Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 28
July 19, 2021
Ash is in the wrong place again
LISTENER
Shelley
OverkillAsh Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance, Book 2By: Uvi PoznanskyNarrated by: Heather Jane Hogan Ash is in the wrong place again Overall 5 out of 5 starsPerformance 5 out of 5 starsStory 5 out of 5 starsReviewed: 05-25-21
I haven't listened to an audio book in quite awhile. Heather did a great job and really made the characters come alive. Uvi has written another story that kept me wondering what was going to happen next. I hope there is another book after this one.
July 5, 2021
Let’s get out of here, save our own skin!
Then, just as the driver starts revving the car, a hand appears in my window, knocking, slapping, tapping at it at a frantic pace.
It’s that waitress again. Why has she followed me? What does she want? Have I forgotten something behind?
For a moment, I think about that slice of sumptuous cheesecake that has been left behind on my plate. Seized by a sudden sense of craving, I wonder: has the waitress wrapped it up for me? Is she braving the elements just to hand it over? How gracious is that! Do I have enough money to tip her?
“Wait, don’t start,” I tell the driver. Then I lower the car window a bit, which lets in a wet whiff of wind
She leans in, empty-handed. No cake, no nothing. Wrapped in a barely zipped yellow windbreaker with a drawstring hood that she’s neglected to fit over her head, she heaves a breath that makes the glass between us foggy.
Gasping, she says, “I must talk to you.”
And I say, “About what?”
“Him.”
“Who, him?”
“Your date.”
In an incredulous tone, I ask, “Dr. Patel, you mean?”
“Yes,” she says, struggling to catch her breath. “No, not him. His wife.”
“What about her?”
“She gave me something for you.”
I’m flabbergasted. “For me? How come? I never met Mrs. Patel—”
“Her name is Susan.”
“—And she doesn’t know me!”
The last thing I need is to establish a connection with a jealous wife. Actually, envy is the least of her problems, especially when compared to being dead.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m curious to learn more about Dr. Patel, especially about his professional life. Don’t ask me why. I have my reasons. But his wife? I want nothing whatsoever to do her!”
She huffs. “I don’t believe you.”
I insist, “What’s between them is not really my business.”
“It is, if you’re dating him!”
I’m at loss for a good comeback.
Meanwhile, the waitress pulls something out of her pocket. It slips down her windbreaker and over her drenched apron. She bends over, snatches it off the ground, and raises it to me over the edge of the cracked-open window.
Then, with a trembling lip, she says, “It’s yours now! I want nothing to do with all this trouble.”
I shake my head. “Keep it. Trouble is not what I need in my life, either.”
“Please,” says the waitress. Her voice is inundated with fear, which makes a shiver go down through me. “Take it!”
Is she out of her mind? Who is she to order me around? I have Ma for that!
I give a subtle hint to the driver to get us out of here and start closing my window, so as to block this woman out. “No, thank you,” I say. “You hold on to it, whatever it is.”
The waitress clutches the edge of the window so hard that her nails—chipped and painted red—nearly scratch through it.
Just then comes the second flash of light. It outlines her shoulders, fizzes around her hair like a fiery halo as she stumbles forward towards me. This time, lightening is clearly what it’s not.
She’s been shot at, she’s been hit.
Her fingers loosen, letting something drop inside, some small object that misses my lap, rolls over, and lands somewhere underneath me on the car floor.
Meanwhile her eye bulges over. It turns, turns, turns in its socket, until its iris seems to roll back around and over the eyeball, until her chest slips down along the sudden spill of blood upon the glass, until the terror finally lets go of her, leaving her wrung out by the wayside like an old dishrag.
“Stop,” I tell the driver. “Let’s pick her up, take her to the hospital.”
“No way,” he says, stepping on the gas. “Let’s get out of here, save our own skin!”
In the back window, she looks like a mound of tatters crumpling into the night as the car jerks into motion. It maneuvers wildly left and right as we make our escape.'
(Volume III of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)
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Months after recovering from coma, Ash discovers that the man who performed her brain surgery has a questionable medical experience and a dark past. Should she expose him, at the risk of becoming vulnerable to his revenge?
