Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 51
February 27, 2020
New Cover for Virtually Lace!
I've designed a new cover because the expanded version of Virtually Lace is now volume I of the High-Tech Crime Solvers series, written by a power team of authors!
From USA Today bestselling author, Uvi Poznansky, comes a gripping techno-thriller, part of a multi-author series tied together by an interlocking cast of characters, all centered around the fantastic new promise of high technology and the endless possibilities for crime that technology offers, in a world where getting away with murder can be not only plausible, but easy…if you just know how.
Haunted by discovering the body of a beautiful dancer, Michael recreates the murder scene in a virtual reality simulation. Can he solve the mystery, before the man who killed Lace turns on the woman he loves?Suffering some memory loss due to a violent incident in her own past, Ash is unable to identify her attacker. Despite the persistent fear, she puts her life in danger to draw out the man she suspects of killing Lace, so as to avenge her murder. Meanwhile, the cops treat Michael as their prime suspect. The only reason they haven’t arrested him yet is an urgent rescue mission, as Laguna Beach is engulfed in flames. Will Michael manage to slip away from them and save his sweetheart before it’s too late? Will he catch the murderer?
★★★★★ "I started reading the book and couldn't put it down, so I finished it in one day."
Virtually Lace (Volume I of High-Tech Crime Fighters)Audible: US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DEAudiobook: Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ iTunesPaperback: Amazon
From USA Today bestselling author, Uvi Poznansky, comes a gripping techno-thriller, part of a multi-author series tied together by an interlocking cast of characters, all centered around the fantastic new promise of high technology and the endless possibilities for crime that technology offers, in a world where getting away with murder can be not only plausible, but easy…if you just know how.
Haunted by discovering the body of a beautiful dancer, Michael recreates the murder scene in a virtual reality simulation. Can he solve the mystery, before the man who killed Lace turns on the woman he loves?Suffering some memory loss due to a violent incident in her own past, Ash is unable to identify her attacker. Despite the persistent fear, she puts her life in danger to draw out the man she suspects of killing Lace, so as to avenge her murder. Meanwhile, the cops treat Michael as their prime suspect. The only reason they haven’t arrested him yet is an urgent rescue mission, as Laguna Beach is engulfed in flames. Will Michael manage to slip away from them and save his sweetheart before it’s too late? Will he catch the murderer?
★★★★★ "I started reading the book and couldn't put it down, so I finished it in one day."
Virtually Lace (Volume I of High-Tech Crime Fighters)Audible: US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DEAudiobook: Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ iTunesPaperback: Amazon
February 16, 2020
A thoroughly enjoyable tale
Dan Strawn took up creative writing after a long career in business and education. In addition to Dan's longer works, his stories and essays have been published in a number of editions of Idaho Magazine and Trail Blazer Magazine. I am delighted to find his review for my thriller,
Overdose
:
Dan Strawn5.0 out of 5 stars "… a thoroughly enjoyable tale …."Reviewed in the United States on February 14, 2020
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase
Overdose is Book 3 in the Ash Suspense thrillers with a Dash of Romance.
As with all Poznansky’s stories, I found it a thoroughly enjoyable tale that kept me turning the pages. Her first-person, present-tense narrative drops Overdose readers into the story on page one and doesn’t let them relax until the last word of the last scene.
Reminiscent of James Stewart and Grace Kelley in Hitchcock’s fifties classic, Rear Window, Michael and protagonist Ash parley a dose of romantic tension with devil-may-care risk taking. Dr. Patel is a first class, easy to dislike villain. Ash’s mom and dad play topsy-turvy supporting roles. Karishma, whether she’s in India or California, becomes a frequent and often unwilling prop in moving the story forward.And Susan … Poor Susan.
Then, there’s Poznansky’s tiny, tongue-in-cheek vignettes: “…I blush. Then I blush even deeper, annoyed for allowing myself to blush in the first place ….”
As usual, Poznansky’s writing in Overdose entertains, which, after all, is the primary purpose of any story in every genre.
A must read, I'm obliged now to read books 1 and 2 of the series.
Dan Strawn5.0 out of 5 stars "… a thoroughly enjoyable tale …."Reviewed in the United States on February 14, 2020
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase
Overdose is Book 3 in the Ash Suspense thrillers with a Dash of Romance.As with all Poznansky’s stories, I found it a thoroughly enjoyable tale that kept me turning the pages. Her first-person, present-tense narrative drops Overdose readers into the story on page one and doesn’t let them relax until the last word of the last scene.
