perfect sense. There was just one problem. It was hanging around someone else’s neck.
A pickle if ever there was one.
The solution?
Steal it back.
Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed….
FOLLOW KAYT MILLER HERE: https://kaytmiller.com
PREORDER LINK:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09WB77189
Aspen Collier lived a life of privilege. Rich parents, private school and then an Ivy League college. A perfect existence, until the night her baby brother was killed. A hate crime that ripped away the rose-colored glasses and exposed the ugly underbelly of her elite community. The horror was compounded when his killers were set free, the case pushed aside and leads left unfollowed. Desperate to avenge her beloved brother and to escape the shroud of grief lying over her family home, she answered an ad on the black web.
Are you tired of being a victim? Do you want to learn the skills to survive in a world gone mad? Do you have the stomach to pull the trigger? To kill? A number was listed, a British extension and area code. When answered, an address was given. As she traversed the intensive physical and psychological training, she repeated Rocky’s favorite nursery rhyme over and over in her head…
This little piggy went to market…
There were five of them back home, five little piggies who were going to pay for their crime. She wasn’t waiting on the cops, she was going to be jury, judge and executioner and laugh about it…all the way home.
Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where the tales are twisted and happily-ever-afters are not always guaranteed.
FOLLOW J.T. CHEYANNE HERE: https://www.facebook.com/jtcheyannestories
PREORDER LINK:
https://bookgoodies.com/a/B09WDYQMXB
Hush, baby hushMomma can’t say wordsAnd Papa’s so high he’s soaring with the birdsIf you stay here your life will be overYour parents will never be soberAnd they don’t want you to learn to singSo, come with me, and I’ll give you everythingHush, baby hush, and cover your earsLet Momma save you from all your fearsHush, baby hush and don’t you cryMomma’s gonna save you from the wicked lullabies.Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where the tales are twisted and happily-ever-afters are not always guaranteed.FOLLOW CHELLE C. CRAZE HERE:
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorChelleCCraze
PREORDER LINK:
https://books2read.com/JumpingOnTheBed
Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever after’s are not always guaranteed… Five bad boy millionaires were jumping on some beds.Five attempts at murder ended with bumps to their heads.While at the hospital the doctor said,No more bad boys should be jumping on a bed.FOLLOW C.A. KING HERE:
http://www.portalprophecies.com/
Needles and pins, needles and pins
When a man hurts her, his trouble begins
“Do you want to be accepted, or do you want to be free of their judgement?”
Ruza draws crowds to the carnival with the promises of fame and riches foretold. As the operator of a fortune-telling automaton, she spends her days choosing the fate of others.
New towns, new faces, but it’s the same old story. When will I get married? Will I get that promotion? Does my grandma have any messages for me?
Within the crowds of entertained customers and familiar questions, Ruza searches for something much rarer – those who truly want to take their fate into their own hands.
“What would you do to guarantee the future you want?”
Isabella is used to getting everything she wants in life. A perpetual teacher’s pet, college is just a necessary but easy step on her path, her family name a golden ticket to the career of her dreams.
Boyfriends with wandering eyes are a normal hurdle on the road to success; as long as you don’t fall in love.
One small step off her life plan leads Isabella further than she thought possible. After all, what is the difference between stealing and murder when your eternal soul is at stake?
The perfect man is easy to find. All you need is needles and pins, thread, a spare body, and a little bit of magic.
Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed.
FOLLOW KRISTY WESTAWAY HERE: www.amazon.com/author/kristywestaway
PREORDER LINK:
getbook.at/LittleKittyLost
I love little Kitty,She always likes to play.But Kitty is lost,And so runs away.Poor little Kitty, she flees to the city.She’s never forgotten her precious kitten,But she’s afraid to return, lest she be bitten.Katherine Springston appears to have it all, mingling with the rich and famous of Chicago, and thriving in a successful, although illegal, business. But behind closed doors, she’s filled with remorse. Twenty years ago, she fled in the dark of night, leaving everything behind, including a husband and precious little girl. Now it’s time to make amends. Love for her husband died long ago, but love for her daughter still burns bright. Does the little girl who’s now grown up remember her? And if she does, will she allow Katherine to make things right?
