Heather Kindt's Blog, page 5

Follow the Leader By Wendy Scott

Darkness swallowed dormitory B49. The lights had been extinguished an hour before at 8 pm. Stevie listened for the rhythmic breathing from the cots, aligned with military precision, one metre apart. Twenty beds, divided into two rows, sat on opposite sides of a red painted aisle. Identical grey bedding topped each hard mattress. The sheets were starched so stiff they were difficult to tuck under the corners, and the pillow was as unyielding as set concrete, but its worst feature was the coarseness of the blanket’s weave that threatened splinters.

Controlling his breathing into an even flow, he opened his thoughts to the ones forbidden by the masters. Silently, he recited his litany of self, as he had every night for the past five years.

“I am more than the number B49-17.

My name is Stevie Robinson, my birthday is the 11th March, and I’m 12 years old.

My father’s name is Mark.

My mother’s name is Katie.

My sister’s name is Jenny.

My family existed.

I vow to always remember our life together before the invasion.”

Tears gathered, but he was careful not to snuffle aloud. The cameras and microphones embedded in the walls monitored any transgressions every minute of every day.

Further, up the row, bed springs creaked as B49-3 tossed in his sleep, deep in the throes of another recurring nightmare. The silence shattered. His roommate screeched into the blackness, “Mama!”

Heart palpitating, Stevie squeezed his eyes closed, stilled his body, and faked sleep. Moments later, boots thundered into the dormitory, followed by scuffling sounds as the offending boy was dragged out his bed and marched away. The doors crashed shut, muffling the boy’s protests. Stevie had witnessed numerous night raids, so he knew to remain frozen.

A torch button snapped on, then measured boot steps resonated on the wooden floor boards. Three paces. A pause. Stevie imagined the torchlight scanning over the statue-like faces. A few paces at a time the master inspected the dormitory until he halted by Stevie’s cot. The smell of leather polish ripened the air. Stevie focused on breathing. In and out. In and out. No twitches. Feigning sleep. Early into his captivity he’d learned the harsh consequences of non-conformity.

Finally, the boots trod away. Before he exited the master intoned, “The Leader watches over you all.”

***

Clad in identical uniforms, the boys from B49 trooped into the instruction room, their orderly line pausing as each boy bowed before saluting the oversized portrait of the Leader. A shadow of crew cut hair, a creased forehead, lips thinned into a disapproving line, and demon eyes bored out of the frame as if tracking each boy’s movements. The identical image dominated the boys’ access zones: the dormitory, the canteen, the corridors, and the ablution’s block. The Leader’s face had become more familiar than Stevie’s own. It had been five years since he’d seen his reflection in a mirror.

Without a murmur the boys filed to their designated desk and stood beside their seat. Stevie glanced at the empty space allotted to B49-3. A sickly sensation puckered in his stomach but it wasn’t due to the beige mash the servers had dished up for breakfast. Years ago, his taste buds had withered away as he learned to chew the gluey texture for its sustenance value. Refusal to eat resulted in ejection, and reassignment to the intensive reprogramming wing. For boys who cried out in the night, the punishment was the same. None ever returned, and within days a different boy would be slotted into their place, and assigned their numerical identification. The Leader’s message clearly delivered. They were expendable cogs in the Leader’s war machine, merely insignificant numbers. Individuals didn’t exist.

Head straight, eyes forward, Stevie snapped to attention as the master strode into the room. “Be seated.”

Chairs scraped across the floor boards in synchronised motion. The master’s laser gaze scanned above the boys’ heads. “It seems a reminder is necessary. Our lesson will focus on our basic principles until the Leader is satisfied that B49 understands their function.”

Lies. Propaganda. Brain-washing. A turmoil of thoughts swirled through Stevie’s brain, but he kept his expression bland and his body language submissive.

Do. Not. Attract. Attention.

The master picked up a cane and whacked it against a board, directing the group’s focus to the three sentences printed in regulation white chalk.

“Recite together.” He traced the written words with the tip of his cane.

Obedience—Leader knows best.

Conformity—Leader made everyone equal.

Conception—Leader created each of us for his divine purpose.

The taps acted as a metronome commanding repetition until their voices sounded like they’d gargled gravel.

“Halt.” The master consulted the clock on the back wall. “Proceed outside for drill instruction. Convene back here in one hour. The Leader watches over you all.”

***

Under the direction of another master, the boys marched around the quadrangle in orderly lines under an overcast sky. Beneath his cap, Stevie swept his gaze around his surroundings. Windowless concrete high-risers towered around the compound, each one housing identical dormitories. Electrified barbed wire fences and fortified watchtowers incarcerated the thousands of boys within the indoctrination camp. Overhead, a drone buzzed, surveying the sea of uniforms for any sign of non-conformity.

A mine field separated a squat building from the rest of the compound. It accommodated the reprogramming centre. The only entrance was via a rusty metal door. Stevie’s nostrils twitched, the air tainted by the black smoke belching out of the stack of soot-stained chimneys on its roof. The air stunk like burnt barbecued ribs. The boys’ route included parading past the centre’s outside gallows platform. Relief flooded Stevie when he spied the empty nooses. A brief respite as today, they wouldn’t be forced to stop and stand to attention, witnessing the distorted faces of those who broke the Leader’s rules.

For years, he’d shared a room with B49-3. They’d eaten, washed, and marched to the same regimented routine day-in and day-out. He shuddered to think of what the other boy was suffering inside the bowels of the centre. Trained sadists, the masters displayed no capacity for compassion.

Behind him, a voice whispered, “His name is Tom.”

Heart thumping, Stevie’s foot fumbled the next step. He didn’t dare turn his head and acknowledge B49-18’s forbidden comment.

From the front of the line the master roared. “Keep in time.” The cane whacked on the concrete. “Left, right, left.”

The path turned sharply by the outer fence. A flash of purple and yellow caught Stevie’s attention. A lone pansy grew between the cracks in the pavement. He risked peeking at the master before stooping down and plucking up the flower. Careful not to crush its petals he tucked his stolen prize up his jacket sleeve. A tidal wave of adrenaline coursed through his veins; he hardly believed he had dared to jeopardize his life for a pansy.

No outcry ensued and he concentrated on keeping the rhythm. Sometimes the authorities planted informants among the dormitories. Boys who traded secrets for extra rations. He could not afford to slacken his guard.

