Reena Jacobs's Blog, page 10

Chasing Shadows – Making Amends (12)

Welcome to installment #12 of the Chasing Shadows – Making Amends series. For more information or to read the previous scene, head to this page.

Chapter 6
Scene 1

Mujur jerked awake as a howl pierced the air. He growled and tossed a fistful of leaves to the side.

For two days the cat had called like a queen in heat, interrupting Mujur’s sleep with the constant fuss. Again the awful mewing. The cat had kept out of sight but the nonstop racket alerted Mujur the critter remained near.

Mujur covered his ears with his hands. Even so, the noise penetrated. He rolled to his side, but even that took a great deal of effort. Lack of sleep had left him sluggish—a quality which could lead to his downfall against the penanggalan.

Enough! He needed to put an end to the pesky feline before he lacked the coordination to do so. His stomach cramped at the thought. He was more than hungry enough to eat a water buffalo, but the flat-headed cat would make an excellent snack.

With the approach of dusk, the time to hunt had come. Mujur rose, wasted no time shifting into a tiger. Considering all the noise the feline made, tracking it would be simple.

He loped toward the cat, not bothering with concealment. Despite the ever-increasing volume of the howls, it was a good distance away. He’d worry about stealth when he arrived. His greatest concern at the moment was whether or not the cat was in a tree. Bulky, Mujur hadn’t been able to climb trees in his tiger form since he was a cub. If it came down to that, he’d have to wait out the cat.

As he neared the target, Mujur went into stealth mode, slowed his pace. The cat had started an all together different type of screech but just as annoying as the earlier howls. It wouldn’t be long before he encountered the bothersome feline. Judging from the sound, it was on the forest floor. Mujur smiled inwardly at the thought of being rid of the worrisome cat which had followed him the past several days.

The cat calls ceased, but that didn’t stop Mujur’s pursuit. On high alert, he continued in the direction he’d started. Eventually he’d come upon it, and if not, there still was the hunt for the penanggalan.

He could feel the demon’s pull as if it were leading him. Come to me, it beckoned. One or the other, it didn’t matter as long as he eliminated one threat… and soon.

A scent reached his nose, slightly sweet and wholly appetizing. He licked his thin lips and changed direction, the prospect of a different meal a delicious distraction. Not more than ten yards away, he caught sight of his new quarry, a binturong. It ambled aimlessly, filling the air with its strong aroma. Just the thought of the first morsel set Mujur’s mouth to watering.

He crept closer, the slow moving creature making it a simple hunt. He only needed to reach it before it decided to climb any number of the nearby trees. So close. He tested each step while using the dense foliage for cover. Already his stomach tightened in anticipation. He paused and judged the distance. Now. A simple rush.

A scream pierced the air. His entire body tensed. A blur of ecru fell from the sky and landed in front of him in the form of a girl. Only not a girl, a woman and one of his kind—small and delicate, but with curves in all the right places.

Mujur’s meal scampered away, and he lunged to bypass the woman.

“Stop.” She threw herself in his path, tackled him around the neck, and wrapped her legs around his body.

Though slight, the girl’s weight left him unable to reach the binturong before it clambered up a tree and out of reach. Mujur transformed with the wehr-tigress clinging to his side. He rose with her legs clamped around his middle, and arms hugging his neck. Such an insignificant creature, yet her nubile skin against his was more than enough to take his mind off the lost prey and provide a healthy dose of energy to his groin.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to the front with little effort. The soft material of her barkcloth caressed his chest, while the flesh between her legs pressing against him wiped all foulness from his mood.

Eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, and teeth clenched, the wehr-tigress’s thoughts traveled down a different path. The look on her face deflated him instantly. He peeled her hands from his neck, but her legs clenched tighter.

“He’s mine,” she said between her teeth.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He slid his hands down to her waist and lifted.

She grunted as she clung to him like hardened resin on a tree. Not wanting to injure her, Mujur released his hold, and she pressed closer, rubbing her small breasts against him. His penis twitched with indecision.

“The binturong is all I have. I won’t let you kill him.” She shook her head, and her near white hair brushed his nose, filling his olfactory senses with the sweet scent of fruit and the distinctive odor of binturong.

“What?”

“He’s all I have. I won’t allow it.” The hair on her body thickened, suggesting an impending change.

“Stop.” He seized her at the waist again. “He’s gone. Would you truly challenge me over a matter which no longer exists?”

“I would do anything for my friend.” A jungle of determination filled her sea green eyes.

He believed her every word but doubted her ability. If her first thoughts were to grapple with a tiger three times her size in order to save a friend which would better serve as a meal, she’d be lucky to make it back to her village alive. “Clinging to me like a monkey won’t keep the binturong safe.”

She held onto her strength for a few seconds before her countenance cracked. “Please don’t kill Teman.”

She relaxed her grip and slid down his front, scraping his groin. The top of her head just reached his chest. He’d never encountered a wehr-tiger as small as her. She couldn’t be more than a hundred pounds. If she reached five foot, he’d be surprised.

Her entire demeanor slumped. “Leave him, and I’ll help you hunt for other prey.”

Having her by his side was tempting, but where he was going, no wehr-tigress should follow. “No need.”

“You’ll let him go?” She stepped back, lifted her eyes to meet him, their green so different from the normal yellow of other wehr-tigers.

He’d only chanced upon one other with eyes even remotely similar—Berani’s grandmother.

“Will you let him go?” Her brows tented. If she had prostrated herself at his feet, her plea couldn’t have been more sincere. She sighed, and her head drooped. “I understand.”

So easily she gave up… as if she was used to defeat. Never had he encountered a wehr-tigress who seemed so lacking in power. All he wanted to do was comfort her. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Your binturong is already gone. I have no intent on harming him. However, I cannot guarantee I will recognize him if he stands alone.”

She considered Mujur for a moment before nodding her head. “Thank you.” She turned and walked away, the outline of her pert buttocks flexing beneath the tapa cloth of her sarong with each step.

“Wait,” he said.

She froze then slowly faced him.

“It’s not safe to be alone out here.” He went on high alert. Perhaps she wasn’t alone. Living his life on the run, he was reluctant to trespass into the land of other clans, doing so only when necessary. “I didn’t realize this territory was claimed.”

“I… I don’t think it is.”

The half step she took backward did not go unnoticed by Mujur.  “I’ve been tracking a penanggalan.”

Her eyes flitted from side to side. She reminded him of a bird ready to take flight.

“Where is your clan?” he asked. “I’ll take you back.”