Reminiscent of James Stewart and Grace Kelley in Hitchcock’s fifties classic, Rear Window, Michael and protagonist Ash parley a dose of romantic tension with devil-may-care risk taking. Dr. Patel is a first class, easy to dislike villain. Ash’s mom and dad play topsy-turvy supporting roles. Karishma, whether she’s in India or California, becomes a frequent and often unwilling prop in moving the story forward.And Susan … Poor Susan.
Then, there’s Poznansky’s tiny, tongue-in-cheek vignettes: “…I blush. Then I blush even deeper, annoyed for allowing myself to blush in the first place ….”
As usual, Poznansky’s writing in Overdose entertains, which, after all, is the primary purpose of any story in every genre.
A must read, I'm obliged now to read books 1 and 2 of the series.
February 5, 2020
Cover reveal: Overkill
Ta-Dah! Here is the cover of my upcoming thriller!
My cover is inspired by the moment Ash finds an access to a hidden room:
An hour later, the installer comes out again. “Miss?” And I say, “What now?” “I found a space.”“What? Excuse me?”“Well, while nailing a new tackless strip in the closet, I took a back swing with the hammer and—quite by accident—hit the wall behind me. I expected to feel brickwork. Instead, I felt plasterboard, which cracked against my blow. I was pissed at myself—oh, forgive me! I should be more careful with my language around you, Miss.”“No matter, just go on.”“Like I’ve said, I was angry with myself for the extra work I created. Then I noticed something behind the hole. So I knocked through and found a passageway to a spiral flight of stairs.”I follow him into the closet, which is now full of swirling dust, and lean in through the hole, thinking this hidden space should have been obvious to me right from the start. After all, I could see a little window up there from the outside, but thought nothing of it.There is a chalky taste in my throat, and the dust is clogging up my airways as I climb. The rises are high, and the industrial pole that holds the treads seems a bit unstable. Each one of them in turn clangs as I step up, higher and higher, but the sound soon dies away below me. The walls close in on me as it this is a trap. There is barely enough headroom and practically no light except at the top of the staircase. By the time I reach it, my trepidation grows. Here is a narrow, barely lit room, with a tiny window looking out across the backyard. It has a distant view of Clearwater High School. I recognize it by the slightly curved facade of that building, although the slogan etched on it is too far to read, even if I squint. But I do know it. Home of the Tornadoes. For a brief moment I consider turning this space into a new office. Finding it should feel great, should feel like adventure. Except for one thing.The dread.
★ Love Suspense? Prepare to be thrilled ★Preorder it now, be the first to read it: Overkill (Volume III of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)
Kindle ★ Apple
My cover is inspired by the moment Ash finds an access to a hidden room:
An hour later, the installer comes out again. “Miss?” And I say, “What now?” “I found a space.”“What? Excuse me?”“Well, while nailing a new tackless strip in the closet, I took a back swing with the hammer and—quite by accident—hit the wall behind me. I expected to feel brickwork. Instead, I felt plasterboard, which cracked against my blow. I was pissed at myself—oh, forgive me! I should be more careful with my language around you, Miss.”“No matter, just go on.”“Like I’ve said, I was angry with myself for the extra work I created. Then I noticed something behind the hole. So I knocked through and found a passageway to a spiral flight of stairs.”I follow him into the closet, which is now full of swirling dust, and lean in through the hole, thinking this hidden space should have been obvious to me right from the start. After all, I could see a little window up there from the outside, but thought nothing of it.There is a chalky taste in my throat, and the dust is clogging up my airways as I climb. The rises are high, and the industrial pole that holds the treads seems a bit unstable. Each one of them in turn clangs as I step up, higher and higher, but the sound soon dies away below me. The walls close in on me as it this is a trap. There is barely enough headroom and practically no light except at the top of the staircase. By the time I reach it, my trepidation grows. Here is a narrow, barely lit room, with a tiny window looking out across the backyard. It has a distant view of Clearwater High School. I recognize it by the slightly curved facade of that building, although the slogan etched on it is too far to read, even if I squint. But I do know it. Home of the Tornadoes. For a brief moment I consider turning this space into a new office. Finding it should feel great, should feel like adventure. Except for one thing.The dread.