"A fast suspense thriller, with intriguing romance added. After the first two books in the series ("Coma Confidential" and "Virtually Lace") kept me up, I was excited to get into this one, and it's the best yet with some surprising twists. Great series!"B. Nelson, Audible listener
July 1, 2021
A long time ago, I used to think that my youth was to blame for failing to understand my wives
A long time ago, I used to think that my youth was to blame for failing to understand my wives. No longer can I use that excuse, because I know all too well, there is no youth in me anymore. Which leaves me as baffled as ever, especially when it comes to the one woman I adore: Bathsheba.
When I catch her scent, or even when I imagine it, something in me turns to liquid. Then, trying to harden my heart and remove her from my mind I find myself confused, and the rage in me intensifies, perhaps because I cannot remember the last time I have seen her. Alas, the distance between us seems to expand in so many ways with each passing year.
So imagine my surprise this morning, when I wake up to the soft sound of her footfalls, which makes me turn my eyes to the wall to try, to catch sight of her reflection. There it is, moving fluidly across the blade, the wide, polished blade of Goliath’s sword which is hung in my chamber, right here over my head.
First Bathsheba throws open the window, letting in a cold morning breeze. As if to tell me that this is already autumn, a smell of dry leaves wafts in. The silk curtains start swishing as they sway, they billow wildly around her, blotting and redrawing the curves of her silhouette, which in a blink, brings back to me the fullness of her figure back then, when she was expecting our first child. I remember the way I held her in my arms that hot summer evening, right there by that window. Together, we looked out at the last glimmer of the sun, sinking.
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"Told in Poznansky's distinctive style, the story is a lyrical delight, granting David a frank honesty the Old Testament never would have dared and interweaving brief passages of the original text with the author's eloquent, entrancing style. This is a David you won't find in the Bible and a kingdom that sometimes feels almost modern."Aurora Dawn, Audible Reviewer
June 24, 2021
Excellent pacing, witty dialogue, strong, believable characters, and a plot that grabs you
After a thirty year career in the telecommunications industry, Bill Cronin sold a telecommunications and business management consultancy in 2000 to pursue a writing career. I am honored--and totally WOWed!--to discover his review of my thriller, Overdue
Bill Cronin5.0 out of 5 stars Five Star ThrillerReviewed in the United States on June 23, 2021
Verified PurchaseLike Pat Conroy, Uvi Poznansky artistically paints a scene with words you want to read aloud. The scenes are works-of-art sprinkled through her story that make you believe you’re there with Ash Winters, in the middle of a pandemic, fighting the forces who have sexually assaulted her, put her boyfriend Michael Morse in the hospital, stolen her identity, drained her bank account, and impersonated her in criminal activities.As with any five-star mystery novel, which this is, you expect excellent pacing, witty dialogue, strong, believable characters, and a plot that grabs you in the first chapter and holds you captive in to the small hours of the night. This, the fourth installment in the Ash Winter series, delivers that and more.
What is noteworthy, however, about this latest effort by Poznansky, as in all her previous works, is writing that is as crisp and true as Nelson DeMille’s and storytelling that rivals the best of John Grisham.
June 22, 2021
Why should I loosen my hold on power?
In recent years I have been granted rest from all my enemies around the land, but peace has brought no calm to my heart, because God knows how many plots are being hatched, at this moment, by enemies from within.
The time when I was considered a menace to the throne is long gone, alerting me to one idea that holds true to this day: the crown is always in danger of being snatched away. So in my present position I should not tolerate any hint of revolt.
At my age I should expect nothing but respect. But when my own son walks away from me, my resolve immediately falters. To spite me, he smiles flirtatiously at Abishag, my lovely new concubine, till she tightens her robe around her waist and turns her head away, hiding her blush from him, and perhaps from me, too. Then with a youthful vigor, Adoniah bangs the heavy iron door deliberately behind him, which makes Goliath’s sword clang against the wall, right here over my head.
The rattle shocks me into trying to overcome the fright, the sudden quaking of my bones.
