Linda Nightingale's Blog, page 17
July 5, 2020
Letters and Lies By Colleen L Donnelly
Colleen, you have the Com! How did you settle on the title Letters and Lies?
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If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?
If a lie is told for a good cause, is it wrong?
If the tree creates sound waves, would the lie create moral waves?
We hope not if we’re the liar or the one lied to or about. But we hope so if we’re the fly on the wall and eager for a good story at someone else’s expense. Everyone loves a red face when it’s not their own. Some, because they like to judge. And others as a reference for those past and future moments when deception would seem kinder than walking away with a regretful, “If only I would have thought of that sooner.”
Refusing to write nonfiction where I air my own dirty laundry, I wrote “Letters and Lies” instead, the antics of a historical fictional character, Louise Archer, who supplies those of us in the second category above with a plethora of reasons to toss honor aside and lie. I smiled at my own temptations as I wrote her, and I hope you smile at yourself as you read the following paraphrased excerpts of incidents Louise deemed justifiable for bending the truth.
Your parents expect more of you: Mama’s hands cupped my shoulders. She pinned me in a spotlight of such admiration I knew I’d made the right choice—stick with my lie.
Your parents believe your future is rosy: Mama admired me once again. “My little Louise, here you are, all grown up and on your way to Kansas to become Mrs. Jim Baylis.” Jim’s last-minute telegram burned within my glove—Don’t come. I can’t marry you.
You ensnare yourself by your own foolishness: Jim Baylis had truly penned everything I’d ever wanted in a husband, months of letters I’d foolishly carted from family to friend to blather every word like a desperate spinster. Drat.
Legal constraints lock you in: My father had so trusted and anticipated my marriage to Jim, he had built it into his will before he passed.
Your way is the best way: Neither Mama nor I would be happy if the ruse I’d devised to get me to Jim without him or anyone else knowing I was Louise Archer, jilted spinster, didn’t work. I gripped my bag with a train ticket under the assumed name of the widowed Mrs. Penelope Strong.
There is no time for the truth: “I’ll wire you in two weeks, Mama.” I’d allowed myself that much time to find Jim, fix whatever had gone wrong, and arrange our wedding before Mama ever knew the truth. “Oh, no need to wire me, dear,” Mama enthused. “I’m coming early to help you prepare everything.”
The first lie doesn’t work so you tell another: This man didn’t do what I’d intended every person to do in the face of a widow—stammer, shy away, and leave me as a poor grieving soul be. “I’m on my way to Larned, Kansas, to finish my late husband’s business.” I further spouted the name of some little dot on the map that had caught my eye as I’d plotted my way to Jim, a town I had no intention of getting off at or staying in.
The truth comes with a cost: I could confess that I’d lied and stay on the train and travel red-faced all the way to Dodge City to Jim…who might hear what I’d done and be glad he refused to marry me.
Ill planned deception is risky: “I’m Mrs. Penelope Strong,” I said to the couple at Larned’s train station. “I’m here on behalf of my late husband…” I stopped. My fictitious husband needed a first name. Drat. Living husbands had better be a lot less trouble than dead ones.
The law is sniffing around: “I presume these are your late husband’s business partners.” The marshal stepped forward, a lawman far too close to the near fraud I contemplated.
When a challenge to your lie calls for embellishment: “I need proof you’re who you say you are,” Mr. Brandt blustered. “And I consider my late husband’s money plenty of proof of who I am and why I’m here,” I blustered back. “Unless Larned happens to be a town frequently victimized by widows who try to lend aid to struggling businesses.”
Someone’s got a gun: A flash of silver caught my eye, a gleam from the butt of a pistol his apron hitched over. I saw my body dragged out the door and left where no one would care. Jim would never know I’d come for him but been killed at gunpoint before I got there.
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BLURB
Louise Archer boards a westbound train in St. Louis to find the Kansas homesteader who wooed and proposed to her by correspondence, then jilted her by telegram – Don’t come, I can’t marry you. Giving a false name to hide her humiliation, her lie backfires when a marshal interferes and offers her his seat.
Marshal Everett McCloud intends to verify the woman coming to marry his homesteading friend is suitable. At the St. Louis train station, his plan detours when he offers his seat to a captivating woman whose name thankfully isn’t Louise Archer.
Everett’s plans thwart hers, until he begins to resemble the man she came west to find, and she the woman meant to marry his friend.
EXCERPT
“He wrote and changed your plans? Why didn’t you tell me? You know I love hearing his letters.”
Everyone loved hearing his letters. Or at least they’d pretended to. I glanced at my friends, especially the one who’d first suggested I correspond with her husband’s homesteading friend in Kansas who was ready to look for a wife. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief while she flicked the fingers of her other hand in a weak wave. I dredged my soul in search of a smile. The man she’d introduced me to truly had penned everything I’d ever wanted in a husband, months of letters which convinced Mama Jim was my open door. Letters I’d foolishly carted from family to friend to blather every word like a desperate spinster. Drat.
“He didn’t send his change of plans in a letter, Mama. He sent them in a telegram.” Don’t come, I can’t marry you. The only words I never shared.
“Well I imagine your Jim has a surprise for you and didn’t have time to send a letter before you left for Crooked Creek. How thoughtful to wire you instead.”
