Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 101

In War There Must Be Secrets

Just found this beautiful review for the audiobook edition of my WWW Spy Thriller, Marriage before Death:

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"In War There Must Be Secrets" 
Using her signature lyrical/poetic style, Ms. Poznansky has once again created a world filled with sights and sounds, inner thoughts, and in this book, riveting action. It begins with an extremely touching portrayal of Lenny and his wife Natasha, a couple facing unspoken––and thus secret––difficult times that promise to grow much worse. The book then guides us back into the couple’s earlier history with an up-close look at the French resistance during WWII. A time when “moaning minies,” mortar bombs, guns blasting, sniper’s firing, and enemy tanks filled everyone with fear, as they traveled through the lush countryside. When “beauty co-existed with horrendous ugliness,” the “rattling of our bones and the tightness of our heads,” and “soldiers falling like pins in a bowling alley” was the norm.

But what resonated with me the most was the nature of Lenny and Natasha’s love, and the ‘secret’ cat and mouse game they played with the enemy to preserve their lives and simultaneously, protect their loyalties. Even with mortar shells flying everywhere, Lenny can’t stop appreciating the little things––In the trenches where “the earth felt good, cradling me” as the soldiers snored, and forever thinking of his cherished Natasha––“Her letter in my breast pocket which made her feel closer to me,” and “flashes of what were if they were at peace.”

And all of this beautifully written novel brought to life by the thoughtful and melodious voice of narrator, Don Warrick, whose sensitivity, timing, and nuance for each scene pulled me in even closer to the author’s words. Truly excellent!

I was given this free review copy audiobook at my request and have voluntarily left this review. 

I remember scolding him for it, but now I cherish the touch

If you can not see this chirbit, listen to it here https://chirb.it/Pp8Ja2

My court is abuzz with suppliers, artisans, architects, interior designers, engineers, carpenters, brick layers, and contractors, all of them eager to win a commission from me, which makes it challenging to do my work: consult with my spiritual advisors, discuss policy matters with foreign diplomats, and exchange niceties with the elders of our tribes. I thrive on the excitement of it all. Workers are rubbing off excess cement, which they have poured earlier across the ground, so the geometrical mosaic design starts to appear from the dirt, in all its brilliance. Inlaid with colored glass from Tyre, trimmed on all four sides with glazed tiles from Shushan, and dotted on all four corners with shells from the delta of the Nile and pebbles from the river Tigris, this floor will create a new, vibrant ambience in my court.A master craftsman bows deeply before me, to the point that his sketches are nearly dropping out of his portfolio. “My lord,” he says, in a heavy Egyptian accent. “Let me decorate the walls of your palace, all of them, the same way I did in the burial chambers of the pyramids.”“But,” say I, “this is not a tomb.”“Too bad,” he mutters, under his breath. “Unfortunately, the living are more particular about art than the dead.”“And,” say I, “they’re more particular about cost, too! So tell me, how much would you charge?”He walks around the walls, measuring them by counting his paces, the better to calculate his price, which seems to annoy the worker, who is kneeling down there, a damp sponge in hand to buff the mosaic floor.“Go away,” says the worker. “Don’t you dare step here, on my work!” “It’s a floor,” says the master craftsman. “Isn’t it?”He comes back, hopping over the buffed areas and landing with little bows in my direction. “My lord, this court I’ll do for free,” he assures me, “because of your great fame, and because I’m determined to give you my very best, so I may be worthy of your generosity, which is not only known but also highly praised in our parts.” And in a lower voice he says, in an offhand manner, “Later, we’ll negotiate the exact price.” “Show me your work,” I demand. “You do have some sketches from your previous projects, I presume?”Opening his portfolio, he pleads, “Here, my lord, take a look!”Meanwhile, a merchant comes, elbowing his way towards me through a crowd of suppliers. “What these walls need is something else entirely,” he says. “My finest imported rugs, which soften and even absorb the echoes in this place.”“Stop nudging me away,” says the master craftsman, in a grumble.Which the merchant seems not to hear. “Here, your majesty,” he says, in a Babylonian accent, “let me spread these rugs before you—”“Step back, both of you,” the worker warns them. “The floor, it’s still wet! Don’t you have eyes? Can’t you use them?”Rising from my throne, “Come now,” I tell the Egyptian and the Babylonian. “Let me take you to the dining hall, the reception hall, and the library. Give me your best bid. I want every space in my palace to be splashed with splendor!”Spring it is, an awakening of all the senses, and I am indulging myself in the luxury of it all. The only place that is left as it was is my own chamber, where I keep things modest and devoid of pretense. I like my bulky old desk, perhaps because of its grainy surface, which has been marred with a myriad of scars. Years ago, this is where my firstborn child, Amnon, carved a little face—perhaps of his half-sister, Tamar—into the wood. I remember scolding him for it, but now I cherish the touch. It brings back a memory, an old memory of how close they used to be as children.  
David in The Edge of Revolt