I adore my son, which lures me into seeing myself—my own image, only more invincible—in him. So what if he is rebellious? I must have been the same way at his age. Back then, did I not leave my father, exchanging the safety of his home for something unknown, for adventure? Did I not defy his charge for me to remain there, in Hebron, and support him in his time of need?
Never before have I considered how the old man must have felt, left behind in fragile health, in a crumbling house, with not one of us children staying there to keep him company—no one but loneliness.
Her face still rosy with a sense of embarrassment, Abishag wipes the little smile from her lips and curtseys before me. She is obedient, perhaps even fearful of me. Plumping herself on my blankets, she goes back to holding the inkwell for me.
I dip the tip of my feather in it, glancing at the veins marbling my thinning, nearly transparent skin. Is this my hand? Why is it trembling so? It seems to be my father’s, and so does my voice, when I utter the words as I scribble them, “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away, through my groaning all day long. For day and night, your hand was heavy on me. My strength was sapped, as in the heat of summer.”
My father is gone. Finding myself now in his place is a humbling surprise. I know I deserve it.
So I ask myself, how can I blame my son? His mother keeps telling me that he is restless, which must be my fault, of course, for not giving him a role or any kind of training in governing the land. It is too early for that. I mean, why should I loosen my hold on power? I am still the king, am I not? So I keep telling her that I am training him in patience. Adoniah is still young. His life is ahead of him. He can wait a little while longer.
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"It's a tragedy of classical proportions full of pride, hubris and the inevitability of the fall. Bob Sterry, in my mind one of the best narrators working today, brings the story to life with all the warmth, nobility and eloquence it deserves. A story you won't want to miss."Aurora Dawn, Audible reviewer
June 12, 2021
That, my boy, is for me to know, and for you to agonize over
Once she hung up, the artist leaned into Michael and shoved the cellphone back into his hand. “And where d’you think you’re going?”
“Out!” said Michael. “I’m been here too long.”
“Tell me the truth. Why did you come?”
“To ask a question.”
“Ask away, my boy!”
Michael took a deep breath. “Remember what you said, about that old fool? You said, he was doomed to fling himself off the cliffs—”
“Oh, that.” Bull raised the bottle to his lips. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Michael gulped. “How on earth did you guess?”
“That, my boy, is for me to know, and for you to agonize over.”
“Just give me a clue.”
“No.” Bull flinched. “You’ll figure it out by yourself, sooner or later.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because, we have more in common than you think.”
“I doubt we do.”
“You shape reality in your virtual world.” Bull set up a new canvas on his easel. “I shape mine in art. But that, my boy, is just the surface of things.”
Michael stepped off the stage. “You’re talking in riddles again. Stop it. Stop torturing me.”
In place of an answer, Bull bent down and with a wink, blew at the candle. The flame still flickered for a while, until finally it turned into a spiraling thread of smoke.
“You better go now,” he said, darkly. “I’m in no mood for you.”
With another blow, the smoke looped into nothingness.
Without saying a word, Michael turned on his heels and traced his way back to the entrance. No longer did the occasional scraping sound across the stone floor arrest his attention. This time he thought he knew his way.
After only two or three mistakes, he found the door. It was still partially open, swaying noisily on its hinges.
(Volume I of High-Tech Crime Solvers)
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Haunted by discovering the body of a beautiful dancer, Michael re-constructs her murder in a virtual reality. Can he bring the mystery to life? Can he solve it in time, before the killer turns on the woman he loves, Ash?
"The great attention given to detail makes for a lush and vivid tale that comes to life. The world of virtual reality that Michael creates is fascinating to read about."B. Roscoe, Audible Listener
June 11, 2021
The life of Sharyn Bamber: A Passion for Dance
Sharyn Bamber and I met in Joe Kronsberg's writing class and became friends ever since. When I learned about her life as a dancer, and especially about her performing in the Pearl Bailey Show in the '60s, I encouraged her to write the story of her amazing journey. I am so glad that Mama Pearl & Me has been published at long last.
Growing up in a funeral home, how does Sharyn escape the permeating sense of grief that enveloped her entire childhood? By finding joy in her passion for dance. Only one problem: her family objects to her becoming a dancer. Against all odds, she embarks on a daring journey to prove them wrong.