Her eyes shifted to him and widened two folds, then she darted between the trees.

Novel Review: If I Tell by Janet Gurtler

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to write this review. My Kindle broke shortly after I finished reading this novel. Then I didn’t right up the review write away, so forgot pretty much what I’d read, how I felt about the work. Luckily, I managed to transfer all my Kindle documents to my laptop. Unfortunately, all my Kindle documents managed to get corrupted, which might explain the broken Kindle… but FORTUNATELY, there’s this cool document called “My Clippings” which is a text file. Apparently that file saves all the annotations from the Kindle. A quick search and I found my notes for If I Tell! So, the blurb:

“It was like watching a train wreck. I wanted to look away but couldn’t take my eyes off them.” 

IF ONLY …If only I hadn’t gone to that party. I never would have seen what I did. Jackson wouldn’t have driven me home. I wouldn’t have started to fall for a guy just out of reform school. I could go back to pretending everything was normal. I wouldn’t be keeping a secret from my mom that could blow our family apart …

My copy was provided by the publisher through NetGalley

Available at Barnes & Nobles || The Book Depository

I’m going to start with the cover. Going into this book, I had no idea the girl was interracial (black/white). Now I’m not saying a gal like the one on the cover couldn’t be interracial. However, the description in the book made her seem like she leaned toward the black side of the interracial spectrum. The gal on the cover looks VERY white. I have to say, I’m rather disappointed in the cover art.

If I Tell had a rough start. It began with leaving the reader in the dark. I knew something big had happened, but what exactly, I couldn’t say. I’m one of those folks who believes the reader should know everything the main character knows, so right off the back I was a little apprehensive about this book.

I’m happy to say, the “something big” was revealed rather quickly. My best guess is the author presented the “something big” as a mystery to draw the reader in… a hook. To be honest, if I’d read the sample in the store or online, I wouldn’t have purchased the book. I’m glad I picked it up from NetGalley, because I felt obligated to read a bit further… really give the book a try, because If I Tell was a decent read. Not fabulous, but decent, and I was lucky to receive the opportunity to read and review it.

The main character had me confused at time. She created a lot of unnecessary drama for herself. She boasted about her honesty and keeping the lines of communication open with her mother. However, she kept the “something big” to herself for much of the story. If she had just spilled the beans early she could have saved everyone a lot of grief. Of course, the story would have been over since that was the main conflict.

As for the plot, it was interesting enough. The MC was faced with a difficult dilemma. I truly felt for her situation. But like I said, she caused more trouble for herself than necessary. There were also quite a few slow moments in the story. The book wasn’t overly long, but it could have used a bit a trimming to really keep me engaged.

What I really liked about If I Tell was Ms. Gutler’s style of writing… the way she was able to use the language in a way which flowed well and was natural sounding.

Over all, If I Tell had an interesting premise. I liked the writing style. Ms. Gurtler did a great job stringing words together. I even liked the storyline. However, the book was a bit slow in the middle, and quite a few scenes seemed like the same but written in different ways. As a result, this was about a 3/5 star read for me.

The Haunting at Blackwood Hall Blog Tour

See… this is why I wasn’t big into babysitting as a child. First it starts as a part time job. Next thing you know, you’re a nanny or governess and trapped in a house with a homicidal maniac.

Title: The Haunting at Blackwood Hall

Author: Barrymore Tebbs

Genre: Historical fiction, Paranormal, Thriller, Romance, Suspense, Mystery

Publisher: self-published

Ebook

Words: approx. 63,000

Available at Amazon.com | Barnes and Noble

Book Description

Blackwood Hall is a house shrouded in silence. Nine-year-old Alice Fenn communicates only through her music. Jonathan Fenn and his sister Judith guard a terrifying family secret. The servants refuse to discuss the mysterious disappearance of a former governess. A drawing room séance attempts to make contact with the spirit of Elizabeth Blackwood. And when a diabolic madman holds the residents of Blackwood Hall hostage to an insidious reign of terror, governess Claire Ashby finds herself in a living nightmare of drug addiction, pagan rituals, and murder.

In the tradition of the great Gothic Romances, The Haunting at Blackwood Hall is a thrilling ghost story brimming with bold new twists on the beloved conventions of a bygone era.

Excerpt

It was early, but I felt myself growing sleepier by the moment. I hadn’t been given laudanum since I was a child, and the effects were completely foreign to me. My vision grew dim, and I found I could barely hold up my head. Alice, bless her heart, came to me and pecked me lightly on the cheek, then made an effort of drawing a blanket over me.

I fell into a strange and troubled sleep. I dreamed of a line of monks marching solemnly through the ruined abbey by moonlight. Their torches cast dancing shadows against the crumbling stone walls. Then, I saw a rider on horseback, a proud black stallion which I recognized as Nigel Kent’s mount, only the face of the rider was an ugly, twisted visage like the face on Alice’s doll. Alice was there as well, and her mother came and took her by the hand and the two of them disappeared behind a stone arch and Alice was lost to me forever.

I struggled up from the nightmare and looked about the room. Alice was asleep and the fire had died down low. It must have been the dead of night. But I distinctly heard the sound of the door handle turning, and when the person on the other side of the door realized it was locked, the handle began to shake and rattle so loudly and with such force I thought the door would be torn asunder.

“Stop it! Stop it!” I yelled, and with great difficulty I hauled myself from the bed. The moment I was on my feet the shaking of the door ceased abruptly. I went to the door and laid my ear against it. I listened for a moment, but heard neither dog nor man on the other side of the door.

Satisfied that what I had heard was only a figment of my imagination, or the remnants of that horrid nightmare clinging tenaciously to my mind, I turned to go back to bed…

…And distinctly heard the sound of footsteps running down the hall.

About the Author

Barrymore Tebbs is a photographer and writer living in Cincinati, Ohio. His writing draws on a long Gothic tradition from the cult TV classic Dark Shadows and Hammer Films, to 20th Century Gothic writers known for deep psychological undercurrents such as Shirley Jackson, Daphne Du Maurier, and Thomas Tryon, to create the Psychological Gothic, all served with a liberal dose of black humor. Very black. He is the author of Night of the Pentagram, The Yellow Scarf, and the psychological thriller Black Valentines.