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"Her ability to capture character and emotion is nothing short of literary excellence, and the modern flair really only adds to that, allowing for a more engaging voice and style." -Book Crazy, Top 1000 Reviewer

Stylishly written, skillfully drawn, lyrical and very much thought-provoking

Just found this lovely review by Piaras for my poetry book, Home.

5.0 out of 5 stars Stylishly written, skillfully drawn, lyrical and very much thought-provoking.ByPiarason November 27, 2017Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase Author Uvi Poznansky, writes with a subtle and artistic touch. This collection of poetry and short stories is essentially a collection of deep thoughts concerning life and home. All the more touching as this is a collection of her own, and her father's writing. The stories are stylishly written, skillfully drawn, lyrical and very much thought-provoking.

I found myself absorbing the messages conveyed rather than just reading for the sake of reading. This book will take you on a fascinating journey that will stay with you long after you have turned the last page. A book which has been beautifully written and is ultimately a book you simply can’t put down. I feel all the richer for having read it. There’s no doubt that this author is uniquely talented, and I’ll be looking forward to reading more from her in the future. This would come highly recommended from me. A richly deserved five stars.

She misses her faraway village, from where she was taken to the palace

Seeing how exhausted I am Abishag takes the feather, ever so gently, from my fingers, careful not to touch the tip, and withdraws from me. Washing the ink off at the other end of the chamber, she bends over the windowsill, glancing at the lush trees swaying down there, in the royal gardens. Without words, she hums a little tune under her breath, and her voice is so sad, so melodious, that it tells me how desperately she misses her faraway village, from where she was taken to the palace. She must have been eager, at first, to meet the notoriously dashing young hero, the slayer of Goliath, the idol drawn so perfectly out of legends that belong to a dying generation. Only now does she realize that I belong nowhere else but in her aging mother’s dreams. I tell her, “Listen, daughter, and pay careful attention. Forget your people and your father’s house. Let the king be enthralled by your beauty. Honor him, for he is your lord.”And at once I wonder, why do I take this fatherly tone with her, all of a sudden? And why do I speak of myself as if I were not here?Abishag cannot help but yawn, which I happen to understand, because the lecture I have aimed at her bores me, too. “So many young men, out there,” she whispers.“So much noise,” I complain, over her excitement.“If it’s disturbing to you, your majesty, I can go down,” she offers. “I can ask them to keep things more quiet, for you.”“No,” say I. “Stay with me.”“Are you cold? Shall I close the curtains?” “No. Keep them open.”Then, with slight hesitation, “Your son,” she says. “What does he want? Why did he come?”“He loves me so,” I say, hoping she would not catch the irony in my voice. “Once in a long while he comes up here, to check if I’m still breathing.”Abishag says nothing in reply. After a long pause she asks, “Did he invite you to the festivities? I would love to escort you—”“Festivities?” say I. “No one tells me anything these days, which is why I am becoming so pitifully suspicious.”“I see him down there,” she says. “His guests are arriving now, gathering around to greet him. They’re laughing. He’s not.”At that I wave my hand. “Adoniah must be tired. He’s utterly weary of life here, in my palace. Luxury can be such a boring thing when you’re born into it.”She glances back at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Is it, really?”“It must be,” say I. “Unlike me, he’s never fought for what he has. To entertain him, his mother throws one party after another in his honor.”“He’s young,” says Abishag. “And so tense. She just wants to make him happy.”
David in The Edge of Revolt


★ Love giving gifts? Give The David Chronicles ★
Volume I: Rise to PowerEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume II: A Peek at BathshebaEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume III: The Edge of RevoltEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: Amazon ★ Audible ★ iTunes
The complete trilogy:The David Chronicles (Boxed Set) Ebook: Kindle ★ Apple ★ Nook ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords

"Her ability to capture character and emotion is nothing short of literary excellence, and the modern flair really only adds to that, allowing for a more engaging voice and style." -Book Crazy, Top 1000 Reviewer

Reading my book? Send me your picture!