Here is a glimpse into her moving writing (reblogged from LA DANCE CHRONICLE.)
UNTITLED LAMENT by SHARYN BAMBER
Several days ago, I looked at myself — not in the mirror on the wall, but the mirror inside of me — to try to figure out why I was in such a dark mood. Why was I irritated, angry and depressed? Yes, the fact I was getting older and older and older and losing so many of my friends, who had really been my family, made me sad and lonely.
I was sitting at my table ruminating about how that was life and I needed to accept it. Then I thought, I just feel empty. With that thought I got scared and I heard myself say, Oh my god, my soul is gone. I’ve lost my heart. Where is my joy? I jumped up to try to focus on some physical activity. I turned on the radio which was set at 88.1. I heard the DJ, David Benoit, on Kjazz LA, introduce a piece of music. He was talking about Wynton Marsalis and his extraordinary talent. I stopped to listen. He had just finished playing a jazz piece by Marsalis, and he wanted to show his versatility by now playing Wynton Marsalis and the Eastman Wind Ensemble’s version of variations sur Le Carnaval De Venise. I stopped thinking about myself to listen to this music which was rather long. Images of movement, color and emotion pulsed through me as I began to experience the excitement of the music. The perfection of his technique was amazing, as well as his expression, which to me are all of the qualities that exemplify excellence. Every note was so specific, crisp and clear, every note meaning something. It brought tears to my eyes. I was so excited when the music ended, I ran upstairs to my computer to order the CD. Then, and I didn’t know why, but I goggled Matt Mattox, my first professional teacher of modern jazz. I wanted to see him again.
Sharyn Bamber – Photo courtesy of the author.
One can find almost anything on You tube and I have spent hours watching my favorite dancers in excerpts from movies or concerts. Anyway, there are segments of Matt Mattox teaching classes, as well as excerpts of his performances on television and film. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, a movie with some of the best choreography and dancing in film history, is probably his most well-known performance, and, where, in my opinion, he was unmatched when it comes to perfection — except, maybe, by Mikhail Baryshnikov, who was only six years old at that time, and, obviously, not on the scene.
I then watched some of the videos of Matt’s classes which took place over the many years since I had been his student. He had spent the last thirty years or so of his life living in France where he had his own school and dance company. He died in 2013 at ninety-one but he was still teaching at ninety.
Sharyn Bamber dancing – Photo courtesy of the author.
In one of the videos, he talked to his class about how he had always been a dancer, he had never been anything else. He told of the success he had working on the stage as a dancer and choreographer, and in the film and television business, but he added that he had never been fully recognized. He said, Nobody ever said anything about what I have done. Yet, today he is recognized as one of the world’s most influential teachers of jazz or what he preferred to call ‘free style’.
I spent several hours looking at the various clips, watching him age over the years. Even though you could see his body change, that he was not quite as tall, his legs not as straight, his joints not as flexible, he was still strong and he continued to demonstrate his combinations.
Pearl Bailey Review – Photo courtesy of the author.
I remembered what it was like to be his student. He was strict but very kind. His class was constructed the same as a ballet class where you work at the bar before going into the center. However, his bar work was done standing in the middle of the floor without the support of the bar. His technique and style looked the same but was even more complex. There was still the methodical isolation of each part of the dancer’s body. Everything so very specific. Each movement had a meaning. All of this was done to the beat of a hand-held drum. He would walk around the room beating out the rhythm and yelling out the counts as he made adjustments to a dancer’s body. He always hired a professional drummer for the combination aspect of his class, who sometimes played along with a piece of music. But it was the beat of the drum that made it exciting, giving the dancers more energy.
I remembered what my body felt like when in class and began to imagine I could still feel that use of every muscle and how it sometimes hurt but made me strong.
I was reminded of his remarks to the class that first of all we are humans with all kinds of emotions and it is not enough to have the technique and do the steps. You need to have a story behind the music. Every movement has meaning. You have to feel it in your gut, he would say, and I don’t want to see any more stone faces, so be alive, be beautiful and smile. We all look better when we smile.I came away from the computer several hours later realizing it was that same kind of specificity in Wynton Marsalis’s music which led me back to the artistry of Matt Mattox. It was that same type of articulate and precise movement in his dancing and in his teaching that excited me. Knowing what it takes to achieve that fills me with awe.