Find the Author Online

Blog/Website | Facebook

Follow the Tour!
July 10th


Simply Infatuated (Promo Post/Giveaway)
Heart Of A Wolf (Author Interview/Giveaway)
Tricia Kristufek (Promo Post/Book Trailer)
A Diary Of A Book Addict (Promo Post/Giveaway)
Howling Books and Design (Promo Post/Book Trailer)
Erotic Romance With a Bite…Leigh Savage (Author Interview/Giveaway)
D. VonThaer (Promo Post/Book Trailer)
Natalie-Nicole Bates (Promo Post/Book Trailer)
Kristy Centeno (Promo Post/Book Trailer)

 

July 11th

A Dream Within A Dream (Promo Post/Giveaway)
The Ebook Reviewers (Promo Post/Giveaway) 
Nazish Reads (Promo Post/Giveaway)
Reading with Holly (Author Interview/Promo Post)
Books and Beauty (Author Interview/Giveaway) 
Ramblings of an Amateur Writer (Promo Post/Book Trailer)
Off The Page (Promo Post/Giveaway)

Tales of Lust, Hate and Despair Blog Tour

Ever read a blurb and a movie comes to mind? Tales of Lust, Hate, and Despair does it for me–Man on the Ledge. Let ‘em out to play and they get involved in all sorts of mischief.

Samuel Lee has known three days of freedom in the last eighteen years. Three days to come out of prison, see his daughter, settle a score and go back in again, for good this time.

Told in the tradition of the best literary noir, Tales of Lust, Hate and Depair is a modern, lowdown and gritty take on the genre. Inspired by the cinema of Akira Kurosawa and Samuel Fuller as well as the music of Tom Waits, Sage Francis, Neurosis and Marilyn Manson, it is a novel that is sure to please anyone who has ever found themselves trapped and cast aside from the world.

Available at Amazon

Excerpt

Prologue

Donnaconna Institution

Maximum Security.

145 miles north-east of Montreal

267 inmates

27% serving life sentences

2012

Hey kid.

I know you requested to be here in person but your mother had enough sense not to allow it. You’re not eighteen yet, so her decision is final and I think she made the right call. Donnacona Federal prison ain’t no place for a girl like you.

Now, I know I’m not much of a father, probably because I never had the chance to be one but I am sorry I never got to be there for you. Your grandfather came to visit a few weeks ago. I’m glad to see that there’s at least one person from my side of the family who’s looking out for you. He told me you applied to circus school in Montreal. I never thought you could go to school for that, but he says your heart is set on it. So my heart is now set on it too. I just hope I get to see one of your shows one day. If you’ll have me, of course.

I guess what I want to say is, I ain’t got much, but I do have a little money set aside. Only seven thousand or so, but it’s something. It’s all legit money, so don’t worry about how I raised it. I don’t do drugs and I’ve quit drinking years ago. They don’t pay much here in prison, but I’m working the laundry service for 5.50 a day. I’ve been behaving well, and I got lucky enough to get on a Corcan program twice. It pays a little more and it gives me credits and experience to work when I get out. Now, the money is yours whether you want it or not. I don’t have much use for it in here.

Your mother said you wanted to know what happened that day, said you were pretty insistent about it. I don’t know if it is out of anger, which I wouldn’t hold against you, or if it is out of compassion, but if you think you are old enough to hear these things, I’m ready to tell you.

I don’t know everything for sure, but it was pretty easy to figure out. The news covered the story plenty. I had court records and word of mouth from friends and friends of friends and so on. Anything I didn’t know for sure, I just added in the details that made the most sense. Now, there is still time for you to forget about this because I’m not going to make it pretty for you. I may be a murderer, but a liar is not something I am. I won’t try to get you on my side either. I will tell it like it was and let you decide for yourself.

You have to understand that I hadn’t seen you at that point except in pictures. And even then, it was Mikey who had shown it to me while I was inside. Alice…Well, I thought your mother probably had better places to be or better people to be with. She can say whatever she wants. She never supported me in any way and that is one thing she can’t deny.

But you should’ve seen yourself in that picture. You were beautiful. Oh yes! Those pure green eyes, brown hair, lovable little cheeks, chubby cheeks, and you wore a little princess outfit with a tiara and a wand. It was nothing too corny. All green with butterfly wings. A fairy princess or something. I’d spend days looking at that picture.

That picture was taken a year prior to that night in the bar. I didn’t know what to expect anymore. How much had you grown? Had you grown all of your baby teeth? Did you like music? Of course, everybody likes music, but what kind and just how much? And I remembered an oath I made to myself back in prison. I swore I’d find me a good guitar when I got out, and I would sing you all the songs I had written about you. And two years is plenty of time to work on songs, let me tell you that.

I imagined myself on a stool, playing the cords on an acoustic guitar and you’d be dancing and twirling and all of that. What can I say? You were my light. Kept me straight and out of trouble, and to this day you still do. It is strange how I’ve never been in trouble while I’ve been in prison, either in Cowansville or here in Donnaconna. I can assure you that there are plenty of ways to get into trouble in here, but I never did thanks to you. Those three days of freedom earned me a lifetime in prison, but I have been at peace ever since, knowing you were alright out there.

In so many ways, you saved me without you even knowing it so I swore I would make sure to tell you someday, what went down and why it happened and now you are asking me just that. I’m not even looking for salvation here, maybe just understanding and forgiveness.

Forgiveness is a long hard road. I just hope you can understand that.

Chapter 1

1996

It was early, early September. The sky was covered with thick gray clouds. There was rain forecast for the evening. The boss was coming down the road driving his best bike: a brand new, flat black, Fat Boy Harley. The exhaust noise echoed all around as he made his way on the deserted street. He pulled on the gas and the bike winded louder which drew a satisfied grin on the man’s face.

He took a left at the gate of an abandoned industrial building lot. It was well fenced-off with plywood and tarps all around so that no one could peek inside. The building was awaiting demolition but the gates were open because the man on the bike also ran the company that would tear the place down. If they had killed me, I might have ended up in the same containers as the demolished concrete. There would have been a pile of rocks, mesh wire, floorboards, busted lamps and a dead Samuel Lee. Nobody would go looking for me.

He parked the bike right next to an old battered Buick Skylark. There were four other cars in the parking lot. The first two were a Cavalier and a revamped Impala. The other two were cars you forgot quickly about: a Hyundai and a Corolla.

He took off his helmet, went inside and up four stories. There were two men at the door, ‚full patched‛ men wearing leather jackets and dark sunglasses inside. They were silent and still, which was contrasted by a hell of a ruckus coming from inside the room.

Now most people imagine a Russian mob to be silent and methodical, likewise a Chinese triad or a Japanese Yakama too, and they’re probably right, but these folks here were brawlers. Boxing was the fanciest martial art they were ever going to do. Their tactics were loud: they rarely got the job done right, let alone done clean.