***

The clock hand ticked over to 8 pm, and the dormitory plunged into darkness. Stevie waited ages before rolling onto his stomach. He extracted the flower from his pillow case and brushed the petals across his nose. The floral bouquet reminded him of the tubs of pansies his mom had grown on their porch. After gardening, the pansy fragrance lingered on her skin.

Memories cascaded like a broken dam. Blowing candles out on a chocolate frosted banana cake. Giggling with his younger sister as their dad spun them around in circles on the back lawn. Wet kisses from his puppy, Sparky. Rainbow lights flashing on the Christmas tree. His mom reading him a bedtime story before pressing a goodnight kiss on his forehead. “Sweat dreams, son.”

He smothered a sigh with the pillow. Silently, he recited the words that kept him sane.

“I am more than the number B49-17.

My name is Stevie Robinson, my birthday is the 11th March, and I’m 12 years old.

My father’s name is Mark.

My mother’s name is Katie.

My sister’s name is Jenny.

My family existed.

I vow to always remember our life together before the invasion.”

Stevie swallowed the flower, destroying the incriminating evidence. He added to his mantra. “The Leader watches us, but I’m watching back. In my heart, I will never follow the Leader.”

Learn more about Wendy and her writing here:

https://ravewriters.wordpress.com/meet-the-authors/author-wendy-j-scott/

The post Follow the Leader By Wendy Scott appeared first on Heather Kindt.

Watch and Pray By: Joy Nwosu Lo-Bamijoko

WATCH AND PRAY

Indeed, these are difficult times. A time for soul-searching. A time to take notice of just how fragile we humans are, and, a time to look to God for solutions.

There is a plague ravaging the whole world, and what are we doing? We are running helter-skelter, trying one remedy after another by trial and error. Each day we are thrown deeper into a pile of confusion with all the false and misleadinginformation we are being given. And still, there is no solution in sight.

We are a people who have built huge cities, shuttled to the Moon, and created structures mightier than our imaginations.  We have accomplished so much greatness, that now we have begun to believe that we are gods – that we have all the answers and solutions to everything. The human looks around and sees the great things God has given him … the knowledge and skills to achieve, and now, he believes he can challenge God. Because of these reckless beliefs, man goes into laboratories to play God – looking for ways to surpass God’s greatness.

The result is what we are experiencing today. God created order; man creates dis-order. God sits and watches us, like He did with us during the time of the Tower of Babel, with man trying to prove that we are gods. With His little finger, He muddled the waters to show us that only He is God, and He is the only one in control. Now, we have gone ahead and messed up the order of things again, and He continues to watch us. What amusement it must be for Him to see us wreaking havoc in the world, and then trying to clean it up without much success. 

I don’t believe that God will allow the whole human race to perish because of this. Those who believe in Him are praying, and those who do not, are still clueless. Eventually, God will relent, and again, with His little finger, redirect things in His own good time. He will inspire a human to come up with a solution to end the pandemic; a human who will probably take the credit for doing so. It will not matter at all. God knows His creatures more than we know ourselves. He will understand. Those who know the ways of God will thank Him for the end of the pandemic because they will be able to see the hand of God at work in it.

Will the end of this pandemic stop the non-believers from trying to one-up God?  Never! That is not the nature of the evil one. He never stops trying to prove to his followers that he is more powerful than God – that whatever God can do, he can do better.

All I know and pray for is that whoever inflicted this pandemic on the world is going to be in great trouble at the end of it all. They will pay! This will come back to haunt them, person per person, death per death, economy per economy, for all they have done. So, help me God!

Learn more about Joy and her writing here:

https://ravewriters.wordpress.com/meet-the-authors/author-joy-nwosu-lo-bamijoko/

The post Watch and Pray By: Joy Nwosu Lo-Bamijoko appeared first on Heather Kindt.

When the World was Forced to Stop – P.T.L. Perrin

…it immediately created a toilet paper shortage. No restrictions had yet been put into place the day I went shopping at Walmart. As always, the items I needed were available. I loaded my cart and headed for the paper aisle. Wait! What the heck happened? A single pack of toilet paper sat on the otherwise empty shelves, left there, most likely, because of a tear in the packaging. I grabbed it. The paper wouldn’t spoil because the package was ripped.

Two women, one elderly and one a younger version of her, stopped in shock, just like I did. I couldn’t help myself. Tears filled the older woman’s eyes, and I had to do something. I handed her daughter the pack, fully expecting to find one somewhere else. Besides, we were okay for a while. How could Walmart, of all places, be out of TOILET PAPER? And why THAT item and no others?

In the coming weeks, when nary a roll was to be found anywhere, I fantasized about the hoarders having to eat it. Roasted TP. Grilled TP. TP Soup. TP pie. I hoped they choked; until I realized that some of them might be families with kids, and they’d be up the creek without a paddle if they hadn’t bought it all up that first week. I began to wish them well and decided to order some online. The next available delivery date was sometime in June, in two months, but it wasn’t guaranteed. A friend suggested I search Amazon for a bidet.

Having lived in Italy in the late ‘60s, early ‘70s, I was familiar with bidets, simple low basins separate from the toilet with shower nozzles that sprayed upward. Back then, they were a place to float toy boats, complete with a fountain in the middle. I did not know their true purpose until I was much older and no longer living there. We had plenty of toilet paper back then.

The bidets I found online ranged from a hand-held sprayer, which can double as a cloth diaper cleaner (for those with babies who still use cloth diapers), to a seat attachment that requires no aiming. It appears that the sprayer might take some practice in order to avoid a wet bathroom. But then, if you turn on the no-aiming-required spray without your rear end covering the inside opening of the toilet seat, you could give your ceiling a wash. At least you could with the Italian ones. Amazingly, the guaranteed delivery date was in three days. I clicked the button, quite satisfied with myself.

Neighbors drive to a local farm, where a box of fresh veggies is placed in their trunk, and they drop some off at our front porch. Other neighbors are busy sewing facemasks for a local nursing home. I gave them some colorful fabric and a treasure trove of elastic left over from my long-ago sewing days. Kids ride their bikes in the quiet streets, six feet apart from each other most of the time. Couples walk holding hands (come on…they live together!) and greet other walkers, keeping their distance and using their ‘outside’ voices. Everyone asks everyone else, “How are you doing? Need anything?”

The air smells fresher, the office is gradually getting cleaned out, and my tennis-pro husband burns off energy doing yard work and cutting the hedge shorter and shorter. By the time this is over, it’ll be six inches tall. We’re finally using up the canned goods in the pantry, at least those whose expiration dates are newer than July 2015.