Welcome to Nursery Crimes, where tales are twisted and happily ever afters are not always guaranteed…
***While Little Kitty Lost is part of the Heels, Rhymes, & Nursery Crimes multi-author series, it is related to the Healing Hearts Duet, in which a father and daughter find their own happily-ever-afters.FOLLOW CA MICONI HERE: https://linktr.ee/camiconiauthor
28 amazing authors have written stories based on nursery rhymes, but with a criminal twist to them! Women are the heroines in the stories, but that doesn’t mean they’re on the right side of the law! **All stories in the Heels, Rhymes, and Nursery Crimes series are standalone and not connected. You can read them in any order you would like. Check out series one on Amazon and in KU today!
March 22, 2022
Daring Duplicity – New Release
Solving mysteries is her business. Finding love is her dream. Will combining the two get her killed?
Victorian Era England. Stetson revels in being unconventional. So when society shies away from her independent nature, the bold woman creates an imaginary boss and opens her own detective agency. And her keen observational skills, convincing disguises, and Holmesian methods quickly bring in a string of tough-to-crack cases.
Struggling to squeeze a personal life in around a series of hazardous investigations, Stetson worries she’ll never find a woman of like-passions. But with her heart set on true love despite the risk, she carries on hunting for the perfect relationship.
Will her clever escapades lead to death… or delight?
Daring Duplicity: The Wellington Mysteries, Vol. 1, Adventures of a Lesbian Victorian Detective is a collection of five sequential novellas, each encompassing its own exciting mystery while furthering the story of Stetson’s life in London. If you enjoy crime dramas, Victorian era fiction, or a sweet lesbian romance, then you’ll love award-winning author Edale Lane’s Daring Duplicity. Order yours today!
GiveawayEdale is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour
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Excerpt
Jewel gripped her own gloved hands and scanned the room anxiously. “It is a matter of the utmost discretion,” she began in a tone much more demanding than she had intended. “It is of a personal nature, you see,” she continued more gently and forced a polite smile. “May I speak with Mr. Wellington in private?”
Miss Goody responded with a pleasant smile of her own. “I’m afraid that will not be possible. Mr. X is extremely successful in foiling criminals because of his anonymity. In fact, no one has ever seen him but me. All correspondence between the investigator and the clients goes through his assistant—me. So how this works is, you tell me the specifics, I talk to him, and he gives me a list of questions to ask, and so forth. I assure you, anything you say to me will be kept in the strictest of confidence, just as if you were conversing with the detective himself.”
“I see.” The assistant paused for a moment before continuing and her attention fell on Miss Goody for the first time, being specifically drawn to ample breasts squeezed into her buttoned waist coat. It required conscious effort for Jewel to raise her gaze, but doing so she became captivated by two warm, caring cognac eyes. “Very well, then. I am being blackmailed, and the nature of the information being held over me makes it impossible to go to Scotland Yard, or a constable, or even my father, for the money. I receive an allowance, not enough to meet the foul villain’s demands, but sufficient to cover your agency’s fees and expenses I’m sure.”
“I see,” she replied with a soft expression of compassion. “Was the man you were seen with married, or simply from the wrong side of the tracks?”
“Well,” Jewel stammered, cleared her throat, and fixed her gaze on a painting on the wall. “Not exactly. And he has a photograph.”
Miss Goody sighed and leaned forward, her palms on the desk top. “Now, Lady Jewel Ashton, if we are to find this blackmailer and save your reputation, you cannot hold anything back. How can Mr. Wellington help you if you won’t tell us the whole story?”
“It is not my reputation I am concerned with,” she admitted, a hint of real fear trembling in her voice. “My whole family could be ruined, utterly ruined, and destroy my father’s political career. We would be forced to retreat to our estate in the countryside. I cannot allow shame to come upon my family for one moment’s indiscretion.”
Miss Goody met her eyes. “I assure you if you provide Mr. X all the information he needs, he can find this scoundrel, take back the photo and the plates, and give him every reason to keep his deceitful mouth closed on the matter.”
Jewel held her gaze for a long moment, and believing her sincerity, made a decision—the only one she could really make. She opened her reticule and withdrew a tan envelope. “Someone left this in my carriage while I was shopping. My driver said he didn’t see or hear a thing.” She placed the parcel on the desk within Miss Goody’s reach and held her breath.