Thoughtful…I felt poisoned and Mama would too if she ever found out Jim had shut my open door. Which she wouldn’t, since as soon as I got out there and found him, I’d wedge it back open again.
BUY LINKS
For a limited time, “Letters and Lies” is 99 cents on the following sites:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2yNFGNv
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/3aXuMCl
iTunes: https://apple.co/2YinxBY
ABOUT COLLEEN:
[image error]Born and raised in the Midwest, Colleen studied and worked in science, using that career to travel and explore other parts of the country. An avid fan of literature, both reading and writing, she loves tales involving moral dilemmas and the choices people come up against. A lover of the outdoors as well as a comfy living room, Colleen is always searching inside and out for the next good story.
SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS
http://www.colleenldonnelly.com/
https://www.facebook.com/ColleenLDonnelly
https://twitter.com/ColleenLDonnell
http://www.Goodreads.com/colleenldonnelly
~*~
June 28, 2020
Sinners’ Opera in Semi-Finals!
I just learned that Sinners’ Opera is in the semi-finals of the Raven Awards. I’d certainly like for the book of my heart to win. Please, please vote at http://uncagedbooks.com/raven-awards-voting-1/
Here’s a tweet if you would share: https://twitter.com/LNightingale/status/1277256772823154692
June 23, 2020
Dwarf Story by Professor W.W. Marplot
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Professor W. W. Marplot will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
For Arty to miss a day of school, either he is very, very sick or a fairytale-character turf-war has begun in his backyard — such as what begins this particular Wednesday. First, he finds an ax-swinging, bearded, sweaty warrior Dwarf scaring his dogs. Soon enough, Emma, Cry and other middle-school friends also find fairy creatures — Elves, Spriggans, Pixies, and a hoped-for Dragon — crashing into their normal homework-doing, backpack-carrying, phone-charging schooldays.
Why are these magical beings here? What should be done? Is that axe sharp? Can Pixies be given aspirin?
Arty with his friends — and spying jerks, and questionable strangers with long names — follow the clues and try to find out, even as things turn dark and dangerous.
The mythical beings are taking sides. The Gwyllion, that legendary Old Woman of the Mountains, has a sinister plan, turning the neighborhood into a fantasy battleground. One that awaits young heroes.
Read an Excerpt
Some can picture the battle in their mind’s eye, or in others’ eyes, or by using magic to help them see. For the rest, I can tell them what I know.
The Old Woman of the Mountains, a Gwyllion of great and strange powers, made herself stronger by taking one of each kind of fairy: to start a new kingdom in heaven, to steal the ancient place of rest, and to make new creatures and rule over all them and their world. And then, perhaps, ours.
More folktale legends joined the war, and on both sides. Some came to rescue their friends from the foul Gwyllion and her armies of Wights, Trolls, and dark spirits.
All who fight have their own special energies and enchanted abilities; some humans believe in them, most do not. But that does not always matter.
Now the battle rages, using nature, and the earth, and the sky.
In and out of the fight, many struggle to find their way back to Eastward Manor, knowing it as the path home. Some captives that can escape the Old Woman seek and find children and hide. This is a strange occurrence, the strangest of the whole story, for me. The fairies’ connection to these young people, all friends, can only be guessed, and is personal, so should not be guessed.
All the rest, of the living fairy creatures, struggle in the War. The dead only the earth can help.
To conquer the Gwyllion, I will use the spells, and counter-spells, and the ancient symbols that secretly kept the story alive for hundreds of years, waiting for this part of the tale. They complete a mystical alchemy of words and magic. I am here, I was born to be here, to help the armies of folkies, as Arty and Emma and the adopted human children call them: the Spriggans and the Dwarves and the Elves, with any birds and trees who have taken sides.
It was those human children that the Gwyllion did not count on. When Arty sent the counters-spell out to his friends of friends, as he says, the words were read, and spoken out loud, and contemplated. And passed to others, to friends, and to friends of friends, along and along. That is turning the tide—help unlooked for!
And Ted doesn’t know it yet, but our side has a dragon. My dragon.
About the Author: Professor Welkin Westicotter Marplot, of Coillemuir, Scotland, is a collector of esoteric tales of global wisdom and curator of ancient manuscripts. He is a recluse and, as he claims, has been collecting and collating adventure and fantasy stories for over a century.
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Follow Dr. Marplot on tour:
June 9: Unabridged Andra’s
June 10: Andi’s Middle Grade and Chapter Books
June 11: Long and Short Reviews
June 12: Woodpecker Books – review
June 12: Books in the Hall
June 15: One House Schoolroom
June 16: Rogue’s Angels
June 17: Natural bri – review
June 18: Author C.A.Milson
June 19: All the Ups and Downs
June 22: Crowvus Book Blog – review
June 23: Linda Nightingale, Author…Musings
June 24: Rainy Day Reviews
June 25: Locks, Hooks and Books
June 26: T’s Stuff
July 6: Gimme The Scoop Reviews
July 7: Hurn Publications
July 8: Kit ‘N Kabookle – review
July 9: Our Town Book Reviews
July 10: Welcome to My World of Dreams
June 17, 2020
Beyond the Surface by Trisha Ridinger McKee
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Trisha Ridinger McKee will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other tours on the stop.