I believe by announcing I had retired from dance, I also retired from myself and forgot who I was. I was reminded, like Matt, I had always been a dancer. I am still a dancer. No matter what I have done in life or will do in the future, I will always be a dancer.
The powerful magic of music is wonderful and it was this music that took me back.
The next time I have this experience I hope to remember I don’t have to be afraid because the vessel needs to be empty before it can fill up again. And there will be joy.
Written October 2017
About the Author
Portrait of Sharyn – Photo courtesy of the author.
SHARYN BAMBER was raised in Dumont in a funeral home. Dancing was not the career her parents wanted for her. Determined to become a professional dancer, Sharyn attended the Edna McRae School of Dance in Chicago, then took her first job at the Chez Paree nightclub, over the objection of her teacher. “No nice girl would take a job in a place like that.”
It was there that the legendary performer, Pearl Bailey, spotted her. For Sharyn, joining the Pearl Bailey Show became an eye-opening experience, which she recounts in touching detail in her memoir, Mama Pearl & Me. Performing throughout the country—Los Angeles, Las Vegas, St. Louis, Missouri, Montreal, Canada, Washington, D.C. and New York City—was a dream come true, until she opted to go her own way.
Since that time, Sharyn has performed various roles onstage (A Doll’s House, Guys and Dolls, The Crucible) on television (Port Charles, General Hospital, The Bold and the Beautiful) and on film (Ghost Of Mississippi, A Little Sex, Moscow And The Hudson.) All the while, Sharyn has kept a day job as a court stenographer (a role which she also played onscreen (in The Lincoln Lawyer.) It is her love for the written word that gives her writing its stirring power.
Sharyn Bamber’s book Mamma Pearl & Me is available HERE at Amazon.
June 10, 2021
My head is spinning because of what has just happened
I bet Michael is biting his nails as he awaits my arrival.
On my way to him, I call 911 to report the shooting. I ask them, while trying to overcome the slight tremble in my voice, to send paramedics. I hope the victim can still be revived. I wonder about her, wonder if she has any rivals, any enemies, anyone with ill wishes, because to me she seemed like a meek, ordinary woman, with little drama in her life—but then again, who knows?
I feel dizzy. My head is spinning because of what has just happened—but despite the late hour and the chill in my bones, I get out of the Uber car at the corner of Cliff Drive and walk home the rest of the way. Why? Because I don’t want my boyfriend to spot the spill of blood outside the passenger window, or the glass fractures in the rear one, all around that bullet hole.
You may tell me to get my head examined—which I already did—but the last thing I need is his alarm over a missed hit. The important word here is missed, right? So, no need to lose sleep over it. After all, I’m safe and sound.
Well, safe. Not quite sure about the sound part.
As I approach my door, there is Michael, pacing back and forth, in and out with my golden retriever at his heels, following his every move.
Sniffing, Browny catches my scent. He gives me his welcome woof and wags his bushy tail all about with great gusto. But then, his brown eyes turn serious, soulful even, and his tail droops down, way down between his hind legs. He must be sensing the tension between Michael and me even before the first word is uttered.
Perhaps it’s the silence that gives it away.
Having cast a brief glance at the pale pink cellphone in my hand, Michael asks, “Where were you, Ash?”
By the agonized tone in his voice, he must already know not only where I’ve been but also what I’ve done. There’s little chance of hiding the truth from a smart man, and even less than that if he’s a hacker.
I brush past him and without taking off my coat, plop wearily down on the sofa, the one I got last year at a garage sale for next to nothing. It was too much to pay because to this day, I detest the flowery pattern and the smell—faint as it may be—of someone else’s stale perfume.
What I need is a hug, or at least a brief touch to stop me from shivering. Browny seems to sense it. He leaps onto my lap. I nuzzle his shiny nose and say to him what is intended for Michael. “I can’t hide anything from you, you know that, right?”
“But lately, you do try,” says Michael. He sets a cup of hot chocolate before me. “What did you do?”