★ Love Suspense? Prepare to be thrilled ★Preorder it now, be the first to read it: Overkill (Volume III of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)
Kindle ★ Apple
February 3, 2020
A scene inspired by soup? Yes! It's an Overkill
My upcoming thriller is Overkill. I won't tell you what it's about -- not yet -- but I would like to share with you how I use cooking in my books. When I write romance, a scene where the lovers cook together greatly enhances that warmth and the feeling of being home. When I write a thriller, a cooking scene helps to soften the rough edges, so you relax for a moment and prepare yourself for the next edge-of-your-seat twist.
My dear friend and USA Today bestselling author Aaron Paul Lazar, who is a great nature photographer and cook, shared this great recipe with me:
Ingredients:2-3 leeks, rinsed and sliced4-6 large potatoes, cut into cubes1 huge or two small rutabegas, cubed6 quarts chicken stock½ cup cream or evaporated milk (I actually use the whole can)Lots of Butter for sauteeing leeks and making croutons LOL.1 tablespoon flourFresh dill, ½ cup, finely chopped4 egg yolks, beatenSalt, Pepper, to tasteInstructions:
In large stock pot, sauté leeks in butter until goldenWhile above is cooking, peel and cut potatoes and parsnips. Place in bowl of water to keep fresh.Drain and discard water, add potatoes and rutabegas. Mix with leeks, cook on medium heat, covered, for about 12 minutesSprinkle flour over veggies and mix.Cook 1 minute.Add chicken stock and cook until vegetables are tender.Either with a blender or food processor, grind up the soup, but leave some large chunks for texture.Add dill, salt, pepper.Mix cream with egg yolks in a small bowl. Add a ladle or two of the hot soup mixture to the bowl, mix together, then add to the soup in a steady stream.Serve with homemade croutons. (Cut up bread and fry in butter with Italian herbs, garlic powder, onion powder. Bake on a cookie sheet for about 30 minutes at 350 or until crunchy.)Here is the passage inspired by this dish:
Seated on the couch next to his mother, the child is staring listlessly into thin air. Perhaps the horrific scene plays over and over again in his memory, from the moment the monarch butterfly flitted past his nose to that other moment, when his father was carried away under a blank sheet, and all that was left was a pool of dark blood being dragged into elongated smears by the wheels of the gurney. “Mike,” I say, trying to shake him out of his state of shock.He nods, but says not a word. Perhaps the shots that killed his father are still echoing in his mind time and time again. “Mike,” I say. “Help me. I need you.”He lifts his eyes to me. “You do?”I lean over to his ear and whisper, “We should prepare some food. None of us has eaten anything all day.”He hangs his head down between his fragile shoulders. “Not hungry.” “I understand, Mike, I really do.” I bend over and kiss the top of his head even as he turns it away. “But now, look at your Mom. She looks as if she’s about to faint. Help me take care of her.”He slips out of the squashy cushion and we go to the kitchen together. “I don’t think she’s ready for a big meal. It’ll get stuck in her throat. I know it. I feel the same.”“How about soup?”“Yeah,” he says. “Soup.”I open the refrigerator. In addition to some leftover clear broth, there are plenty of vegetables in the drawer. I take them out, rinse them, and set them next to the cutting board. Then I put a knife in his hand. “Go ahead,” I say. “Slice away.”At first he chops the leeks with bursts of anger, to the point that I begin to doubt myself, doubt the wisdom of entrusting him with a sharp tool. But then—once I sauté them in butter in a large stock pot, once they become golden and the kitchen fills with their aroma—his mood seems to soften. By the time he gets to the last leek, his moves are more controlled, which results in precise cubing.I cut yellow-fleshed rutabega by myself, because this root is too hard for him, and peel a few potatoes and parsnips. These go into a bowl of water, so they don’t brown by the time he’s ready to cut them.“Here you go,” he says, as he adds them to the pot. I set the cover on top of the pot and cook the vegetables for a few minutes, before sprinkling a dash of salt and bit of flower to thicken the mix. Then I add chicken stock and a bit of fresh dill. He takes a curious peek into the pot and sniffs the piping steam. His eyes begin to regain their shine when I ask him to fill the pepper mill.Mike makes the peppercorns bounce, most of them into the mill, some all over the kitchen counter. “I didn’t think I was hungry,” he says. “But now I am.”