The worst part of this for most people is the loss of jobs and income, although we’re all hoping it’s temporary. We hope to scrounge enough to pay the mortgage for the next couple months, until the tennis courts open and people take lessons again. Younger people with families at home are worried, including our children with their families. Some can work from home, others cannot.

The systems that should facilitate what the government has done to ease the burden are broken and scrambling to find fixes. When this happens again, hopefully in the far distant future, they should be prepared, and the process should run smoother. The same goes for medical supplies and personal protection equipment. There were no stockpiles when this virus shut us down. After this, there will be.

We pray for the sick, that they will recover, and for those who’ve lost loved ones. We pray for those who are feeling the pain of lost income, especially those with young children. We pray for the teachers who have poured themselves into making lessons their students can do from home, and we pray for the parents of those students. We pray for the homeless and the prisoners who have little choice in anything. We pray for Bill’s mom in a nursing home, and for all those who live and work there. We pray for doctors, nurses, hospital staff, first responders…everyone helping others though this.

We were both sick in January, and so were some of our kids and grandkids. Could it have been this virus, this invisible scourge, that made us miserable for a while and then left us to recover? Perhaps. Perhaps many people have had it unknowingly and are now immune, with antibodies that can help someone who is seriously ill to recover. In time, we may all be tested, and then we’ll know for sure.

For now, we practice social distancing. We stay home and catch up on things we’d been meaning to do for the last twenty years, and thank the good Lord we have a home to shelter in. We follow the rules, not to protect ourselves, but to protect the people around us, known and not known, just in case. We are witnessing the spirit of the people who live here, who, when faced with calamity, reach out and help their neighbors. We have never been prouder to be Americans than we are right now.

The bidet arrived right on time. It looks nice in its box, which will remain closed until we run out of toilet paper, an unlikely issue with our kids and neighbors watching out for us. Neighbors, if you run out, we have some to share. I want to try that bidet.

Now about those toilet paper hoarders…

You can learn more about P.T.L. Perrin and her writing here:

https://ravewriters.wordpress.com/meet-rwisa-author-p-t-l-perrin-ptlperrin-rrbc/

Thank you for supporting today’s RWISA author along the RWISA “RISE-UP” Blog Tour!  To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the main RWISA“RISE-UP” Blog Tour page on the RWISA site.  For a chance to win a bundle of15 e-books along with a $5 Amazon gift card, please leave a comment on the main RWISA“RISE-UP”Blog Tour page!  Once you’re there, it would be nice to also leave the author a personal note on their dedicated tour page, as well.  Thank you, and good luck!  

The post When the World was Forced to Stop – P.T.L. Perrin appeared first on Heather Kindt.

Motivating Others on Social Media by Robert Fear

If anyone had told me at the start of the year what was going to happen in 2020, I would have thought they were crazy.

Over the past few weeks, I have learned to cope with this new reality. The initial feelings of anxiety and fear subsided, and my views changed as I became more sensitive to others and aware of how fragile our society is.

We are among the lucky ones. Although work from my day job has evaporated, my wife and I live in a comfortable house, our three cats keep us company, and we have enough money to last through this crisis. As a bonus, the weather has been warm and sunny for the daily exercise walks we are allowed to take.

When the lockdown was implemented, my thoughts turned to those less fortunate. Older people unable to leave home, those suffering from grief and depression, and residents of countries with even stricter lockdowns. I thought about how I might share my experiences on social media, to give motivation and bring a smile to the faces of those within my reach.

Living where we do in Eastbourne, on the south-east coast of England, we have many beautiful spots close to our home. There are several parks filled with trees, plants, grassland and lakes. Not far away is a farm track that winds through fields where horses, sheep and cattle graze. Birds sing as though nothing is wrong with the world. Then there is the seafront, along which runs a three-mile promenade, with views out across the English Channel.

Because of the lockdown and social distancing measures, there have been few people around on my daily walks. I gained a sense of tranquillity and tried to capture those precious moments on my smartphone, so I could share them with others.

With video clips, I recorded nature’s sights and sounds. These included gentle swaying trees with uplifting birdsong in the background, views across idyllic farmland to the hills of the South Downs, and waves crashing onto the shingle beach on a windy but sunny afternoon.

Amongst other subjects, my photos captured the beauty of spring flowers, rainbows drawn by children hung in windows, colourful beach huts, seafront carpet gardens, and the pier’s golden dome sparkling in the sunlight against a backdrop of clear blue skies.

I posted these to Facebook, both on my timeline and in two groups. In addition, I shared selected videos and photos on Instagram and Twitter. Three of those images are included here.

Cherry Blossoms



Social distancing seagulls



Children’s rainbow drawings

The responses to my posts have been encouraging and there has been positive feedback from around the world:

Ah, the sound of the sea. Just what I needed. Very clear skies.  Robyn – New Zealand.

Oh, happy memories of a childhood near Brighton! The shingle beach and big waves. Thanks for sharing.  Jackie – France.

I don’t know about you, but I’m appreciating spring more this year. It’s so lovely to watch the birds, butterflies, bees and other creatures carrying on with their daily lives amid the blossoms and blooms.  Jay – Turkey.

Ebony was watching the birds outside from her perch and listening to the birds on your video thinking she was in real time.  Laurie – USA.

One can’t be stressed watching the cows graze and listening to the bird song.  Carola – Canada.

Lovely sights and sounds! Thanks!  Susan – Uruguay.

How lucky to be able to go out for a walk. Thanks for sharing the pics.  Patricia – Spain.

If you are on Facebook and want to view the video clips and see more photos, please send me a friend request and visit my page by clicking here.

As I bring this piece to a close in late April, the weather here has changed, and there is some much-needed rain. Our first rose of spring has chosen this day to make an appearance. A sign of hope for the future?

You can learn more about Robert and his writing here:

MEET #RWISA #AUTHOR, ROBERT FEAR – @FredsDiary1981 #RRBC

Thank you for supporting today’s RWISA author along the RWISA “RISE-UP” Blog Tour!  To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the main RWISA“RISE-UP” Blog Tour page on the RWISA site.  For a chance to win a bundle of 15 e-books along with a $5 Amazon gift card, please leave a comment on the main RWISA“RISE-UP”Blog Tour page!  Once you’re there, it would be nice to also leave the author a personal note on their dedicated tour page, as well.  Thank you, and good luck!  