Writing is a joy, but for me, it is an introspective process that requires solitude: a silent dialogue between me and the paper. I thrive on creating new characters, new twists and turns in their lives, and when the book is closed, the characters lie there like dried flowers between the pages, waiting for you to open it so as to whisk them into living. 
Over the years I have received several pictures from readers half a world away. Some show me one of my books on their kitchen table. I see them touching the paperback cover or holding up their reading device so I can get a glimpse of it. I cherish the moment they are showing me. As a writer, this moment is what I live for, it is highly rewarding, because my characters are about to rise from the pages, about to be fleshed out in your mind, which makes the distance between us evaporate completely.
So here are just a few pictures readers have sent me, and highlights of how I cam to know them. If you are reading my book, send me your picture (PM me on Facebook) and I will gladly post it just like this, here on my blog, as a big thank you to you! 

My friend, the amazingly talented Australian artist and the author of Sydney's Song, Ia Uaro, ordered my poetry book from Amazon. She wanted to give it as an end-of-the-year gift for Dr Rada, who is a Polish Jew and--get this!--became fascinated with Japanese at an early age, and now teaches the language. The Aussie-Japanese-Polish connection. How neat is that! Then Ia shared with me the image of the paperback edition of Home as it arrived at her place. 
I imagine sitting across from her at the kitchen table, touching the same wood grain. I imagine her giving my book as a gift to her dear friend. 

Here's to new friends: in a recent tour of South Africa I met a lovely new friend, Dana Stein. Dana works in a research lab, she takes great photographs, has great style in choosing clothes, and most importantly, she has just opened a new page in her life, a new budding romance. 
When she went back home to Israel, Dana sent me this picture of my new spy thriller, Marriage before Death, set on her dining room table. You can tell that Dana has great taste not only because of choosing to get my book--just kidding!--but also because of the elegant, flowery decorations on the wooden bowl in the background.

This is Gisela Sedimayer, beaming at her husband so can take her picture for me with my historical fiction novels. In one picture she is showing the cover of Rise to Power, and in the other--A Peek at Bathsheba. 
Gisela is a wonderful writer of a series of books. She says, "Surviving cancer and finding myself still alive after two years of just sitting around, but still locked after my two little girls and my husband, Albert, I finally came to my senses again. Since I couldn’t work at a traditional job any longer, I couldn’t stand or sit too long, Albert, my husband, taught me how to use a computer. I started to write..." 

Deb Warrick may seem like a shy gal but having gone through trials and tribulations in life made her the strong, energetic woman she is. Deb is married to Don Warrick, who narrated several of my books. She is instrumental in the process of producing these audiobooks, and more importantly, she is nursing him to health after the aggressive cancer treatment he went through. Don gave her my poetry book, Home, as a birthday gift. 

Deborah Brooks Langford is a lovely poet and author with whom I exchange information about all things writing and publishing. Notably, she was one of my earliest readers. Here she is holding my family saga, Apart from Love. I will forever be grateful that she bought my book before I started gaining any fame.

 Renee Pierce Williams is a great children's books author, and her talented daughter illustrates them for her. She took this picture of her husband reading Rise to Power. She told me that he was enjoying it but, he is too busy trying to compare my story with the actual Bible (which he reads every night.) 
I love the intimacy of this picture, which only she could capture.

This is Charlene Zall Capodice, wonderful grandmother and mother and an avid reader living in New Jersey. She is holding up the Kindle edition of my WWII love and suspense novel, Dancing with Air.

Last but not least, here is a reader holding up the paperback edition of my biblical story (with a modern twist) A Favorite Son.

So remember--when you read my books, just contact me on Facebook and if you send me a picture of you (or of your kitchen table) I will post it so I can remember this moment!

I need your help: Please vote for Marriage before

Hi everyone! My book has been nominated for the Reader's Choice Award in the Thriller category--located at page 9 of the list when you click this link or the image:

This is an uphill battle and I need your help! Please use the '>' button go to page 9 of the listAnd vote for my WWII Spy Thriller, Marriage before Death.