Ella is a middle-aged woman with a stagnant career, an exasperated teenage daughter, and a husband that has left to make a new life with another woman. Her first attempt at dating is a disaster, and in an attempt to refocus her life and rediscover her joy, Ella goes fishing. It is here that she meets Dennis, the older, captivating man that ends up saving her life and stealing her heart. But Dennis has a history, and Ella might just be in for the biggest heartbreak of her life if she can not get her emotions under control and face the demons from her own past.
Enjoy an Excerpt
“Dennis-”
“Tell me one thing, Ella. When I messed up, and I pushed you away… did you feel just a little bit victorious because that was what you’d been expecting? You wanted me to mess up to prove your point that you couldn’t trust any man. You wanted me to mess up, so you didn’t have to take that chance on falling in love.” She started to shake her head and speak, but he interrupted, “Before you tell me that I’m being ridiculous, just stop and think. Okay? I’m not looking for assurances, I’m looking for the truth. You were waiting for me to mess up. Right?”
There were a few seconds of silence, before Ella sighed through her tears. “Fine. I was. I was waiting.”
“Right. We were both just waiting for that other shoe to drop. For a reason to push away before we were pushed. So, we were doomed from day one. I can’t do this, Ella. I can’t keep chasing after a woman that doesn’t want a relationship with me.” He paused and in a softer tone, added, “I went through that once already, and once is enough in a lifetime.” Then he got into his car and was gone, even as the tears streamed down her face. Even as she struggled to call him back. Even as she realized that she might have made a mistake in chasing away the best man she had ever known.
About the Author:
Trisha Ridinger McKee resides in a small town in Pennsylvania where there is not much to do … except write. When she is not twisting words into stories, she enjoys fishing, reading, binge-watching true crime or cheesy horror, hanging out with her bulldogs, and finding new hobbies. She shares her world with a patient hubby and an amazing daughter. She finally gained enough courage to send out her writing in April 2019. Since then, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in over 50 publications, including Tablet Magazine, The Oddville Press, Crab Fat Magazine, Kzine, Commuterlit, J.J. Outre Review, ParABnormal Magazine, 4Star Stories, Black Hare Press, Thirteen Press, and more. She won Story of the Month from 50-Word Stories. Her short story Where We Meet has been nominated for Best of the Net Anthology 2019. Her debut novel Beyond the Surface is now available on Amazon.
Website: http://www.trishamckee.com
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/trishamckee
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/wordromancer/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authortrishamckee/
To Purchase: https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Surface-Trisha-Ridinger-McKee/dp/B088N45M8M/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0
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FOLLOW TRISHA ON TOUR:
June 15:
3: Words of Wisdom from The Scarf Princess
June 16:
2: Nickie’s Views and Interviews
4: Welcome to My World of Dreams
7: Sea’s Nod
June 17:
3: FUONLYKNEW
4: Linda Nightingale, Author…Musings
June 18:
1: Aubrey Wynne: Timeless Love
6: Stormy Nights Reviewing & Bloggin’
June 19:
7: Musings From An Addicted Reader
June 12, 2020
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes
The Highwayman, along with The White Cliffs of Dover by Alice Duer Miller, are my favorite poems. I’ve included the entirety of the poem. I wrote a story in humble homage to this epic, and have sent it to my editor for a new anthology of the unearthly. My story Gypsy Ribbons is a ghost story about a lady and a highwayman.
Here is a bit of Gypsy Ribbons:
[image error]Hooves clattered in the darkened courtyard. Sparks shot from the stallion’s iron shoes as he slid to a halt, climbing the air in a full rear. Aidan leapt from the saddle, his red velvet cloak billowing in a bitter gust. The flamboyant cape was a slap in the face of the authorities. His smile faded as a dark premonition crawled down his backbone. He squared his jaw, ignoring superstition and the chilling call of his Irish blood. Silence ebbed and flowed like the tide of clouds washing over the moon.
Darby Manor was shuttered and barred, but Aidan knew who waited alone in a big, soft bed. His heart quickened as a bolt of desire shot through him. His love would be in her pristine white nightdress, often sacrificed to their passion along with his clothes. The thought heated him, but he had an assignation with a royal coach before dawn. Excitement glazed his skin as the scent of heather blew on him. Bloody cold night. Yet he was glad clouds hid the moon. Darkness made his job easier. He rested his whip on the cobbles and leaned on the hilt. Wind screamed around the corner of the house, whistling a lament. He hated this place. The house itself seemed to resent any intrusion.
Even the recent return of Lady Victoria Darby.
A month ago, she’d arrived in a handsome carriage on a sunny November Sunday. Since the house had been deserted for some time, Aidan was in the parkland grazing his horse before returning to the inn that was his home. He robbed the King’s Highway and lived with other brigands, but he didn’t liken himself to those cutthroats and thieves. Still, when he glanced at Darby Manor, even in daylight, shivers chased down his spine. The beautiful Lady Darby disembarked in all her finery. A blue satin dress caught the golden afternoon sun, flashing a myriad of iridescent colors. She turned, and his breath caught, but his heart leapt into a gallop. Why was there no battery of servants? Had she hurried to the country unaccompanied except for the woman bustling along in front of her?