I remember hearing the metallic door and the boss walking in. The room had been stripped of all features except for the large square frame windows that had seen too many decades. The lights were all shattered and the room was lit up by a series of double-headed industrial work lights. There wasn’t any ventilation on the floor and with twenty men or so surrounding me in a closed space, it quickly felt like we were in the tropics.

Each of them were granted a turn and I was hurting pretty badly. I was breathing heavily as thick, salty sweat was dripping from my forehead. The droplets ran down my cheeks and mixed with the blood pouring down from the cuts around my jaw. A pool of my own blood and sweat was starting to spread on the floor under the chair on which I was tied. I had at least a black eye and a busted lip, two teeth down and most likely a broken rib. But it seemed that would not be enough. I was in for the beating of a lifetime and I knew it was time to get tough when I heard someone say to the boss, ‚He’s ready.‛

But we’re not going to talk about that just yet.

Three days earlier, I was coming out of prison after my first punishable offense. I guess, I seem to be prison-bound, but what can I tell you? All I had was my GED, therefore employment prospects were looking grim. I had a little money set aside, a few hundred dollars, but there I was: unemployed at 26 and back in town.

Just getting on a bus from the Cowansville penitentiary had cost me close to 60 bucks. I took a greyhound and it came to a stop at a junction somewhere in the southwest of Montreal. The stop was little more than a sign on an electric pole in front of a dilapidated gas station on St-Antoine Street. The whole block near the highway bridge, surrounded by old brick duplex and concrete tenements, was dilapidated and in desperate need of a facelift or a wrecking ball.

They might had been fixing the neighborhood a bit further north, building up fancy towers and that hockey arena up the hill, but this block right there, that was the real deal. It was how it used to be. Places like St-Henri, Pointe-St-Charles and the better half of Verdun were standing a mere hundred yards from Westmount, the richest neighborhood in the country. Yet, on this side of the highway stood some of the poorest slums North America had to offer. You could see remnants of fences, with rusting barbwire still attached here and there. Dust, bricks and stolen cars formed most of the scenery around those streets.

In addition to the age old conflict between Francophones and Anglophones there were conflicts between the Irish and the Brits, tensions between the Whites and the Blacks in NDG. A neighborhood which at the time did not stand for Notre-Dame-de-Grace, but rather for ‚No Damn Good‛ and ‚Niggers Drugs and Guns.‛

There were open fights about which mob was to control the city port. Add to that the highest dropout rates in the city and an increasing amount of teenage prostitutes, the borough seemed ready to explode.

The city wasn’t all that worried thought. The rest of us were not going to barge in Westmount and burn it to the ground. We were too busy fighting one another and they had made it damn near impossible to make it to the top of the hill. There was a cliff, a highway and only one damn north-south tunnel. They could sleep easy.

The bus went its way and I stood there. I was waiting on the corner, busy smoking my second free cigarette in two years. One by the prison door and this one right there. I ain’t had much. I was wearing my grey prison pants and a blue boxing sweatshirt, the ones with the stripes on the shoulder.

It was the middle of the afternoon. The sun was high and strong, though it was clouding over slowly. I had my poor boy hat on. I pulled it down to cover my eyes. I like to think I must’ve looked good, or at least looked like something back then.

Moments later, a beaten up Skylark came by to pick me up. It was a ‘65 or ‘66, something around those years. The one with the round headlights. It was my friend Mikey’s car.

Mikey was a tall skinny black man. He measured 6’3 and weighed 165 pounds at most. His long arms and legs felt more like loose limbs but always had it good with the ladies because he had a wide smile, good hair, good taste and a naturally incredible six pack. The motherfucker didn’t even have to do any sit-ups. I swear.

Once one of the only African-Canadian members the local Anti-Racist-Action skinhead group, he had traded his bomber coats for a job and a career pretty much at the same time I went to prison. I didn’t know just how that had worked from him yet but I knew he was the only friend I could really count on.

The Skylark’s headlights turned off. The radio stopped shouting its profane music. Mikey got out with a large grin on his face, wearing a Fred Perry shirt and dark jeans.

‚Has it been two years already?‛ he asked.

Yes, it had been, I thought. ‚Two years, less one day,‛ I replied. I blew out the last of my smoke threw the stub away.

‚You sure?‛

Mikey always insisted on repeating things. That was his main flaw. That was his only flaw for that matter.

‚I was there, you know,‛ I said and then we shared a heartfelt hug.

‚It’s good to see you out,‛ he added. ‚But come on! We got places to go and drinks to drink!‛

He went around to his side of the car. I went to mine, threw my bag in the back and slid in the front seat as if he had just picked me up after a game or something. As if I had never been taken away for two years.

We both sat in the vast seats of the Buick. Onyx’s Bacdafucup was in the cassette player. Mikey was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other elbow resting outside the window. He barely made any stops, ran every yellow light that came our way. We were just a bit further out of the southwest and headed towards downtown.

You could see that the buildings there probably were built the exact same time as those in Saint-Henri’s or Little Burgundy boroughs. But at least the owners there seemed to put some effort into renovating their lot. The wood felt fresher, the brick and the stone felt cleaner.

Some of the old industrial buildings had been converted into what looked like an artist center or a university building. Tags one the walls were less gang oriented and more political. ‚Free Mumia,‛ one said. Another read ‚Smash Capitalism –Pcr(co)‛.

We drove on St-Jacques up to Peel, took a left, and then headed back west when we had crossed the 720.

‚So you guys taking me to a strip club?‛ I asked.

‚Pufff, you wish!‛ Mikey answered. ‚It’s just going to be you, me and some guys. If you want a lap dance my friend, you’ll have to pay for it yourself. Besides, I’m not taking a man in such a dire need of ass straight to a land full of pussy he can’t fuck. It wouldn’t be fair to you man!‛

‚You’re a good friend.‛

‚Yes,‛ he said as he nodded ‚I know I am.‛

We were around the Concordia University campus and there was no shortage of fine young women in fashionable clothes. It was the nineties. Kurt Cobain was dead but grunge was still alive. The fall had not kicked in yet and there was plenty of skin showing off. Strong thighs under short skirts, long torn shirts, dirty boots and black nail polish. I was young and out of prison, what’s a man to do?

He parked the car in the toll parking in front of the pub, Crescent Street, under Sainte-Catherine’s where three or four Irish pubs were lined up against the ‚American pub.‛ Mikey paid the minimum amount of 12$ evening fee that was to double if he forgot to get out before midnight.