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I had the most exciting life I could have ever imagined

“Philipa?” I tried to think of her name and couldn’t, but remembered she was someone who’d been in one of the creative writing classes I took. “Oh, hello,” I said. “How are you?”“I’m fine,” she answered. “Same old stuff. Are you here visiting?” I nodded my head, smiling. “It must seem so boring here after the way you live,” she said.I didn’t get it.“What way do I live?” I asked, laughing.“Why, in New York! I dream of living there, without my family, I’d be in heaven. All of the fancy restaurants, the nightlife, well I can’t even imagine. “Are you still at the same magazine?” she asked, then sensed my confusion. “Mademoiselle! We all knew that you were going to work at Mademoiselle someday. We’d heard you were hired as soon as you graduated from college. We were all jealous.”I started to laugh again, adjusting my packages. “Right! Mademoiselle. No, I was only there a year. I live on a farm now, about an hour from here,” I said. “Wow! What an awful shock that must have been, going to a farm after the excitement of living in New York City!” She grimaced at the thought.“I guess the job wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be?”“No, it really wasn’t,” I said, smiling.“Well listen, it was great seeing you again, Philipa. See you next year at our fifteen year reunion!” “Fifteen? How’s that possible? It was nice seeing you, too.”She waved as she walked away. Looking for my mother and mother-in-law, I’d had enough shopping. Suddenly, I missed my husband and our children. I missed the farm, its rolling topography and the small, quaint outbuildings Wax build around the property. Our house was old and rambling, drafty in the winter and hotter than ever in the summer. The furniture was beat from the abuse of the bodies of four little boys. My hair was still a mess. My days revolved around Wax and our boys. But I had the most exciting life I could have ever imagined. 
Excerpt from Mademoiselle by Suzanne JenkinsIncluded in  Love in Times of War

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She licks the drop off her fingertip with childish delight

“I’m hungry,” says Natasha.“Me too,” I say. “But we’re out of bread.” “Then, we must have cake.”“How about Tart Tatin? It’s a French recipe. I learned it from you, years ago.”“Yes,” she says. “Tart Tatin.”“I see you like the sound of it.”“I do.”In recent years I have served not only as the father to our son, Ben, but also as the mother, because my wife has become increasingly absent-minded. Of all the new tasks I have learned, the one I like most is baking.So I get up to my feet, give her a hand, and together we go to the kitchen. I squeeze some juice from a lemon and have her add a few heaping spoons of sugar into it. Then I bring the mixture to a boil till the syrup turns thick and dark, like amber. I tell her to unwrap a stick of butter, which I add to the mixture. Then I pour it into the bottom of a ceramic pie dish.Natasha leans forward, taking in the aroma. She finds a spot where the syrup has dripped onto the table. “Sticky!” she says, and licks the drop off her fingertip with childish delight.I peel a couple of apples, cut them, and have her arrange the slices in a circular pattern around the dish, right over the syrup. “Fit them closer together,” I tell her. “Yes, just so.”When she is done, her arrangement looks quite messy. I cannot help thinking how flawlessly she used to do it, years ago. No matter. Perfection is overrated. 
Lenny in Marriage before Death

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As if a gun had gone off at a horse race

The first brick flew by him so fast it felt as if a sudden gust of wind had spun by. Stunned, he looked around. Coming toward him was a row of men armed with sticks and clubs. Probably the Dead Rabbits, a local gang. Wonder what they are up to?“You’ll not be coming into the Bowery Boys’ territory,” a man behind him called out.Sean whipped around. A different group of men were quickly approaching, bearing clubs, rifles, and what appeared to be hatchets.“Sean, get out of the way!” Brigit screamed from a nearby storefront.Frozen, he stared at her for a second. Then, as if a gun had gone off at a horse race, he sprinted over to her, making good time––until his right boot snagged on a cobblestone sticking up on the street and sent him flying.Dazed, on his stomach, he thought he heard Brigit’s voice, but with the overwhelming cotton sensation in his ears and both gangs beginning to clash all around him, he couldn’t be certain.Hatchets hurled, clubs battered, and men groaned as knives were plunged into their chests. No longer could he hear Brigit’s voice. The din and smell of battle had overtaken everything.When he finally managed to sit up, he imagined he saw Brigit, so far away, waving her arms, and he waited to feel his usual love. But all he felt was the stab of a knife entering his chest, his neck, and his stomach. And then he felt nothing.Given no time for grieving, Brigit was paid a visit by Garrity the very next day.“Girlie, if you wanna stay here, you gotta pay.” On his way out, he made sure to tap his cigar ash down on the floor next to James who hovered in the corner.Brigit folded her arms over her bodice and chemise protectively.“I guess you’ll have to do what I do,” the young widow-turned-prostitute said, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes as she coughed deeply.Brigit turned to James. “We’re getting out of here, no matter what.”
Excerpt from Genteel Secrets by S.R. MalleryIncluded in  Love in Times of War

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