He’d heard rumors that Lady Darby was willful and reckless. Perhaps, she’d given society the slip and escaped to the Manor with only her lady’s maid for company. The servants summoned from the village were long gone by nightfall. Darby Manor had a reputation for being haunted. Most locals believed that when the ghost sighed at the door, someone close to you was going to die. Personally, he didn’t hold with these old wives’ tales, but he had to admit the manor was a forbidding place.
A light snow began to fall, snapping Aidan’s attention back to the present. He turned up his collar against the silken mist and dusted a few flakes off his red velvet shoulders. As Lady Luck would have it, Virginia Darby had escaped the London Season and her husband. She was reckless and willful, and here he was on a winter’s night whistling a whippoorwill call beneath the Lady’s window If he were William Darby, he wouldn’t let his wife run wild on the wilder Yorkshire moors.
Goliath snorted, dancing on the slick stones. Gooseflesh prickled Aidan’s arms. The hair at his nape quivered. He tensed, his hand on his sword. I’m being watched. The feeling shuddered over him so hard he felt his insides shake. Whipping his weapon from the scabbard, he whirled. Naught but shadows fleeing from a shaft of moonlight. He shrugged deeper in his cloak and whispered a laugh.
~*~
This, at last, is The Highwayman:
The Highwayma
BY ALFRED NOYES
PART ONE
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
PART TWO
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
. . .
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
June 8, 2020
Stormed by Paula Quinene
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Paula Quinene will award a randomly drawn winner a $15 Amazon/BN GC. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
A medical doctor educated in the United States, passionate and fierce Liz Taimanglo must now fulfill her promise and return to her island home. Liz makes the long flight across the US and the North Pacific Ocean to Guam, uncertain of what her future holds. Heading into the epicenter of her family and prime typhoon season for the Mariana Islands chain, the disquiet of her heart threatens to do more damage than any typhoon might inflict on Guam. Little does Liz know, the man featured in the newspaper would indeed unleash delicious torment rivaling even a Category 5 super typhoon.
Manny Artero is adamant about fighting for his island, his culture, and the rights of Guam’s Chamorro people, after having been fired from his teaching job. That is, until Liz walks up to him with her machete-wielding eyes and her undying respect for the American military. Manny had vowed never to risk his heart again and to become a more vocal activist, but this woman threatens to challenge all his intentions about love and life on Guam. Brushing off the safer choice, he plots a series of surprises to change her mind.
For Liz, becoming a doctor of medicine was supposed to be the right path, but her universe imploded when her training failed to save the life of the most important person in her world. Though a former US Marine, Manny could no longer accept the loss of land, rights, and freedom that Chamorros continue to suffer in their own homeland. Helpless against the strengthening attraction between them, Liz and Manny must face not only their opposing political views, but the storms stirring in their hearts and the very land upon which they stand.
Read an Excerpt
Liz stood still, blindfolded. Rearranging furniture? We haven’t gone in the house yet. Water tumbled against rock perhaps, not too far from her. The striking of a match. A whiff of smoke brushed by her nose. Soft music filled the air, but Liz couldn’t make out the words because she was on edge. His surprise must be out here.
“Almost done.”
She bit her lip and swayed side to side. I might regurgitate my lunch if he doesn’t hurry up. The sun had already set so whatever he was planning, he needed to be quick. “You have about killed me with all this secrecy.” After another minute, Liz felt Manny standing behind her.
“I hope you’ll think it was worth it. Ready?”
“Very.” Liz bit her bottom lip.
“Ai, nangga hit. Wait sa’ I need to close the light.”
Oh my God I’m going to burst. It took a moment for Manny to return to her side. Liz shivered even though it wasn’t cold. It was warmer where she stood. Wood crackled. A stronger scent of burning tångantångan wood filled the air. If she bit her bottom lip any harder her teeth would puncture the gum.
The blindfold fell away. She opened her eyes and her jaw hung open; not a word came out. Liz looked at Manny then back at the firepit in front of her, a low orange flame dancing. The sound of cascading water caught her attention again. A small statue of Sirena, Guam’s mermaid, sat atop a rock. It was set off to the far-right corner with water flowing around her in a waterscape. Liz looked up. Only dusk hung over them.
About the Author:
Born and raised on Guam, Paula Quinene continues to take pride in her Chamorro heritage. The Chamorros are the native people of Guam and the Mariana Islands. Paula, like many of her fellow islanders, left home to pursue a higher education. A resident of North Carolina since 2000, Paula’s homesickness has resulted in her Guam cookbooks, A Taste of Guam and Remember Guam, and her Guam romance novels, Conquered and Stormed.
Follow Paula’s Guam food and romance novel antics here:
Website: https://www.paulaq.com/index.html
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pquinene
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/ceps92/videos
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June 2, 2020
Wired by the FBI by Glenn Painter
[image error]
Hello Readers!
Welcome to my 15-week book tour which starts on April 14th and concludes on July 30th.
This tour was planned before the onset of this terrible covid-19 virus which has invaded our world. I want to extend my deepest sympathy to everyone, especially those who have lost loved ones.