Thank you, the teller said from inside his booth.

‚Fuck you,‛ Mickey answered, politely, and we went to the bar. Of course he had chosen the Irish pub and I was happy about it. Now, I wasn’t Irish, but if I was to salute a flag that wasn’t mine, I was better off in the hands of a people who knew that beer was supposed to have alcohol in it.

About the Author

I am from a working class family and I am proud of my origins. For the last seven years, I have been employed as an assembly line worker, a forklift driver, a park ranger, a warehouse clerk, a janitor, an industrial laundry operator, a warehouse clerk some more and still am to this day. I have never stopped working full time and I saw first hand how the theories of political science could hardly apply to the realities of the working masses. I have worked in the downtown area, in Laval, Rosemont, Montreal-East (Between the Petro-Canada oil storage facility and the Falconbridge foundry) and the south-west prior to gentrification. I have seen Montreal change and the people suffer from these changes.

I write not because I believe that some great social revolution is going to come out of any novel I can write. I have no illusions about the revolutionary potential of fiction writing. I truly believe that it is only by changing economic structures that a society can change fundamentally. This is basic Marxism. So why write at all? It is a good question. I mostly write to purge the hatred inside me, to purge the hours of factory work, poverty and strife of all sorts. I am majoring in Creative Writing, in a language that is not my native tongue because I felt it was a challenge. I am also graduating with a minor in political science, through which I discovered many philosophers that have influenced me deeply. I have studied the essays of Karl Marx, Immanuel Wallerstein, Ernesto Guevara, Max Stirner, Mikhail Bakunin, but also capitalist philosophers such as Thomas Hobbes or John Locke. I’ve looked into dichotomies such as Anarchism Vs Fascism, Communism Vs Capitalism. Nationalist Vs Internationalist etc… I believe that my existence is guided by philosophies such as Buddhism, Hinduism but also Nihilism.

Find Ian Truman Online

www.iantruman@hotmail.ca

www.iantruman.wordpress.com

Follow the Tour

REVIEW BLITZ 6/29

 My Cozie Corner 

 Books, Books, and More Books

Purple Penguin Reviews

Soliloquy

 Creative Writing Addict

  Wonderland Reviews



Redheads Review It Better  Spot Light  Just Heard, Just Read, Just Seen

Jersey Girl Sizzling Book Reviews  T B R     Spot Light

 

Tour

7/2 A Few Words /First Chapter 7/2 The Story of A Girl… /Review 7/3 Creative Writing Addict /First Chapter 7/4 Wonderland Reviews /Interview 7/5 All Things Writing /Review, Interview and Give Away 7/5 My Cozie Corner /First Chapter 7/6 The Book Hoard /First Chapter 7/9 Adventures of Frugal Mom /First Chapter 7/9 Book Lovin’ Mamas Review 7/10 Reading Naked   /First Chapter 7/10 Ramblings of an Amateur Writer /First Chapter 7/11 Cabin Goddess / Interview 7/11 Bunnys Review /First Chapter 7/13Reviewing Shelf /Review

7/13Purple Penguin Reviews First Chapter

Novel Review: Interrupted: A Life Beyond Words by Rachel Coker

This is one of those books I requested but not sure why. It’s a shame I haven’t been doing the in my mailbox posts, cause I used to put down the reason for acquiring books. Still, I put it down for a reason. Maybe because it was a Christian book and historical. I have a perchance for Christian fiction from time to time, and once in a while I get curious about history. So perhaps that’s why. Regardless, I wanted to give this book a shot. Like I said, I requested it for a reason. So the blurb!

Can love really heal all things? If Sam Carroll hadn’t shown up, she might have been able to get to her mother in time. Instead, Allie Everly finds herself at a funeral, mourning the loss of her beloved mother. She is dealt another blow when, a few hours later, she is sent from Tennessee to Maine to become the daughter of Miss Beatrice Lovell, a prim woman with a faith Allie cannot accept. Poetry and letters written to her mother become the only things keeping Allie’s heart from hardening completely. But then Sam arrives for the summer, and with him comes many confusing emotions, both toward him and the people around her. As World War II looms, Allie will be forced to decide whether hanging on to the past is worth losing her chance to be loved.

Available at Barnes & Nobles || Book Depository

What can I say? The story line was interesting enough to keep me engaged. It wasn’t a book I spent hours reading at night, but it also didn’t take me a month like other books. More the middle of the road type of read which kept me just interested enough to keep going.

I have to say, I wasn’t overly fond of the main character. She was quite unlovable, even before her mother died. Though it was noted as a character trait, I had a difficult time understand why she steadily pushed people way… and often she had a mean streak about it. She was also quite immature at times, particularly toward the beginning of the book. The story spanned her life from about 14 to 20. However, she seemed to behave more like a 5-6 year old at times during the first part of the story. It was odd and made it difficult to connect with her.

As for the story itself, I’m not really sure how to classify this one.

Was it a Christian novel? It did have a Christian undertone, particularly toward the end. However, her Christian disbelief seemed to be resolved rather quickly. It really lacked the journey which I normally enjoy with Christian books. Christianity was more of a light switch for her. One moment she didn’t believe, the next she did. All of a sudden she was a better person for it. When I think of someone changing, I imagine it comes in increments. For her, it seemed she took on a completely different personality.

Was it a romance? The relationship she had with her beau was fun, but so little time was spent on it that the romance lacked depth. I truly would have loved to explore more of the romance. The relationship seems to have so much potential… like they were two halves of the same whole at times. Yet the time we spent with her beau was too insignificant to really call this a true romance.

Overall, this book had a lot of potential and was intriguing. However, I think this book could have offered a bit more.

Did I enjoy the read? Yes. I certainly don’t think my time was wasted. But as I mentioned, it was lacking the oomph which really makes a book great.

Two Giveaways End! Did you win?

It’s time to wrap up giveaways. Did you win? Well, let’s see the lucky readers are. First up!

Last week, we featured L.K. Rigel durning the INDIEpendence Blog Fest. We gave away a copies of her Apocalypto series. Today it’s a free for all.

What was up for grabs?

One winners will receive his/her choice of a book by L.K. Rigel.

And the winner is!
MaryLynn Bast

Find works by L.K. Rigel at Barnes & Nobles || Smashwords || The Book Depository || Amazon

Next up?

Last week ended the review drive giveaway. Basically, share the giveaway or leave a review, and you were in for the prizes. After much tallying we have a winner.