“Don’t be angry with me.” I try to overcome the choked feeling in my throat. “I can explain.”
“Can you?”
(Volume III of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)
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Months after recovering from coma, Ash discovers that the man who performed her brain surgery has a questionable medical experience and a dark past. Should she expose him, at the risk of becoming vulnerable to his revenge?
"Held my attention throughout. I love Uvi. She is a master of suspense! Heather Jane Hogan does a great job of bringing the characters to life." Susan Paterson, Audible listener
June 8, 2021
Excellent! Vlad is a vegetable but Ash can't leave it alone
LISTENERDeedra
OverdueAsh Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance, Book 4By: Uvi PoznanskyNarrated by: Heather Jane HoganOverdue Overall 5 out of 5 starsPerformance 5 out of 5 starsStory 5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed: 06-08-21
Excellent! Vlad is a vegetable but Ash can't leave it alone.She visits him and when he wakes,she is again terrified.With covid and body bags all over,V finds his way out of the hospital while everyone is busy.I enjoyed this book. Heather Jane Hogan was a terrific narrator.I was given this free review copy audiobook at my request and have voluntarily left this review.'
June 5, 2021
Did they know the cause of death?
"Around us were funeral pyres—burning, hissing, spitting embers into the air—just downstream from where people were bathing.”
Around us, the darkness seems to deepen. It is void of distractions, so what she describes comes to life more vividly than it would, had I seen it with my own eyes.
“Within moments of our arrival,” she says, “sweat poured down our faces. We struggled to breathe and could barely see through the blasting hot air. Here was one body, shrouded in white cloth and immersed in leaping flames. Over there was another, draped in flowers and surrounded by relatives and friends. They offered prayers to help the departed on her final passage. And on the deck opposite us, workers took a tea break as another body was prepared for cremation.”
“The guide greeted the workers and asked if we had any questions for them. By now, we were somewhat in shock. Maybe the Indian sun, rising to a blaze, got to us. I asked if getting so close to death was stressful to them. They said no. Martha asked how hard it was to work in these furnace-like conditions. They just shrugged. Meanwhile, Susan looked searchingly all around the burning deck, as if she had lost something. Finally, she asked, ‘Did you know a Dr. Patel?’”
“Did they?”
“Yes, of course, they said. The one and only Dr. Patel! He was well known in these parts. Susan looked away as if she didn’t know what to say, except a muted, ‘I’m Dr. Patel’s wife.’ They bowed low to the ground before this woman, whose hair was now covered in ash, and assured her that they had taken good care of her husband.”
“Oh? What did that mean?”
“Well, according to our guide, many bodies are tossed into the river partially cremated or not at all, why? Because not every family can afford the cost of even the cheapest wood for the funeral pyre. Not so in the case of Dr. Patel.”
“Because his family was rich enough?”
“No, that wasn’t it. When his picture had appeared in the Varanasi Hindi Newspaper, everyone had been horrified to see him, in that blurry print, lying dead in the gutter. Families from villages near and far had contributed what they could to buy the necessary timber. Young and old had come to the funeral pyre to pay their respects. They had set their little gifts—herbs, oils, flowers, and trinkets—all around the corpse. He had been sent on his final voyage with great love.”
“Wait! Let me understand one thing,” I say. “Whoever it was, a picture of him had appeared in the papers? So, did Susan ask for it?”
Karishma nods. “Yes, she did, but none of the workers kept the Varanasi Hindi Newspaper for that day, or knew of any friends or relatives who did.”
“Did they know the cause of death?”
“Not really, and it didn’t really matter to them. These men, who dealt with death all day long, accepted the manner by which it came without ever questioning it.”
I shake my head in amazement.
Karishma goes on. “On the way back to the hotel, the guide apologized to Susan for not having kept the picture of the body in that gutter. At the time, there was no reason to keep it, and he’s sorry, so sorry for her husband’s untimely death.”
Ash Suspense Thrillers: Trilogy
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By popular demand, all three thrillers in one box!
Coma Confidential
Overkill
Overdose
"The surprises in the plot kept me eagerly listening."BookLover5000, Audible listener