A donation from me will be going out immediately to the charity I have listed below and I will also be donating 25% of any royalties from the book which is featured on this tour, to the covid-19 Response Fund. This fund gives support to preparedness, containment, response and recovery activities. The 25% of royalties will be donated when I receive the final notification of number of books sold. I am also encouraging all authors to make some sort of donation to help with the recovery efforts. WE ARE ALL IN THIS FIGHT TOGETHER!
We all are wondering what the long-term impact this covid-19 virus will be to our communities and our livelihoods, Every American, as well as the companies that have worked very hard for every author have been affected, but I have faith that we will recover from this terrible pandemic if we all stick together and we all do our part – no matter how small.
I will also be donating, (over and above what Goddess Fish is offering):
$100 Amazon Gift certificate to one randomly drawn commentator
This drawings will be done via Rafflecopter, created by Goddess Fish Promotions at the end of the tour. To all of my fellow-authors – please don’t forget our marketing representatives, book agents, reviewers,commentator’s, hosts, etc..who are probably working from home and trying to help us.
I will be posting all pertinent information on my web site www.gapainter.com
once the tour is over. The Gift Certificates will be mailed immediately after the tour is completed and the 25% will be posted once I receive Royalties resulting in the sale of all electronic and print versions of WIRED By The FBI.
I wish that I could do more, however, with every-one’s support, WE WILL BEAT THIS TERRIBLE SETBACK.
Thank you, god bless all of you and the United States of America.
Glenn Painter
INTERVIEW
Q / What is something you’ve lied about:
Can’t think of anything right now
Q/Who is the last person you hugged/
My Mother
Q/What are you reading now?
Who has time to read?????
Q/How do you come up with the titles to your book?
Mostly from the content of the story, except the one I am now working on is original. RAILROADED
By a small-town Judge and Jury
Q/Share your dream cast for your book
or title character, Leonardo DiCaprio
For his mail Girl, Jennifer Lopez
For the nympho Jail guard, Bebe Rexha, she reminds me of a younger version of Heather Locklear
For Scott Mason, Duane Johnson
~*~
WIRED BY THE FBI:-
GENRE: Suspense, Thriller
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Christian Romano lives his life as a con-artist, burglar, drug dealer, and a ladies’ man, using his good looks to con wealthy women out of jewels and money. When he is arrested and jailed in one of the most violent jails in the U.S. (Cook County in Chicago), a steamy affair begins with a nympho female jail guard. When he loses control of the romance, Christian must end the affair by reporting her to Internal Affairs. It turns out that she is already under suspicion for supplying drugs to various gang members inside the jail. He has to decide if he is “”rogue”” enough to help set her up for arrest. Meanwhile, the FBI wants to recruit Christian to gather information against a sadist ex-cop, Scott Mason, who has been arrested for murder. The risk? Christian must wear a wire and testify. The reward? Witness protection for Christian and his girlfriend and a modification of his prison sentence. Will Christian risk his life for a chance at freedom? Will the female sheriff “”get even”” with him? Or will his life end at the hands of the jail’s drug lords or a lunatic former cop?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt
Something’s wrong, my intuition told me, as I stepped out of the stairwell and into the chaotic frenzy of the main hallway running under Division One of the Cook County jail.[image error]
Sergeant Ricky Walsh opened the heavy, rusted steel door leading to the death trap—that is A-B stairwell—then turned to me. “Romano, take the stairs down four flights to the bottom, I will meet you there.”
There are four sets of stairs that lead to the main boulevard on the first floor. They are legendary for the infamous men who have been butchered there, the bloodstained walls are a testament to the violence that is the norm in this building. As I begin my descent down the narrow and poorly lit stairwell, the thought hits me: At least half a dozen men have been stabbed in this exact place. The words taunt me as I step slowly down the stairs so that Walsh will have time to beat me to the first floor in the old, decrepit elevator.
When I finally make it down, I breathe a sigh of relief. But it is not Walsh waiting at the huge, steel door I am to exit. Instead of the old mick—who looked and walked like a bulldog with his perfectly groomed hair and mustache—it was one of the lackey guards. They would often hang out on the main floor waiting to proposition some poor woman coming to visit her man. I open the door and step through quickly, not wanting to arouse suspicion. But my heart hangs in my throat.
During my trip down the stairwell, the heavy steel recorder slid down my pant leg, stopping on top of my right foot. The ACE bandage, meant to hold it in place, was also dangling and ready to pop out for everyone to see. Panic set in as my mind processed a million thoughts, but I couldn’t break my stride.
It was common knowledge that this is where inmates often came out stabbing when sent to attack a guard by one of the gang bosses. Looking past the guard, I saw Sergeant Walsh bearing down on us as fast as his stubby legs would carry him.
“Hey Walsh,” I said, “the food poisoning is getting worse, I’m gonna puke all over this guy.”ng around to see what was going on. These guards tolerated zero bull, especially from a smart-ass like me.
I decided that it was quicker and easier to shove the recorder under the waistband of my jail pants and pray it would stay. After splashing water on my face, I poked my head out.
Walsh fell right in line with my cover. “We’re going to the hospital, come with me!” he bellowed.
I exited the closet, pushing the recorder into my torso as we walked past another guard. We traveled down the long hallway. Once we were far enough out of earshot, Walsh found an unoccupied attorney visiting room. As he opened the door, I scurried to the far corner.