What was up for Grabs?

Winner’s Choice

$50 Gift Card from Amazon
$50 Gift Card from Barnes & Nobles
$50 worth of books from The Book Depository
$50 worth of books from Smashwords
A combination of books or gift cards from the retailers listed above (Amazon, B&N, TBD, SW) equal to $50

And the winner is!
Tina Brown

Emails will be sent out shortly. Congratulations!

My works are also available at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon DE, Amazon FR, Barnes & Nobles, Smashwords, Diesel, Kobo, Sony Store, iTunes or The Book Depository.

By the way, if you haven’t tried out my works, what are you waiting for? I have it on good authority Smashwords is having a sale on my books. Check it out!

Chasing Shadows – Making Amends (11)

Welcome to installment #11 of the Chasing Shadows – Making Amends series. For more information or to read the previous scene, head to this page.

Chapter 5
Scene 1

Kecil picked at the splintered bamboo framing the window as she waited for dusk. If not for prying eyes, she’d be long gone. But those in the village watched her tirelessly, eager to torment her at every opportunity.

She’d use the cover of night to leave in search of her mother’s killer. By the time anyone realized she was gone, she hoped to be well out of tracking range.

A long sliver pulled away from the window frame, and Kecil chastised herself for hastening her hut into further disrepair. She left the window to pace near the entrance. With the opportunity to bring her mother’s killer to justice, every moment added another lifetime to the six years already gone by.

Patience, she reminded herself, but in truth, time living in a clan who despised her had long worn her patience thinner than barkcloth.

At last darkness fell. The soft glow of the moon shined on the village and left a faint blue luminescence. Night sounds filled the air as creatures called to one another, but the calmness of the village—a time when activity should be at its height—reminded Kecil of the unhealthy state of her clan.

“Come, Teman.” Kecil stepped outside, and the binturong, preferring night to day, waddled forth with a happy chuckle.

Kecil surveyed her surrounding for lurking villagers. Finding none, she embraced her tiger form and dropped to all fours as her bones reshaped to support her feline anatomy. Prickliness spread across her skin and fur sprouted, while her muscles thickened and contorted, giving an uncomfortable yet pleasant sensation akin to a satisfying yawn. The entire transformation took only a few seconds, but the vast change filled her with a sense of strength and confidence.

Kecil stifled the urge to release a challenging roar and left the village with Teman close behind. Heading south, she took care to go by way of her father’s territory. Only within the boundaries could she hope to avoid the others in her clan. She wanted no delays to keep her from her destination.

Teman quickly took to the trees. His smaller size and strong flexible tail gave him a climbing advantage, while connecting liana vines allowed him to traverse easily from tree to tree.

Kecil stopped at a nearby watering hole, one of her favorite places to seek prey. Oftentimes, just laying in wait produced an easy meal. Though tonight, a meal was not her intent. All she wanted was a quick drink and a trouble-free passage south.

A screech overhead drew Kecil’s attention. She scanned the foliage until she caught sight of Teman. He stood on a thick branch with his back arched and hackles raised as he snarled at a pangolin in his path. Why he didn’t go around eluded Kecil. Other binturong didn’t seem as aggressive.

Teman’s lack of fear was a constant concern for Kecil. She worried he thought he was a wehr-tiger, big and bold, top of the food chain. But as Gemuk said, Teman’s only protection was staying within the safety of those who cared for him. And Kecil, small in size, couldn’t protect him from everything.

Thank the Great Spirit, the pangolin posed no threat to her friend. Though not much smaller than Teman and covered in razor-sharp scales, the pangolin lacked teeth, making it built more for defense than offense.

Kecil debated leaving her friend to his nonsense, let him catch up when he realized more important matters existed than guarding one insignificant tree limb.

The scaly anteater backed away, and Teman ambled forward, snarling and exposing his little teeth. He swiped a claw, and the pangolin missed a step and fell. It pawed the air, occasionally snagging a branch. Snapping twigs followed its descent until finally it landed before Kecil with a thud.

For a few seconds, the pangolin lay unmoving. Then it twitched once, twice before clambering to its feet and shaking a few stray leaves off its back. Curling its front paws, the scaly anteater balanced its weight on its hind legs to hunch over like a crippled old man. The pangolin took a step forward and lifted its head. One look at Kecil, and it fell on its side and curled into a ball with its tiny nose tucked under its tail.

Kecil chuffed at the pangolin, which looked like an inconspicuous lump of dried mud to an unaware passerbyer, but her amusement was cut short when a flash of orange emerged from a bush. It batted the pangolin and sent the balled creature crashing into a tree.

Kecil cowered and wished she could hide in her own tight ball of armor as the shape gave form to a tiger. The newcomer roared so fierce, the sound vibrated through her body. Its mouth gaped, brandishing long yellow incisors. As small as she was, Kecil had no doubt the big cat would crush her in its jaws if it came to a fight.

She inched backward, and the tiger took a less aggressive posture before rising and transforming into her kinsman, Gemuk. The last of his fur faded, and he cracked his neck from side to side before focusing on her. “Get up.”

Heart still pounding from the shock of being taken off guard, Kecil clung to her feline form.

Gemuk took a step forward. “Now!”

Instinctually, she jerked back, gathered herself to spring.

Gemuk’s eyes narrowed, and his upper lip lifted ever so slightly.

Kecil hesitated. Flee or fight—either choice shrouded her in hopelessness, but if her life was in the claws of Gemuk, she would face him head on rather than flee as a coward.

Shifting as she rose, she tried to control her trembling and calm her stuttering heart. She stood as straight as a bamboo stalk and dared to meet his eyes. “This is my father’s land.”

Gemuk stepped closer, encroaching on her, forcing her to crane her head to meet his eyes. “That washed up cat? He couldn’t defend his territory when needed, what makes you think he can now?”

“He’s doing circuits.” Even to her ears, her response was hollow, too hasty.

Gemuk cocked his head to the side then smiled, the expression cold and hard as he turned eyes the color of dark urine to her. “Seems he’s moved on to more important areas.”

Kecil stepped back, but Gemuk grabbed her forearm and jerked her into him. The smell of sweat and dirt overpowered her as he held her against his clammy chest.

“It’s time you choose a mate.” He bent his head to her. His mouth open and a foul odor like ripened jackfruit escaped from the gaping hole.

Kecil turned her head from the stench baring down on her and cringed as his wet lips slurped against her cheek and his tongue slithered from her jaw to hairline. She pushed at him. “Don’t.”