#Stetson opened the envelope and spilled its contents out onto the desk. Inside was a note and a photograph, not of Jewel kissing a married man, but another young woman! For an instant, time stood still. A flush rose in Jewel’s cheeks while Stetson’s mouth absently fell agape as she stared dumbfounded at the image. Stetson’s mind raced almost as fast as her heart. Could it be that this beautiful gem who walked in this morning has the same inclination as myself? Could there actually be other women who love women, that I am not a singular oddity? She not only had these thoughts, but acted on them! She had never met another like-minded woman—not to mention one whose looks could stop a locomotive in its tracks like Jewel Ashton.
She was roused from her musings when she heard a desperate voice from across the desk. “So now you see the urgency and delicacy of the matter.”
She quickly shoved the note and the photograph back into the envelope and replied with sincerity. “Do not be distressed, Lady Jewel Ashton. We will take care of this with great expediency. I shall show these to the detective and he will know just what to do. Wait here. I’ll return anon.”
Stetson stepped into the room behind her, leaned against the closed door, and let out a deep sigh. With eyes shut and hugging herself, she took a moment to process the warm thrill that rose from her loins. Reveling in the euphoric rush, she wanted to believe the impossible–that maybe her dreams could come true. Mayhap there was a chance, ever so slight, that she, too, could act on her passions. Her breathing became ragged as she imagined kissing Jewel, and being kissed in return. Her heart pounded in excitement. Until reality stuck its ugly head into her dream reminding her there was a case to solve. Stetson moaned softly in aggravation and opened her eyes to glance around her inner sanctum.
Within the confines of Mr. Wellington’s lair were all the implements one would need to be a successful private investigator. On the wall to the left was an array of weapons, including both an umbrella and walking cane hiding swords in their handles, an umbrella with a singleshot rifle barrel and a trigger in the handle, several knives, guns, and gadgets. A glass-doored cabinet contained other curiosities such as a wristwatch that concealed a tiny explosive, a unique copper and brass miniature camera with flash attachment, a mirror attached to a long folding pole for seeing around corners or over walls, telescopic opera glasses, and a voice recording device. There was a table holding an array of wigs in vast colors and styles for both men and women, false beards and moustaches, along with an exhaustive selection of hats. Hanging from hooks on another wall were various costumes for the well-to-do business people, and the poor, male and female alike. There was a large vanity with a mirror and cases of cosmetics and face powder as one might see backstage of a theatre. Yes, the windowless room had all the trappings to outfit a man of mystery save one—there was no Xavier Wellington… only Stetson.
Author Bio
Edale Lane is an award-winning author (Rainbow Awards, Imaginarium Awards, Lesfic Bard Awards) who is realizing her dream of being a full-time writer. She is the alter-ego of author Melodie Romeo, (Tribute in Blood, Terror in Time, and others) who founded Past and Prologue Press. Both identities are qualified to write historical fiction by virtue of an MA in History and 24 years spent as a teacher, along with skill and dedication regarding research. A native of Vicksburg, MS, Edale (or Melodie) is also a musician who loves animals, gardening, and nature. After driving an 18-wheeler cross-country for eight years, she now lives with her partner in beautiful Chilliwack, B.C. Canada.
Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com)
March 8, 2022
Heaven Official’s Blessing vol 1
Heaven Official’s Blessing: Tian Guan Ci Fu (Novel) Vol. 1 by Mò Xiāng Tóng Xiù
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Absolutely loved this book. It was recommended by a fellow writer and I’m so glad I took the leap. I had just finished reading Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation and even though I loved the story (come on, who doesn’t love The Untamed?) I was not impressed with the writing or maybe it was the translation. This one is much better in terms of translation quality. Mò Xiāng Tóng Xiù’s style is not always very polished but the story, the characters and the subtle humor makes up for the flaws. I already have volume 2 lined up and can’t wait to see what happens to this extraordinary odd couple.
February 27, 2022
Knight in Retrograde
Would you trade uncertainty for stagnation, chance for god, invention for inertia, thought for dogma?