“The hallway is clear!” Walsh yelled.
I pulled the recorder from my waistband and looked at it with disdain. Then I wrapped it tight with the ACE bandage. Although the long recording wires had to be reconnected and it only took a few moments, it felt like forever.
Then it hit me: I’m wearing a wire against one of the most violent hitmen Chicago has ever known, and this prick had been a Chicago cop. He probably knows every person who works in this jail. Getting whacked in a place like this costs less than a carton of cigarettes. What the hell have I gotten myself into? But there was no backing out, and I still had to get back to my tier.
Walsh looked at me, his brow furrowed. He quietly asked, “You alright, kid?”
“I better be. I signed a deal with the devil, and it’s time to pay up.”
I drew in a deep breath as we headed to the hospital, so we could sign in and make it look legit.
How did my life get to this point? I wondered as I followed Walsh. Growing up in Chicago, I was exposed to police corruption, murder, drugs, gangsters, and sex, oh yes, lots and lots of sex.
I had no clue of what awaited me, but my unsavory legacy was about to go down in history like crap down a toilet.
BOOK VIDEO:
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
[image error]Glenn Painter is single and lives in Central Florida. He became interested in writing at an early age but did not make it his career until 2014 when he published his first book, Beyond the Sentence.
Glenn has written this story from the notes by the man who actually lived it. However, extensive research was also require in order to make the story factual.
Glenn has also founded a company, ‘Prisoner Civil Right Services.’ He is an advocate for incarcerated individuals who have had their rights violated. He is in constant contact with these individuals, their families and the council. Most of his stories are inspired by ‘factual events’ that have happened to these individuals. This makes his stories both fiction and non-fiction.
Glenn says that writing is very challenging, and you must love the trials and tribulations that come with it. He believes that patience, perseverance and determination are required essentials to see a book through to being published. The journey is just as important as the destination.
Website: http://www.gapainter.com
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Glenn-Painter/e/B00NETNKU6%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9875593.Glenn_Painter
Twitter: https://twitter.com/author2663
Buy links:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wired-by-the-fbi-glenn-painter/1132504339
The eBook will be on sale for $2.99 and the print book will be discounted 40% on Amazon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE
One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. The author has added some significant prizes to his tour — including an additional $100 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter (in addition to the current $50 prize)
https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js
FOR MORE FUN. GREAT EXCERPTS, AND CHANCES TO WIN, FOLLOW GLENN’S TOUR:
April 14: Full Moon Dreaming
April 16: Fabulous and Brunette
April 21: Rogue’s Angels
April 23: Locks, Hooks and Books
April 28: Viviana MacKade
April 30: All the Ups and Downs
May 5: Mythical Books
May 7: The Avid Reader
May 12: Wake Up Your Wild Side
May 14: Archaeolibrarian – I Dig Good Books!
May 19: Rainy Day Reviews
May 21: Two Ends of the Pen
May 26: Danita Minnis
May 28: The Reading Addict
June 2: Linda Nightingale, Author…Musings
June 4: Hope. Dreams. Life… Love
June 9: Author C.A.Milson
June 11: fundinmental
June 16: Our Town Book Reviews
June 18: Jazzy Book Reviews
June 23: Iron Canuck Reviews and More
June 25: Becoming Extraordinary
July 7: Sea’s Nod
July 9: Long and Short Reviews
July 14: Readeropolis
July 16: Musings From An Addicted Reader
July 21: It’s Raining Books
July 23: Gimme The Scoop Reviews
July 28: Stormy Nights Reviewing and Bloggin’
July 30: Independent Authors
June 1, 2020
The Name of Red by Beena Khan
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will award a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner and a digital copy of the book to 3 randomly drawn winners via Rafflecopter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Two strangers on the same path.
Survivors. Companions.
They will be each other’s salvation.
On a rainy, winter night, a mysterious woman in a red dress seeking shelter comes inside the restaurant Kabir was busy working in —primarily the bar— and night after night, drink after drink, she comes back to the same spot. That is where he sees her for the first time.
Hundreds of patrons around her try to speak with her daily, but she dismisses them. It appears she wants to remain in a blissful peace alone with her booze and books. After seeing the mysterious woman reading a book, and because of his shy nature, Kabir gains entrance into her life by anonymously leaving books with notes for her.
The Name of Red is the story of two strangers, two different personalities who meet on a winter, rainy night who challenge each other. They have a connection which blossoms into a friendship due to their fondness of books. But they both have secrets that can bind them together or threaten their newfound relationship forever.
Read an Excerpt
The bartender placed her drink, in front of her.
She eyed the amber liquid and the golden glow of the glass-like cubes in her cocktail. Sometimes, she ordered whiskey mixed with vodka because she liked the amber color, otherwise she preferred vodka. The bartender called it New York Whisk. She was entranced by the mini icebergs in the glass. She reached for her drink with her slim, long fingers.
Alcohol.
The elixir of her life.
The strong tonic was the only cure to her life. She lifted the drink to her lips, and the taste burned her tongue and throat.
About the Author:
Beena Khan lives in a suburb in Queens, New York in her apartment. She is 27 years old from Azad Kashmir, Pakistan. She is an immigrant who moved to New York when she was five years old. She currently holds a Masters Degree in Developmental Psychology from Cuny School of Professional Sciences. She enjoys reading, writing, and netflixing. This is her debut novel.