His grip on her arm only tightened until her hand numbed from lack of circulation. “You may go when I’m finished.”

Kecil bit back a cry as Gemuk angled her arm downward so she had no choice to crouch then kneel at his feet. The cloth of his loincloth bulged in her face and failed to hide his arousal.

“Great Spirit help me,” she whispered. Tears welled and blurred her vision.

Gemuk laughed, and the sound raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

“A runt like you would never be worthy of the Great Spirit’s atten—.”

A catlike screech filled the air, followed by Teman landing on Gemuk’s head. Kecil pulled free as Teman scratched and drew thin lines of blood wherever his talons struck. His tail coiled around Gemuk’s neck, tightening like a python.

Gemuk clawed at his throat. His eyes bulged even as his fangs lengthened and his skin darkened to orange.

“No!” Kecil jumped to her feet and swiped at Gemuk’s face. An audible rip filled the air as her claws met flesh and bone.

Gemuk screamed, and Teman scrambled down head first, leaving tiny puncture wounds as he used Gemuk’s skin for traction. The binturong wasted no time shimmying up the nearest tree and disappearing into the foliage.

Kecil stood paralyzed, unable to pull her eyes away from Gemuk’s rent flesh. From right brow to the opposite chin, blood welled from three deep gashes.

Gemuk’s hand flew to his ragged eye and hovered as if he was afraid to touch his ruined face. “I’ll make you suffer.”

Kecil ran.

Novel Review: Replication: The Jason Experiment by Jill Williamson

This was another one of those lost books on my Kindle, so I’m going to do my best.  The blurb!

When Your Life Is Not Your Own 

Martyr—otherwise known as Jason 3:3—is one of hundreds of clones kept in a remote facility called Jason Farms. Told that he has been created to save humanity, Martyr has just one wish before he is scheduled to ‘expire’ in less than a month. To see the sky. Abby Goyer may have just moved to Alaska, but she has a feeling something strange is going on at the farm where her father works. But even this smart, confident girl could never have imagined what lies beneath a simple barn. Or what would happen when a mysterious boy shows up at her door, asking about the stars. As the reality of the Jason Experiment comes to light, Martyr is caught between two futures—the one for which he was produced and the one Abby believes God created him to have. Time is running out, and Martyr must decide if a life with Abby is worth leaving everything he’s ever known.

This book was provided by the publisher through NetGalley

Available at Barnes & Nobles || The Book Depository

Replication had two story lines. The first centered around Abbey, a gal who’s moved into a new school from DC to AK after her father landed a new job. I have to say, I wasn’t at all impressed with this portion of the novel. Abbey came off as snobby and a goody-goody. I’m not quite sure what her problem was. I will say her attitude did nothing for the storyline. When she wasn’t snubbing those she’d labeled beneath her, she spent the rest of her time reading.

Now I’m all for reading… I’m a big reader myself. But I don’t want to read about someone else reading. I want to read about people doing interesting things.

So looking through my notes, I didn’t have a lot of nice things to say about Abbey. In truth, Abbey had quite a lot of potential for growth. Unfortunately, her growth came as a verbal proclamation rather than showing she truly changed.

The second storyline was related to the Jason Experiment with Martyr being one of the Jasons. I very much enjoyed this portion of the book. The only gripe I had was Martyr seemed a little too perfect. He was altruistic to a flaw. Still, I kept coming back to the story to read what would happen next to him.

I would love to read follow up stories to the Jason Experiment… see how Jason 3:3 faired as well as the other clones. Even though the clones seemed to be two dimensional characters (for instance 3:3′s altruism), they were a fascinating bunch.

This novel also had a Christian undertone. If God made humans with souls, did clones (made by man) have souls also? Hmm…

Overall, this was a great novel. I truly cared about some of the characters. And like I said, I would love to learn more about their lives. 4/5 star read for me.

 

No Good Deed Blog Tour

Incubus you say? Now that’s a demon you might forgo taking to bed.

Today we have Bill Blais, author of No Good Deed, sharing with us a bit out his writing. I’m so lovin’ this cover art!

No Good Deed

Author: Bill Blais

Published: March 9, 2012

Kelly McGinnis has spent her adult life trying to do the right thing, but as a newly down-sized mother of twins and the wife of a man living with Muscular Sclerosis, she also knows that trying isn’t always enough.

While interrupting a scene of police brutality, Kelly unwittingly releases a real, live demon. After she manages to kill the creature through gut instinct and blind luck, she is approached to join a secret group of demon hunters who reveal an underworld of monsters and magic. Kelly’s mill town upbringing proves an unexpected asset and the pay more than covers her husband’s treatments, but the work begins to undermine her sense of right and wrong as she struggles to maintain her ‘normal’ life.

When she encounters Umber, a compelling incubus with an unexpectedly human story, Kelly learns that the truth is far stranger and more terrifying than she imagined.

Available at Smashwords || Amazon

Read a Sample Chapter

And now a few words from Bill Blais!

Creating Stories with Hard Truths

Author Bill Blais opens up writing stories where he places his characters against some tough odds and why it’s necessary to do so.

I tend to put my characters into some pretty difficult situations, psychologically as well as physically, so I also have to find a way to get them out. In most cases, the difficult situations come from the characters themselves (through their choices, fears and desires), rather than from some deliberate choice on my part (when I’m doing well, anyway). Similarly, the characters have to get themselves out of a given situation; my job is to keep my eyes and ears open and stay out of the way.

Note that I said ‘in most cases’, earlier. There are still plenty of cases where I intentionally reach well out of the characters’ experience to find a difficulty. I consider this the ‘life happens’ principle, like being rear-ended in the parking lot by a teenager texting on their cell phone, or the call you get from your brother on a perfect Sunday summer afternoon telling you your mother has just had a heart attack. No matter how prepared we think we are, life will prove us wrong.

However, since my lies are best when based upon truths, these ‘life happens’ difficulties usually echo some element in my own life, whether directly or indirectly. This is the case with the Multiple Sclerosis that Kelly’s husband Shawn has. While it served a purpose in the plot of the story (giving her a believable reason to give the idea of demon hunting a chance), it also stems from some personal experience with long-term illnesses I’ve had the questionable luck to share.

Having a personal connection tends to make writing about that situation both easier and harder — easier, because it is familiar; harder, well, for the same reason. In both cases, however, it compels me to be honest with the situation, neither sugarcoating nor exaggerating it to suit a particular plot point. To do so would not only undermine the believability of the story, it would also be a slap in the face to those with such difficulties, which is something I cannot do.