Four years have passed since the events of Dynamicist and war is on the horizon.
Robert, Koria, Eloise and Gregory went to the New School, hoping to change the world. They thought that mathematically based dynamics, the enlightened age’s answer to wizardry, would give them the power to make everything better. Their hopes were naïve.
Protestors are condemning the creation of a new vaccine. The city is seeing a series of hangings; is it murder or sacrament? The cloaked man is back stalking students. The long-absent demons Skoll and Hati reappear and begin slaughtering whoever they meet. But the real question is, will Nimrheal return? If he does, who will die first?
Uncertainty is inspiring fear, and inventions are not making the world better, only more complicated. The terrified civilians don’t want dynamics and reason. They want the word of Elysium and the return of the Methueyn Knights.
Koria fears the world faces an awful conundrum: that if the Knights return, Nimrheal will stay.
Will Robert, Koria, Eloise and Gregory choose to transform into angelic knights or, at the cost of such heavenly communion, instead banish Nimrheal? What price will be paid? If a new Methueyn Knight rises, will the age of invention disappear forever?
About the SeriesThe Dynamicist Trilogy examines the difficulties of change in a fantasy setting. This challenge manifests itself through a rigorous magic system where thermodynamic cost is accounted for, and an inventor killing god. Most realistically, the challenge of creating a better world is illustrated by the many mistakes and miss-steps of the well-meaning and intelligent characters. The power and importance of memory, love and hope are ever present.
Universal Buy Link | AmazonGiveawayLee is giving away a $30 Amazon gift card with this tour
a Rafflecopter giveaway https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js
Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47224/?
Excerpt
As their eyes met, Heylor found himself abruptly pulled away from the handshake and whirled around by the strong hands of his mother on his shoulder. “What in Leylah’s long night happened to your face, Heylor?”
This again.
“It looks like he got trampled across the gizzard by a team of oxen,” said Herevor in a deadpan voice, rubbing his long narrow jaw with his right hand. His fingernails were black with dirt.
“He wouldn’t tell me what happened!” Shelley yelled from the kitchen table.
I don’t want to talk about it.
“Who’s there?” came a new voice from the couch. It was grandma’s broken, warbly twitter. Heylor peered into the den again and saw her slouched low on the half-collapsed couch. Beside her, perched primly with a straight back, sat Constable Lynwen, hands on lap. Heylor had not seen the young woman cross the room and sit down. He had forgotten about her completely, and now there she was beside his grandma.
“It’s me, Grandma. Heylor.”
The old lady squinted at him. She seemed little more than a bundle of thin, wrinkled skin, looking as if she had lost another two inches of height in the months since Heylor last saw her. Looking at her, spine hunched like a question mark and eyes rheumy and clouded with cataracts, felt like a stab in the gut.
“I thought you were out there across the line.”
“I was.” Heylor looked at Lynwen again, sitting beside his grandma. What is she thinking? “I’m back. Where are Heyden, Scrandeyn, and Helloise?”
Jesteyn crossed her arms. “They’re out farm-handing, Heylor. We told you that at the beginning of the season.”
“Sorry, I forgot about the farm work,” Heylor mumbled. “It’s probably a good thing they’re not here.”
“Why’s that?” Jesteyn asked, eyes narrowing. “They’d love to see you. You know that.”
“Why would they?” Heylor spread his arms wide in a surge of frustration. “They must be glad to be away from here. I can’t believe all the junk you have here.”
Herevor flinched for a microsecond before breaking into a mad grin that exposed every one of his missing teeth. “One knight’s junk is another knight’s armor.”
“Oh, for knights’ sake,” Heylor exclaimed, “why is there a wheelbarrow full of cats in the fireplace? What knight is going to make plate out of that? The cat would be better armor! And isn’t that Shelley’s sextant on the bookshelf? She lives in the orchid now. I do remember that. And isn’t that my old cooper’s kit spread out on the shelf yonder? And why do we have three busted telescopes? I’m sure I threw away the bronze one after second year. What isall this stuff doing here?”
“I needed a place to store my spare things,” Shelley replied evenly. “My room in the Orchid isn’t big enough.”
“Those rooms are huge!”
“Nope.” Shelley was not flustered in the least.