The post Motivating Others on Social Media by Robert Fear appeared first on Heather Kindt.

Depression Soup – Jan Sikes

Welcome to Day 3 of the RWISA Rise Up Blog Tour. Jan Sikes is the author of many books including Flowers and Stone which is based on a true story, following Jan’s life with her husband. In her writing today, she follows the theme “A World Without Mom.”

DEPRESSION SOUP by Jan Sikes

She stood in a line her head bowed low

There was nowhere to run, no place to go

With clothes that were ragged

And shoes that were worn

There were millions just like her

She wasn’t alone

America’s Great Depression had stolen their homes

Took its toll on their bodies

Tried to squash their souls

But she squared her shoulders, raised her eyes

Fierce determination replaced her sighs

She’d fight to survive, that much was true

Although many times, she’d be sad and blue

Someday there would be plenty

But for now, she was caught in a loop

She held out her bowl

For another serving

Of Depression Soup

Born in Missouri in 1917, my mom, Marian Edith Clark, learned about hardships at a young age.

Her mother, my grandmother, Sarah Jane, was sickly. The household chores fell on my mom’s shoulders when she was still a child. She shared memories of having to stand on a box so she could reach the stove to cook their meals.

My mom blue eyes sparkled, and her smile could light up a midnight sky. She started school in Treece, Kansas. Her family were migrant workers. Anytime they found an abandoned house, even if it was spooky, they moved in. Eventually, they landed in Pitcher, Oklahoma, where her father found a job in the iron and ore mines. She was in the ninth grade when he had an accident in the mines, and she had to quit school to help make a living for the family.

Her father became a bootlegger in Oklahoma. He would often get caught and wind up in jail for six months at a time, leaving the family to fend for themselves.

They eventually moved to Arkansas, where they had kinfolk who were sharecroppers. They picked cotton, and in Mom’s words, “Nearly starved to death.”

When she was around fourteen, her dad took the family to the Texas cotton fields. The whole family could pick, and they would make twenty-five cents for every hundred pounds of cotton.

We found this story written in a journal after Mom passed away.

“My last school was in Walnut Ridge, Arkansas, population around 2,000. We lived two miles out in the country. I went to a two-room school. A man and his wife were both teachers. He taught in one room and her in the other. The man teacher went crazy and tried to kill his wife. When she got away, she came to our house. I’ll never forget how bloody her head was. When the police found him, he had crawled up under their house. So, they put him in a mental hospital.”

The Great Depression hit America in 1929, wiping out any semblance of a prospering economy. It was during that catastrophic era that my mom and dad met in Sayre, Oklahoma. At the time, she was babysitting for one of Dad’s sisters, and living in a government migrant camp with her family.

She was only seventeen, but they fell head-over-heels in love and decided to marry.

Mom had no shoes to wear for the ceremony, and a woman next to them in the camp loaned her a pair of shoes.

On April 14, 1934, they said their wedding vows in a preacher’s living room and began life together.

There were no pictures, no fanfare, no parties, and no honeymoon.

They spent their first night as newlyweds, sharing a bed with some of my dad’s younger brothers and sisters.

Their first home was an old farmhouse with nothing in it but a wood stove, a bed, and a table. Mom had no broom to sweep the floors, and when snakes crawled across, they left trails in the dirt.

Through the years, she shared many harrowing stories of how they survived as transients. They stayed within their family group and moved from the strawberry fields in Missouri, to potato fields in Kansas, to cotton fields in Texas. Often, they had no shelter from the elements, sleeping outdoors under a shade tree. Other times, they managed to have a tent or share a tent with other family members.

Mom and Dad’s life together, began under this umbrella of hopeless poverty.

 Hunger was a constant companion. My mom had an older brother who often would go out at night and steal a chicken or watermelon.

Enmeshed in daily survival, they could see no future.

Sometime around late 1934, they moved to Fort Smith, Arkansas not knowing it was in the middle of an epidemic. They were lucky enough to find housing in a WPA camp. My dad got a job digging graves for fifty cents a week, plus a small amount of food. A man working with him warned him to stay clear of the hospital; that no one came out alive.

However, the hospital laundry was the only place Mom found work. Automation wasn’t yet widespread, and especially not in Arkansas, so all of the washing had to be done by hand on rub boards.

A large scowling woman marched up and down behind the workers with a blackjack in hand. If she thought they weren’t working hard enough or fast enough, she’d whack them across the shoulders.

During this time, my mom fell ill with Scarlet Fever and they quarantined her. They kept her in a room under lock and key. My worried dad climbed to her window with food. It became apparent that they had to get out of there, or Mom would die. One night when all was quiet, she tied bedsheets together and lowered herself from the two-story window to the ground, where Dad waited.

They caught a ride to Oklahoma on the back of a flatbed truck, and Mom eventually recovered. They never went back to Fort Smith, Arkansas.

As the years passed, much of my dad’s family migrated to California, the land of milk and honey. But Mom and Dad didn’t go with them due to my grandmother’s failing health, and a younger sister who was inseparable from my mom. They all stuck together. My grandmother passed away in 1942 in Roswell, New Mexico. Pictures show a large goiter on her throat. She died long before I was born.

Mom gave birth to my siblings with help from family and friends. I was the only one to arrive in a hospital setting.

By 1951, the year I was born, Mom and Dad had settled in Hobbs, New Mexico, and purchased a lot on Avenue A. They stretched their tent and immediately started building a house. They put down roots and said goodbye to the transient life they’d known.

Like everything else in their lives, they built our house themselves. A place not too far from Hobbs, The Caprock, had an abundance of large flat rocks. Every day Dad wasn’t working, he’d head up and bring back a load of rocks to cover the sides of the house. That house withstood many storms, and still stands today.

When I was around twelve, I distinctly remember watching Mom climb up and down a ladder with bundles of shingles to roof the house. And she did this alone.

I believe I can declare with all certainty that no two people worked harder than my mom and dad.

Mom was a fantastic cook, having learned from necessity at a young age. She had a sweet tooth and loved to bake. Her specialty was pies. She could make a peach cobbler that would melt in your mouth.

She never measured anything. She’d throw in a handful of this and a pinch of that, and it turned out perfectly every time.

Mom was not a worrier. Her philosophy was, “If I can’t fix it, there’s no need to waste time worrying about it.”

I’ve strived to adopt that same philosophy.