Website: http://www.beenakhan.com Sign up for her newsletter where you can subscribe for book news, writing tips, upcoming releases, and exclusive content!
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Book will be on sale for $0.99 for a limited time.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B087ZLC1GF
Amazon UK:
Amazon CAN:
Amazon AUS:
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w?ean=2940163067138
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/notPublished/1019667
a Rafflecopter giveaway
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FOLLOW BEENA ON TOUR AT:
May 31, 2020
Weekend Writing Warriors – #8sunday – Snippet
This week I’m taking part in the Weekend Writing Warriors Snippet Sunday. Lots of authors and great snippets!
Come and visit. http://wewriwa.blogspot.com/
~*~
From my WIP – A little background: Life on Earth has become a living hell. Luc Byrd discovers a time-continuum portal that transports her to paradise, a Dionysian world peopled by centaurs.
[image error]
STEALING PARADISE
Prologue
We might have worshiped the invaders as gods. The One God, when he was amongst us, had walked upright on two legs. Our scriptures foretold their coming, but not the cruelty and brutality with which they greeted us. Their weapons belched fire and thunder, and my people fell. On a crimson tide, Man flooded our quiet valleys.
We were defenseless. For centuries, the Andalos had been a peaceful herd. The One God had persuaded my ancestors to put away our arms–the Days of the Sword now belonging to legend.
~*~
If you’ve stayed with me this far, here’s the remainder of the Prologue:
I had reached six-and-twenty years and had never even seen the weapons we’d used in wars with other Breeds. Long ago, the battle movements—piaffe, passage, capriole, levade, and courbette—had evolved into ceremonial dances.
For many years, the war between Man and the Centaur has raged. Locusts, wave after wave, they came on their ridiculous two legs. Centaurs they call us all, after some mythological creature on Earth. If this half-human/half-horse ever existed, I imagine they hunted them down and killed them from greed. Here on our planet, they pointed their wicked sticks and left behind the stench of death and destruction. I began this account when I was free and a warrior, but the story and my life dissolved when I became a captive.
If this narrative has a bitter flavor, it is only a remembered one, merely an after-taste of blood and ashes.
Never doubt that love is mightier than the sword.
Martimus by Seelie Kay
Martimus
Feisty Lawyers Series (Book 5)
by Seelie Kay
About Martimus:
Martimus. An underwater habitat dedicated to pharmaceutical research. Martimus. A facility that staffs its vessel with inmate labor. Martimus. The place where inmates visit and never return.
Agent Cate Creighton is in love. Unfortunately, as the Agency honeypot, she is knee-deep in an assignment that tests the bounds of her new relationship. It seems eight socialites have gone missing, all wealthy twenty-somethings with influential parents. No one seems to care until a former vice president’s daughter disappears.
When the vice-president shares a tale of false arrest, a broken promise of deportation, an illegal diversion into a private prison, and an alleged trip to an unwater habitat called Martimus, Cate and her colleagues must find a way to follow the same path. In other words, they must enter the right prison, meet the right fixer, wind up on Martimus, and hopefully return in one piece. And it looks like Cate is the perfect bait.
That doesn’t sit well with Cate’s lover, former U.S. Navy Seal Warren Hazelton. He intends to protect her until death ‘til do they part.
Fortunately, another possibility appears, in the form of an MISix agent who has interfered in one too many Agency operations. Tillie Henderson owes them and they are all too willing to serve her up on a plate. It’s race against time as the Agency attempts to lure their adversary out of hiding and into their somewhat ambiguous trap. Maybe then Cate can finally focus on love.
Release Date: May 29, 2019
Publisher: Extasy Books
Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Romance, four flames
Buy links:
Publisher: https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2862-4-martimus/
Amazon: coming June 1
Barnes and Noble: Coming June 1
Kobo: Coming June 1
Excerpt from Martimus:
Tom cocked an eyebrow. “Warren, you’re a former Navy Seal. Isn’t there some sort of limit on the amount of time you can spend under the sea before it starts to seriously impair your health?”
Warren frowned. “Usually two weeks. After that, the lack of exposure to the sun and the constant high pressure oxygenated environment would begin to take a toll. There’s also a psychological impact. Think sensory deprivation. Your senses are out of whack because you’ve been dumped into a soundproof sponge. There is no normal sensory stimulation. No sunlight, no sound… Even taste and smell become compromised. Coming back to the real world would be an adjustment.
“In addition, those underwater stations are small. People are right on top of each other. Things we take for granted, like privacy, hot showers, home cooked meals, are in short supply. That can create anxiety, depression, and stress. No way he served that sentence consecutively. He had to take a break in between.”
Warren gazed at Tom. “That environment is more hostile than a prison. You may not be in danger from other inmates, but you are putting your life at risk. Three months sounds like way too much time to be stuck underwater though, especially if you’re not leaving the station for deep sea diving on a regular basis. They must be breaking up the time somehow, otherwise they’d have a pretty tough situation on their hands. A lot of contract workers would be headed to a rubber room. It would be extremely difficult to survive a month, much less three, down there.”