Heylor clenched both fists so hard his face hurt where Skoll had gripped it. “What about the cooper’s kit?”
“Heygard thought we should hold on to it for him until harvest is done,” his father answered nonchalantly
“Oh, of course,” Heylor whispered. “What about the telescope I know I threw away?”
“I think I can fix that,” Grandma piped up.
You? You can barely stand up!
“Well, that accounts for one telescope. How about the other two?”
“That’s me,” jumped in Herevor. “I thought I would see if I could make a small version of an Eindarch Eye.”
Heylor blinked. “Did you succeed?”
“Nope.”
Heylor shook his head. Of course you didn’t. “How about the old wheelbarrow?”
Herevor rubbed his jaw again. “Scrandeyn didn’t want it anymore. I figured it could come in handy. Someday.”
“Of course! Of course it could. Someday,” Heylor almost shouted, angrier than ever. Everything about his family reminded him of himself, of his own failings, of killing his friends. In that moment, he despised them like he despised himself. “It’s come in handy for the cat at least. Whose cat is that anyway? No, don’t answer, I know it came from a cousin or was thrown away by someone somewhere. Everything is useful, everything comes back. From everyone. Nothing is trash. It’s all worth something. My hand-me-down clothes probably got handed back and used for another cat’s nest.” He whirled around. “You know what this family is? Sick, crazy hoarders. It’s an illness. You’re so bad that, even when one of you finally throws something out, it gets thrown back by some other member of the family. When they throw something out, you take it. It’s a circle, a circle of junk, a knights-damned hoarding circle! We should study it in the New School. It’s a mathematical singularity for trash. Nothing ever leaves that doesn’t re-enter. There’s no escape from the entropic pull of the Style family’s hoarding circle vortex! No junk is abandoned, no mistakes are left behind, nothing is forgotten or moved on from.” Heylor held his hands up and whirled slowly around. “This might be a big new house, but we’re still just the same old peasants.”
Smack!
Heylor’s jaw rung for the second time that day, this time from the big hand of his own mother.
“My face already hurts, Mom! Don’t hit me.”
“I love you, boy, but I know that hurts less than what you’re carrying.” Jesteyn had hit him, but she did not look angry. Her liquid eyes betrayed a different emotion. “What mistakes aren’t you leaving behind? What pain are youhoarding? What happened to your face? It’s your family here. The only way yer gonna get rid of whatever it is, is to share it.”
Heylor started laughing. “That’s so clever, Mom.” He kept laughing and didn’t stop until his nose started running because he was actually crying. Through blurry eyes, he looked over at Lynwen, sitting silently, watching. “I’m sure you want to leave now, Constable.”
“Nope.” Lynwen smiled.
Author Bio
Ever try to do things you were really not well suited to? Lee Hunt understands. He was born with only one working lung, but has gone on to be an Ironman triathlete, a sport rock climber, and a professional geophysicist. The poor lung function has been an excellent excuse for his unimpressive triathlon performance—he is among the worst of those able to complete the Ironman under his own power—and is of some service in eliciting a modicum of sympathy for his average at-best skills as a climber. Actually no one on a rock wall really cares about excuses. It’s a climb-or-fall kind of thing.
His marginal ability to breathe is of no use whatsoever in explaining his career as a geophysicist. He was good at that. Lee published close to fifty journal papers, articles or expanded abstracts, has been awarded numerous best paper awards, and was even sent on a national speaking tour to Canadian universities by the Canadian Society of Exploration Geophysicists. He was born on a farm but grew up near the giant oil sand mines of Fort McMurray and is interested in discussing the environment and the amorality of science. He is also useful at parties in explaining the physics around why, or why not, fracture stimulation might be a risk to manmade structures and the fuzzy cuddly things of nature. Lee’s career helped him appreciate the difficulty in predicting outcomes, the dangers of arrogance—such as thinking you can predict even the smallest thing—and the exigent need to try anyway. He was comfortable and happy being a geophysicist, so after twenty-eight years, he quit to go do the things he was less well suited to.
If you want to hang out with Lee, look for him hiking, cycling, floundering in a lake, clinging desperately to a wall, or at his desk trying to write an entertaining story.
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