She lived by these seven wisdoms:

Count your blessings every day.Don’t whine or throw a fit if things don’t go your way.Take whatever trials God sees fit to give you and make the best of it. Never sit down and give up.Believe in yourself and your dreams, and they’ll come true.Love life and live for God.Hard work never killed anyone. Try your best and don’t get discouraged if it doesn’t turn out the way you first thought.Treat everyone with dignity and respect.

I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with my mom, as you know if you’ve read my books. But I never forgot her teachings, her strength, and her determination. And for the last thirty years of her life, we were close.

She was the best grandmother my two little girls ever could have hoped for. She adored them as much as they loved her.

I watch my daughters now and see them practice some of Mom’s ways with their own children, and it makes me happy.

So, here’s to my mom – the strongest woman I ever knew.

Learn more about Jan here: https://ravewriters.wordpress.com/meet-the-authors/author-jan-sikes/

Thank you for supporting today’s RWISA author along the RWISA “RISE-UP” Blog Tour!  To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the main RWISA“RISE-UP” Blog Tour page on the RWISA site.  For a chance to win a bundle of15 e-books along with a $5 Amazon gift card, please leave a comment on the main RWISA“RISE-UP” Blog Tour page!  Once you’re there, it would be nice to also leave the author a personal note on their dedicated tour page, as well.  Thank you, and good luck!  

The post Depression Soup – Jan Sikes appeared first on Heather Kindt.

Cover Reveal – The Green Door

I am very excited to reveal to you the cover of The Green Door, book one in my new series The Eternal Artifacts. The series is YA and takes the reader on a fantastical adventure with Meg Covington and her best friend, Brekken Matthews. With the mystery of a new world like the Chronicle of Narnia series and the game-like excitement of The Hunger Games, the Eternal Artifacts series will keep you turning pages.

Kris Hack from Temys Designs made the cover, and she created a thing of beauty. I want to hold a physical copy of this beauty in my hands!

The game was supposed to be easy… enter the door, find the object, collect the prize money.

But nothing is ever that easy for Meg Covington. Her dad keeps a roof over her head, but college is out of the question. Her best friend, Brek, will leave for school, and she’ll be trapped in her hometown—that is until Meg discovers the flyer for Rosenbaum’s game hanging in the entryway of the record store.

Within the basement of the mansion lies the white passage, a hallway lined with colorful doors. When each door turns out to be a portal to another world, things get complicated quickly. If they find the object within the world, Meg will take her first step towards freedom. But is it really just a game, or a one-way ticket to something much more dangerous?

The Green Door is the first book in Heather Kindt’s young adult fantasy series. If you like strong female leads, adventure, snarky attitudes, and sexy sirens, then you’ll love the first installment in the Eternal Artifacts series.

Preorder your copy of The Green Door

Add The Green Door to your Goodreads TBR List

The post Cover Reveal – The Green Door appeared first on Heather Kindt.

Poetry by D.L. Finn

I’m back today with another piece of writing from RWISA author, D.L. Finn. I’ve read her story, This Last Chance, and really enjoyed it, but I didn’t know she was also a poet. Her poems keep with the theme, “How Living in This New World Has Changed Me.”

MISTY MOUNTAIN MOMENT

It flows quietly on a breeze

Covering the landscape in its presence.

The world simplifies at that moment

While the mountain mist intensifies.

Its threatening chill keeps us indoors

Watching…

Waiting…

Worrying…

How long will it eliminate color from our world?

Yet, we’re securely tucked away inside.

We have a full stomach.

A place to sleep… others don’t.

Some live outside in this mountain mist

Trying to survive.

We offer what we can… from a safe distance.

As we head back to our protected lives

Suddenly, we get a glimpse past the monochrome.

Then we remember that a dreary gray mountain moment

Does not subdue the light that shines within all of us.

GONE

Gone is my freedom as I shelter at home.

Gone is abundant supplies; I must get in line to shop.

Gone are family gatherings, events, and appointments.

Gone is the income from those deemed non-essential.

Gone is the guarantee they will be helped.

This is all replaced by a new world.

Where procuring toilet paper is a reason to celebrate.

Where putting my wants over someone’s safety is a priority.

Where people risk their lives to save others.

Where people do without, perhaps for the first time.

Where learning how to make what used to be available.

Yes, so much has changed and is gone—for now.

My hope is this new insight and caring…

Stays long after everything that is gone, returns

And things go back to a new compassionate normal.

STORM

A storm tore through our world unseen

But we felt its presence as hospitals filled.

We tried to wash it off and hide from it

Yet, it kept coming.

Finally, we headed into the storm shelter

Only venturing out for food…

Unless we were needed to fight this storm.

So many heroes raced into the chaos

Sadly, some did not make it back home.

While the rest of us waited in our safety

Grateful for what we had

Worried for what we did not.

Here we wait for that sunny day

When the storm fades away,

And we return to normal again

Armed with a new understanding…

Of how fragile our existence is.

Something the wise won’t ever forget.

I hope you enjoyed D.L Finn’s poems today. You can read more about her on her RWISA profile page:

MEET #RWISA #AUTHOR, D. L. FINN – @dlfinnauthor #RRBC

Thank you for supporting today’s RWISA author along the RWISA “RISE-UP” Blog Tour!  To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the main RWISA“RISE-UP” Blog Tour page on the RWISA site.  For a chance to win a bundle of15 e-books along with a $5 Amazon gift card, please leave a comment on the main RWISA“RISE-UP”Blog Tour page!  Once you’re there, it would be nice to also leave the author a personal note on their dedicated tour page, as well.  Thank you, and good luck!  

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With Hands Clasped: Thoughts of the Pandemic

Today I introduce you to RWISA (Rave Writers International Society of Authors) author, Harriet Hodgson. At 84, she has been through many things in her life and is now surviving a global pandemic while still learning through it. I hope you enjoy this small sample of her writing.

As COVID-19 spread across the land, Americans were directed to stay home. This news led to all sorts of questions. What will we do for entertainment? How will we teach the kids? Will we run out of food? As weeks passed, many Americans felt confined, even imprisoned. Not me. A freelancer for 38+ years, I was used to working at home.

My husband and I have been married for 62 years. “I love you more today than yesterday,” I often say. Staying home with him was a blessing. Pulitzer Prize winner Mary Oliver, in one of her poems, uses the phrase “with hands clasped.” I lived her words with hands clasped in memory, in caregiving, in creativeness, in gratefulness, and in hope.

In memory . . .