“Could they be treating the inmates like guinea pigs?” Hope asked. “Testing their limits? Tracking actual survival rates?”
Warren sighed. “Possibly. It’s not like they have to answer to anyone. They are located in international waters. No country in particular has legal oversight. I imagine they could be doing anything they want without recourse. Unfortunately, when the prospect of a reduced sentence is dangled in front of some people, they grab it, damn the consequences. If one or two inmates suffer some sort of harm or die along the way, they chalk it up to collateral damage.”
“And who’s going to know?” Cate shook her head. “Someone dies, they probably flush them down a chute into the deep sea and they become shark chum. No evidence left behind.”
Hope cringed. “God, that’s kind of evil. But that still doesn’t answer our original question. Where the hell is Fuzzy? Has he already served out his sentence? Has he been released, and if he has, where the hell is he? He’s the one we need to find. He could have a lot of the answers.”
“That lack of governmental oversight is troubling,” Tom said. “If Cassie McIntyre is down there, I can’t believe the CIA isn’t all over it. At least, our government should be doing a welfare check through the Red Cross or something.”
Warren grimaced. “Unless no one knows she is down there. Think about it. They are on the bottom of the ocean, more than two miles under the sea. It’s not like you can just go down there and knock on the door. Any regular monitoring would be impossible.”
Cate nodded. “And we haven’t been able to confirm that she embarked on the same path as Fuzzy. All we’ve got are suspicions. Right now, she’s missing. We need to sit down with her family and get more information. And we need to find other prisoners who contracted with Martimus.
“Otherwise, we’ve got nothing.”
About Seelie Kay:
Seelie Kay is a nom de plume for a writer, editor, and author with more than 30 years of experience in law, journalism, marketing, and public relations. When she writes about love and lust in the legal world, something kinky is bound to happen! In possession of a wicked pen and an overly inquisitive mind, Ms. Kay is the author of multiple works of fiction, including the Kinky Briefs series, the Feisty Lawyers series, The Garage Dweller, A Touchdown to Remember, The President’s Wife, The White House Wedding, and The President’s Daughter.
When not spinning her kinky tales, Ms. Kay ghostwrites nonfiction for lawyers and other professionals. She resides in a bucolic exurb outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she shares a home with her son and enjoys opera, gourmet cooking, organic gardening, and an occasional bottle of red wine.
Ms. Kay is an MS warrior and ruthlessly battles the disease on a daily basis. Her message to those diagnosed with MS: Never give up. You define MS, it does not define you!
Seelie’s Author links:
www.seeliekay.com
www.seeliekay.blogspot.com
Twitter: @SeelieKay https://twitter.com/SeelieKay
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/seelie.kay.77
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Seelie-Kay/e/B074RDRWNZ/
Prior Books:
http://www.extasybooks.com/kinky-briefs/
http://www.extasybooks.com/kinky-briefs-too/
http://www.extasybooks.com/kinky-briefs-thrice/
http://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-1734-5-kinky-briefs-quatro/
http://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2023-9-kinky-briefs-cinque/
http://www.extasybooks.com/the-garage-dweller/
http://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-1504-4-a-touchdown-to-remember/
http://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-1795-6-the-presidents-wife/
http://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2263-9-snatching-diana/
http://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2032-1-the-presidents-daughter
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2291-2-infamy/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2349-0-seizing-hope/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2538-8-cult/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2658-3-hope/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2796-2-the-white-house-wedding/
An Interview with Seelie Kay:
Q. Why do you write romance?
Because I am fascinated by the games people play to find and secure a lasting relationship, which is not always love. There’s the chase, the courtship, the falling, the surrender. That’s what I try to capture in my stories.
Q. Do you prefer a certain type of romantic hero?
I adore smart, dashing gentlemen who aren’t afraid to live on the edge. They can be a bad boy, a billionaire, a prince, or a secret agent. That hint of danger just hooks me! However, I they have to be paired with strong, independent women who aren’t afraid to fight for what they want, even love.
Q. Why did you write “Martimus?”
This is the final book in the series, so I needed a way to tie up a lot of loose ends. That meant the Feisty Lawyers needed a compelling story to accomplish that. Something in space was beyond the realm of believability, but something at the bottom of the ocean? The possibilities were endless. I went in all sorts of directions at first, but ultimately made Martimus a key step in a much broader journey. The bottom of the ocean is an unforgiving environment. Survival is never guaranteed. Divert a few socialites there to serve out a prison sentence, make then disappear, and you’ve got what I hope is an exciting story!
As a former lawyer, I also developed an interest in private prisons. These are institutions that are governed by a different set of rules and not all institutions follow the same rules. In some cases, the private prison an inmate winds up in can mean the difference between survival and death. In addition, there have been several cases of prosecutors and judges who received a financial incentive to divert inmates to private prison. Some were so incentivized that people innocent of the crimes with which they where charged have been convicted just so the prosecutor or judge could get their kickback. It is an industry that requires serious regulation and monitoring.
Q. How does your former profession as a lawyer impact your writing?
My friends say I am obsessed with justice and I guess that’s true. After 30 years, the law and the legal world are so firmly embedded in my brain that I can’t flush them out. That has become the lens through which I view the world and that naturally guides my characters and plots. Injustice infuriates me, but it also leads me to great stories!