As for overcoming such difficulties, the unfortunate fact is — as many of those in such situations know — that it’s very often less about ‘overcoming’ the illness than it is about finding a way to still live one’s life. This is by no means a positive or even satisfying answer, but this is real heroism.

Thanks to Reena for having me here today and thanks to you for reading!

About the Author
Bill Blais is a writer, web developer and perennial part-time college instructor. His novels include Witness (winner of the Next Generation Indie Book Award for Fantasy) and the Kelly & Umber urban fantasy series. Bill graduated from Skidmore College before earning an MA in Medieval Studies from University College London. He lives in Maine with his wife and daughter.

Find Bill Blais Online!
AuthorWebsite: http://www.billblais.com/
AuthorAmazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/Bill-Blais/e/B002BLNB7K/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1372793.Bill_Blais
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorBillBlais
Twitter: http://twitter.com/onemoredraft

Follow the Tour
Tour Page for No Good Deed: http://illuminatedtours.weebly.com/no-good-deed-book-tour.html

Guest Post: Desiree Finkbeiner

So I like to check out the authors who visit my site. Sometimes I find the most amazing things… Take Desiree Finkbeiner, for example. She’s not only an author but also a talented artist. I spent so much time surfing her artwork, it cut majorly into my writing and editing time. *sigh* One of these days I’m going to take art lessons so I can at least pretend to be an amateur artist.

The Importance of Writing Reviews

by

Desiree Finkbeiner

So you’ve just read a great book and you’re about to move on to the next title in your kindle library… but wait! Did you really enjoy the book you just read? Then why not write a quick review?

What’s that? You’re not much of a writer, and you don’t think your review would do the book any justice? I couldn’t disagree more! Authors work hard to create the worlds you fall in love with. They sacrifice time, sleep, resources and other activities to bring entertainment your kindle or library shelf. Why not give them a pat on the back for their efforts? Believe me, it means a lot for writers to hear from their readers.

First, it gives them encouragement to keep writing. Second, your feedback lets them know what they’re doing right, and what they can improve on. There’s nothing more discouraging for a writer than to feel that their work is not appreciated by someone out there. Even if there are already fifty reviews on their Amazon or Goodreads profile, your voice is unique, and they want to hear from *you*.

Not only are your reviews important to the author, but they are important to other readers too. Your review is social proof that the book is worth taking the time to read. It doesn’t have to be eloquent or written like a New York Times review. It could be a simple statement like, “Great read! My favorite part of the book was the first kiss. I can’t wait for the next book in the series. I highly recommend!”

Customer testimonials are the number one way of convincing other consumers to purchase new products. If the author wrote something you liked, then make it your mission to tell the world! You might be saying to yourself, “But there are already a bunch of reviews for this book. What difference can I make? There’s nothing I can say that other reviewers haven’t already said.”

On the contrary, the more voices that laud a product, the better. Seeing those review numbers builds the confidence of other consumers who only have so many dollars to spend, or so much reading time to devote to new books. So your voice, joined with the voices of others, only sing a louder refrain which reaches more ears.

Post your reviews where it counts: Amazon, Goodreads, your personal blog etc And be sure to share the book on your social profiles as well. There are people out there that are hungry for something new to read, so why not be the messenger bearing good news? Recommend books you like to your friends and they will be so glad you did… and so will the author.

No matter how small your network, your voice matters in the grand scheme of things. Even if only one more reader picks up on that book because of your efforts, you’ve done a great service to the author who worked so hard to deliver that work into your hands.

But if you’re interested in writing a more in-depth review, here are a few pointers that might help. There are six main points to a review that will earn you ‘helpful’ votes by other readers. If you’re not familiar with what I mean, take a moment to look at reviews on Amazon or Goodreads. You can see where people can vote or ‘like’ your review. You can even earn ranks on Amazon as star reviewers or ‘vine voice’. That means your reviews were helpful to other readers and they voted you up with points. Not only is that an honor worth bragging about, but you might even start getting free books from authors who want you to review their books! Who wouldn’t love getting FREE books?!

Better yet, why not devote a blog to your book reviews? Then post them to Amazon, Goodreads, Shelfari etc. It won’t take long before word gets around that your reviews are honest and helpful, and you’ll get flooded with review requests from authors and publishers… and that means FREE books!

Here are the six components of a good review:

First, start by describing why you chose to read the book. Did someone else’s review influence you? Did you see a post about it on a blog, or see a book trailer online? Was it recommended by a friend? This lets the author and/or publisher know where their promotional efforts are working.
Describe what hooked you. Was it the hero or the plot? Did a single unique element jump out and grab you? What kept you reading? This helps the author know what they’re doing right, and helps them develop the quirks that reeled you in. You might be inclined to reveal some spoilers here, but that is up to you.
Without getting too much into spoilers, try to describe what your favorite aspect(s) of the story was. Could you relate to the characters? Did the plot flow well? How was the world-building? Were there some good surprises, or was it predictable?
Was there anything that bothered you about the book? Was there any repetitive word use, shallow characters, a hole in the plot, a scene that left you hanging? Or was it written to perfection, enough to make you eager for the next installment? This is your chance to give constructive advice to the author on how, in your opinion, the book could have been better.
Sum it up. Is there something you think other readers need to know? Was there a lot of swearing or graphic content? Do you feel it’s your duty to give people a ‘head’s up’? Was the romance a sweet romance or steamy with lots of skin? Think of the summary in terms of movie ratings. Was is PG or Rated R? Why? The summary will help other readers know what to expect so they don’t get half way through the book and find that there is content they’re uncomfortable with.
Finally, your recommendation. Who do you think will enjoy the book? Think demographics: age, sex, genre. Why would enjoy this book?

Now what are you waiting for? Go review that book you just read!

About Desiree Finkbeiner

Desiree Finkbeiner attained a bachelor’s degree in Graphic Design from Missouri Southern State University (2006) with a heavy background in business, marketing, music and fine art– She was heavily involved in campus affairs and served actively in several committees focusing on campus entertainment and events.

She performed with musical acts/bands in rock and electronic genres, released seven studio albums, performed in 11 states and has written hundreds of songs. Her band, Carbon Star, was a finalist for VH1′s “Bands on the Run” reality TV show in 2000. Then she performed with Pointy Teeth until finally leaving the music industry for the quiet life. http://finkart.yolasite.com/

Find works by Desiree Finkebeiner on Amazon