When World War II started, I was four years old. COVID-19 made me anxious and scared. These feelings caused war memories to become vivid again: food rationing, gas rationing, digging potatoes in our Victory Garden, Mom working in a wartime factory, and air raid blackouts. Odd that a pandemic would cause memories to resurface, yet a world war and world virus are similar. Many experts compared fighting the virus to a war, one we would win.

In caregiving . . .

I have cared for three generations of family members. This is my 23rd year in the caregiving trenches. In 2013 my husband’s aorta dissected and he had three emergency operations. When he woke up, he was paraplegic, unable to use his lower body or legs. The night I drove him to the hospital, I became his caregiver, and believe caregiving is love in action. Retired doctors and nurses rallied to fight COVID-19. I added virus protection to my caregiving To Do list.

In creativeness . . .

I have always been a creative person. While I sheltered at home, I revised two workbooks I wrote for grieving kids, edited a children’s picture book, explored doodle art, baked up a storm, and emailed publishers. So far, I have written thousands of articles and 38 books. Two publishers accepted the children’s books. Because of the pandemic, however, production of the grief books is on hold. The children’s picture book is still in production.

In gratefulness . . .

Americans are interdependent and need each other. COVID-19 showed that truckers, store clerks, housekeepers, home sewers, lab techs and countless others are heroes too. Staying home made me realize, yet again, that little things, such as the first robin of spring, are big things. As usual, I was grateful for my wacky sense of humor. (Yes, I laugh at my own jokes.)

Since I could not be physically close to others, I reached out in different ways. I sent surprise gifts to some, was a guest on blog talk radio, signed up for another show, posted book videos on social media, increased email to family members, gave books to friends and strangers. Though I am a kind person, I tried to be kinder, a lesson many learned from the virus. I also vowed to slow down a bit.

In hope . . .

I have survived cancer surgery and open-heart surgery. Each morning, when I awaken, I ask myself, “How can I make the most of the miracle of my life?” At age 84 I am still discovering pieces of my unknown self. Thanks to experience, I know how to adapt to the changes of life. I also know some changes are easy, and others test the soul.

Poet John O’Donohue, in his book To Bless the Space Between Us, refers to changes as thresholds. Thresholds can make emotions like confusion, fear, excitement, sadness, and hope come alive. It is wise to recognize and acknowledge thresholds, O’Donohue continues, and I have tried to do this.

The pandemic pushed America to a threshold, one that will define our nation. Let us cross this threshold together with kindness, dignity, and mutual respect. Let us cross with hands clasped in love.

You can learn more about Harriet and her writing here:  https://ravewriters.wordpress.com/meet-the-authors/author-harriet-hodgson/

Thank you for supporting today’s RWISA author along the RWISA “RISE-UP” Blog Tour!  To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the main RWISA“RISE-UP” Blog Tour page on the RWISA site.  For a chance to win a bundle of15 e-books along with a $5 Amazon gift card, please leave a comment on the main RWISA“RISE-UP”Blog Tour page!  Thank you and good luck!  

The post With Hands Clasped: Thoughts of the Pandemic appeared first on Heather Kindt.

The Watcher – Chapter Two

Only 6 more days and the Watcher is released to the world. You can pick up your copy on Tuesday, April 21st.

I also have some exciting events next week!

Twitter Chat on April 21st at 4:30 MST Instagram Live Interview on April 23rd at 4:30 MST My award-winning book, Ruby Slips and Poker Chips: A Modern Day Wizard of Oz Romantic Comedy will be FREE on April 23rd as a thank you to my readers.

Without further ado, here is Chapter 2.

Two

The moon illuminated a small section of the bed as William laced up his boots. He was still indecisive about leaving Anne behind. On the one hand, he felt guilty about sneaking out and knew that she’d find some way to try to take matters into her own hands. But then, he also wanted her with him. 

Sarah bent over the hearth, stoking the fire before Father got up for the day to start his early morning rounds in town. Her blonde hair was swept up in a white, mop cap, a strand worked itself free, so she swatted at it with her hand.

“Good morning, dear sister.” He placed his bag on the table. He kept his voice low, not wanting to wake Anne or his father.

“William. What are you doing awake so early?” Soot stains streaked Sarah’s cheeks.

He took a rag from the sink and wiped off her face. “Much better. You want to be presentable for the boys in town.”

“You are one to talk about plans with suitors, being one yourself.” Sarah sat down in their mother’s rocking chair. Her cheeks reddened in the glow of the fire as she smoothed out her skirt. “Is Anne with child?”

“Sarah, just because Mother is gone, does not mean you can take over her role as my caretaker. You are only two years my elder.” William slung the bag over his shoulder. “And no, Anne is not with child because that would be impossible. I have never… we have never…” Heat burned his cheeks at the inappropriateness of the conversation.

“Then it would not be a disgraceful marriage.” Sarah rocked the chair and tapped her foot on the floor. “When will you ask her?”

Marriage was the furthest thing from William’s mind. Right now, his mind swam with thoughts of the Gate Keeper and his whereabouts. “When Anne wakes, will you tell her that I will be back soon? She is not to follow me. You know how dangerous of a situation it is with the Red Coats.”

“I know.” She ran her hand along the wooden arm of the chair. “But why do you need to go?”

“I have been called up.” His heart beat faster with the lie so quickly crossing his lips. “I received the message yesterday from Jonathan, the Miller’s son.” A message from a known Patriot might be more believable to his sister.

“Anne just arrived. She will be heartbroken.”

“Please give her this for me.” He removed an envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to his sister. “It might give her some peace.”

*****

The wind-driven rain striking the Holden’s car in horizontal sheets was supposed to be a remnant of Hurricane Dan. When one of the big storms did manage to meander up the coast to New England, the colder waters weakened it considerably. But the fifty-mile per hour winds and downpour made for a lousy moving day. 

Laney’s thoughts ran on overdrive with questions to ask William, but whenever she opened her journal, nothing new was added. An uneasy suspicion ran through her that he somehow found a way to begin his quest without her knowledge. Lugging her suitcase through the puddles, Laney’s nerves were on edge. Distractions around her got in the way of the true reality in her backpack.

She glanced around her dorm room after dropping her wet luggage in front of the closet. Missy’s sophomore year décor was surprisingly similar to her freshman year décor. Her bed was spread out neatly with the same bedding, her laptop already plugged in at her desk, and the cotton candy pink curtains hung from the large windows. The absence of her ex-boyfriend’s picture scattered throughout the room was the biggest difference. The two girls had decided to stay together for their sophomore year but switched to the more desirable main quad side of the dorm. Missy wanted to know what was going on, and when it involved her—which she believed it always did.

Laney’s dad lugged her black chest through the door, set it down and then dragged it the rest of the way to its spot beneath the window. His hood failed to keep the front of his hair dry and it clung to his forehead in black and gray chunks that still dripped at regular intervals. She opened her trunk and tossed him a towel.

He wiped off his face and dried his hair before tossing it back. “Thanks, sweetie.”

He stared out the window at the rain-drenched campus, as she dug out another towel for her mother. She’d arrive any minute carrying the next piece of her college essentials. The wind picked up and turned the rain into vertical mayhem. A couple of girls on the quad below held their umbrellas sideways trying to keep themselves dry. The blue and white tent, pitched in the far-right corner of the quad to welcome new students, ripped off its stakes and rolled like tumbleweed across the grass.

“Maybe you’d have been better off if we sent you to school in Seattle.” Her dad turned away from the window. “At least they’re prepared for this kind of stuff up there.”

Laney drew her raincoat back over her head, unsure if she’d win the battle with the hurricane. 

A knock came on the door. Half expecting to see one of Missy’s friends, she was surprised to find her grandfather, Grady, standing there. He held one of her suitcases in his hand. Her mother was behind him carrying a box.

“Grady!” 

He put down the suitcase before Laney tackled him with her hug. Her grandfather looked worn and wet and wonderful. She took his hand, led him into the room, and took his coat from him. Her dad tossed the towel to her mom. 

“How are you, sweetheart?” Grady’s blue eyes held an unspoken concern meant only for the two of them. “I’ve missed you this summer.”

Laney’s grandfather knew about William. He was there when she sent her Watcher back into the book to be healed by his father. Last school year, she learned that he was also a Weaver and shared her ability to draw characters out of his books. Her grandmother, Rebecca, was a character in a story he wrote.

Hanging clothes in Laney’s closet, her mother peered over her shoulder. “Are you going to join us for dinner, Dad?” Though her blonde curls frizzed a little in the humidity, Laney envied their individuality. Her straight brown hair hung limply, making her look like a drowned rat.

“Dining hall food at Madison College? Wouldn’t miss it.” Grady winked at Laney.

Following their gourmet dinner consisting of filleted rubber and charcoal-encrusted, scalloped potatoes, Grady offered to walk Laney back to the dorm. Her dad had parked behind the dining hall after they dropped off her luggage. The tears welled up in his eyes. She thought that a veteran college dad might take the parting a little easier this time. Her arm wrapped around his waist as they headed down the stairs to the car, her head rested on his shoulder.

Grady shook his head. “What are you going to do when you have to walk her down the aisle, Tim? You still hold onto Laney like she’s going to break if you let her out of your sight.”

Her dad ignored Grady, stopping at the glass door that led to the parking lot. He held her before him, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eyes. “You’ve been different this summer. Something happened at school last year that changed you. I’m not saying that it’s good or bad, just different.”

“I…” She couldn’t tell her dad the truth.

“I feel terrible that I never trusted Jason, and I don’t know if the change has to do with his death, but I have a feeling it’s much more than that.” When he let go of her shoulders, he leaned against the wall and ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick out askew. 

Normally, she’d have laughed, but she kept her mouth buttoned in a straight line, holding onto her secret.

“We’ve never kept things from each other.” His eyes were downturned.

“I know. Don’t worry about me. I’ll come back to you in one piece at Christmas.” If Laney’s plans ran their course, she wondered if her words held any validity.

The wind had died down enough that they could open an umbrella. Grady had suggested they take the long way around the quad back to her room. He needed fresh air. All through dinner, he had maintained a conversation with her parents, but she had seen him watching her out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, when can I award you the Oscar?” He looked down at the path in front of them, his elbow locked in hers to prevent any stumbling. With her other hand, she held the black umbrella over both of their heads.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She wanted to talk about William with him but not about her plans to enter the book.

“You need to go on with life. Moping around and crying over William isn’t going to help. It’s only going to cast suspicion on what really happened.” He stopped and put a hand on her shoulder, his old bones shook. A large blue stone in a gold setting stuck out on his crooked finger.

“Is that your Weaver ring?” She backed away to get a better look. “What happened to it?” She held onto his hand and touched the stone with her finger.

The stone was a sapphire, like her pendant, but the spider was missing, and cracks ran through the precious gem.

Grady sighed. “I’ve kept it locked away since your grandmother died. Most of the time, I stowed it in a safe. When I realized that Richard was your history professor, I took it back out. I had to put an end to the complicated monster I created.” He gazed at his finger. “I don’t know what happened to the ring.” He stuffed his hand in his pocket. “The last time I checked on it, the spider was gone.”

“Do you think it’s tied to what happened to Richard?” She helped him avoid a large root that cracked the asphalt. 

His eyes grew wide, and he stopped. “I suspected that but talked myself out of it. Now that you bring it up…”

“I’ll ask the other Weavers if they’ve heard of this happening before. Maybe they know what it means.” 

“Enough about my ring. Your dad’s going to set you under lock and key if you’re not careful.”  He shuffled up a gentle slope in the sidewalk. “Like I said, stop the sad girl act.”

“I don’t think my moping and crying is Dad’s problem.” She stifled a laugh. “I kind of turned into a workaholic this summer. He couldn’t get me to stop working.” 

“Anything to take your mind off William.” 

“Yes.” 

The family’s antique store had never looked so clean. Polishing the silver tea trays and costume jewelry had become her obsession, and her dad even tried to set her up with his friends’ sons to get her out of the store. Finally, she had to tell him that setting up play dates for your nineteen-year-old daughter was against the unspoken father-daughter law.

The rain let up enough that Laney lowered the umbrella, but she kept her grip on Grady’s elbow. “He’s trying to come back.” Her voice was almost a whisper as if saying the words any louder might take the truth out of them.

“Of course he is. He’s in love with you.” His voice held a definitive edge.

“But I know what he’s doing.” She halted their movement again. Her experience with William had to be unique.

“What do you mean you know what he’s doing?”

“Did Grandma ever try to reach you from inside your book?” Grady never mentioned any communication from Rebecca before she had left the diner to become a part of his life. “I mean… did her words ever appear on the page on their own?”

“Is William writing part of the book?” Grady raised his eyebrows.

“In a way. The writing appears on its own, showing me what he’s saying and doing.” Her heart beat faster as she thought about his personal messages to her, almost like some type of strange long-distance e-mail relationship. “He uses my name instead of Anne’s.”

Grady hooked his elbow in hers again and continued toward her dorm. They had to shuffle around a couple of puddles that spread over the sidewalk like an endless lake. Two students passed them hand in hand, the girl completely absorbed in what the guy was saying.

He watched them walk away. “A Watcher’s love is anything but typical.” Grady nodded his head toward the couple. “When he finds out that she snorts when she laughs, or she finds out that he watches football for hours on end, their infatuation will fade.”

The pair stopped to kiss. Most relationships didn’t last, but the ones that did, made it because the couple understood the faults in each other and decided they could live with them. Her parents had their quirks. Her dad obsessed over antiques and history, and her mom read incessantly and cleaned the house sporadically. But their love for each other kept them together.

“A Watcher knows all your faults, just like you know all of his. When a Watcher loves a Weaver, no laws of what is real exist. It’s a space where miracles happen.”

*****

When she entered Starr Hall, Laney thought about Grady’s words. How many miracles was one person allowed in her life? When William left the book last year and spent a few precious months with her, she couldn’t have imagined a greater miracle. All the physical laws she’d thought existed had vanished when words materialized out of nowhere on the pages of her journal. 

Her roommate lounged on the bed, reading a book in her pink satin nightgown and fluffy bunny slippers when Laney got back to the room. Missy’s straight blonde hair was dark from her evening shower. 

“Hey.” Laney crossed the room for their customary hug. 

“Laney!” Missy jumped up and rocked her back and forth until she felt like she was in a mixer. “Where’ve you been?”

“Just saying goodbye to my family. You know my dad.” She rolled her eyes in an attempt to speak Missy’s language. 

“Ye-ah! Your dad either needs to get a life or seek serious therapy.” She laughed. “So have you heard from William?” Leave it to Missy to shoot straight to the guy talk.

“Um… yeah.” She scrambled to remember the story she had made up last year when William had unexpectedly reentered the book and disappeared from Madison. “He loves it in LA. If he doubles up a few courses this year, he might even be able to graduate early next year. He’s also taking up surfing on the side.” She threw the last bit in for Missy’s sake.

She stared at Laney, open-mouthed, uncharacteristically speechless for a second, then grinned and gazed at some spot on the wall over Laney’s shoulder. “I know it’s wrong to picture your roommate’s boyfriend half-naked and surfing, but I just can’t help myself.”

Laney shook her head. “So, what about you? Any prospects?” It was only their first day back, but Missy moved quickly. She dated at least three different guys after Brian had broken up with her last January. Missy didn’t know that Brian only dated her to be near Laney. He was the Gate Keeper between her book world and this world. A single touch from Brian could send Laney into William’s colonial land. 

“Oh, a few. You know how I like to keep my options open.” She took the hairdryer out of her closet. 

The hair drying routine usually took at least a half an hour, so Laney took out her journal. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, seeing William’s new words on the page.  She shifted her body to hide the journal from Missy.

William walked along the forested path that followed the road to Boston. His only plan was to avoid the Red Coats, stopping in every town along the way to ask about the man in the black cape.  He knew the stretch of road between Lexington and Concord well, so he traveled with haste.

Laney threw the journal down on the bed and covered her face with her hands. Unbelievable! He had left before talking to her. He was driven, but they were supposed to be a team. She had to find a way to stop him, but in her persona as Anne, she would travel too slowly to catch up. Red Coats could be dangerous. She picked up the journal again, tapped her pen against the paper, and struggled to think of some way to stop him. Missy’s silver anklet shimmered in the light and sent the words to her.

William quickened his pace, hearing a horse on the roadway. He traveled deeper into the woods. The log appeared before he knew it was there and caught his foot at the ankle. He fell to the ground, unable to get up.

She didn’t want to intentionally hurt William, but the injury would slow him down. Laney closed the notebook, went to brush her teeth and put on the t-shirt and shorts she wore for pajamas. 

While she brushed, she thought about sending William’s father, a doctor, past on his wagon. He could take him back to the house and help him heal. This gave her time to find Brian and enter the book before William got himself into any more trouble.

Missy stretched out on her bed, reading again when Laney came back into the room. Her suitcase lay half-empty on the floor, so she removed another sweater to hang in the closet. Near the bottom, she found the only picture she had of William. 

A photographer snapped the shot at the winter formal dance last year, and she kept it on her nightstand all summer. He looked amazing in his tuxedo with his light brown hair tied back, revealing his deep green eyes. She ran her finger over his picture, feeling guilty about hurting his ankle. She placed the frame on her desk.

Snuggling down under her comforter, she picked up the journal and thumbed through the pages to where she left off. 

William pulled up his pant leg, checking his ankle. It appeared sprained but not broken. He rested his back against a tree, elevating his foot on a rock before he removed his map from his sack. ‘Only three more miles to Concord,’ he thought. He could make it by nightfall.

“What?”  The word came out, and Laney quickly covered her mouth with her hand. 

“What’s the matter?” Missy looked up from her book. “Can I read that when you’re done? It must be good.” She turned back to her story without waiting for any kind of response.

Apparently, it was going to take more than a bum ankle to stop William’s stubborn streak. Laney’s thoughts turned to the one person who might be able to help her, but also might put William in even greater danger.

The post The Watcher – Chapter Two appeared first on Heather Kindt.

Cover Reveal – Under Another Sun

Today I present to you the cover of D.M. Siciliano’s upcoming horror novel Under Another Sun.

Blurb:

A crack in time saves 99
But what do those ominous words mean?
Ray is about to find out, whether he’s ready or not. His ‘deceased’ twin sister, Ravynn, is warning him of impending disaster, but Ray can’t seem to convince himself, or his wife, that he’s not crazy.
But Ray isn’t the only one communicating with his sister. Ravynn’s surviving daughter, Amelia, seems to know things that defy reason, in a time when reason is slowly slipping away. 
When Ray’s brother-in-law offers evidence of something terrible coming in the form of prophetic journals Ravynn wrote before her death, Ray can’t doubt the truth any longer. The world is falling down.
The family struggles to hold themselves together as the world they once knew and understood begins to collapse all around them, leading up to a cataclysmic end.
Can Ray save his family in time?

Add Under Another Sun to your Goodreads list today.

Read my interview with D.M. Siciliano here.

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