“Well,” I say, while grinding the soup in the blender. “You’ll have to wait a bit longer, it’s not ready yet.”Mike watches impatiently as I blend cream with egg yolks in a small bowl, ladle some hot soup mixture into the mix, then add it back to the soup in a steady stream.“Is it ready now?” he asks.“Almost,” I say. “How about some croutons?”“Mommy is the best at making them.” Mike runs to Tracy, who is still on the couch, still cupping her face in her hands. He touches the tips of her fingers ever so softly, till she removes them from her puffy eyes. “I need your help, Mommy.”“You do?”“Yes,” he says. “Croutons.”Tracy rises up and drags her feet into the kitchen, her face awfully pale. Somehow her hands know what to do, even if she seems absentminded. She cuts up bread and fries it in butter with Italian herbs, garlic powder, and onion powder. Then she spreads the croutons over a cooking sheet. Meanwhile, Mike unpacks his backpack in the living room. He bites the apple she tucked inside this morning. Boy, he must be hungry.“I don’t know why I’m taking all this so hard,” she says to me, under her breath. I take the cooking sheet from her hands and set it in the heated oven. “You loved him.”She looks out the kitchen window at the TV crews, then turns her back on them. “I did, but then I stopped trusting him. He had an affair and wouldn’t admit to it.”“Sorry.”She waves her hand, tries for a smile. “Ed and I separated two years ago. The divorce took effect last Valentine’s Day, at which time I turned our wedding picture to the wall and thought it was over. I was done with him. Why am I so brokenhearted? Why am I missing him so?”
From Overkill
coming soon...
My dear friend and USA Today bestselling author Aaron Paul Lazar, who is a great nature photographer and cook, shared this great recipe with me:
Ingredients:2-3 leeks, rinsed and sliced4-6 large potatoes, cut into cubes1 huge or two small rutabegas, cubed6 quarts chicken stock½ cup cream or evaporated milk (I actually use the whole can)Lots of Butter for sauteeing leeks and making croutons LOL.1 tablespoon flourFresh dill, ½ cup, finely chopped4 egg yolks, beatenSalt, Pepper, to tasteInstructions:
In large stock pot, sauté leeks in butter until goldenWhile above is cooking, peel and cut potatoes and parsnips. Place in bowl of water to keep fresh.Drain and discard water, add potatoes and rutabegas. Mix with leeks, cook on medium heat, covered, for about 12 minutesSprinkle flour over veggies and mix.Cook 1 minute.Add chicken stock and cook until vegetables are tender.Either with a blender or food processor, grind up the soup, but leave some large chunks for texture.Add dill, salt, pepper.Mix cream with egg yolks in a small bowl. Add a ladle or two of the hot soup mixture to the bowl, mix together, then add to the soup in a steady stream.Serve with homemade croutons. (Cut up bread and fry in butter with Italian herbs, garlic powder, onion powder. Bake on a cookie sheet for about 30 minutes at 350 or until crunchy.)Here is the passage inspired by this dish:
Seated on the couch next to his mother, the child is staring listlessly into thin air. Perhaps the horrific scene plays over and over again in his memory, from the moment the monarch butterfly flitted past his nose to that other moment, when his father was carried away under a blank sheet, and all that was left was a pool of dark blood being dragged into elongated smears by the wheels of the gurney. “Mike,” I say, trying to shake him out of his state of shock.He nods, but says not a word. Perhaps the shots that killed his father are still echoing in his mind time and time again. “Mike,” I say. “Help me. I need you.”He lifts his eyes to me. “You do?”I lean over to his ear and whisper, “We should prepare some food. None of us has eaten anything all day.”He hangs his head down between his fragile shoulders. “Not hungry.” “I understand, Mike, I really do.” I bend over and kiss the top of his head even as he turns it away. “But now, look at your Mom. She looks as if she’s about to faint. Help me take care of her.”He slips out of the squashy cushion and we go to the kitchen together. “I don’t think she’s ready for a big meal. It’ll get stuck in her throat. I know it. I feel the same.”“How about soup?”“Yeah,” he says. “Soup.”I open the refrigerator. In addition to some leftover clear broth, there are plenty of vegetables in the drawer. I take them out, rinse them, and set them next to the cutting board. Then I put a knife in his hand. “Go ahead,” I say. “Slice away.”At first he chops the leeks with bursts of anger, to the point that I begin to doubt myself, doubt the wisdom of entrusting him with a sharp tool. But then—once I sauté them in butter in a large stock pot, once they become golden and the kitchen fills with their aroma—his mood seems to soften. By the time he gets to the last leek, his moves are more controlled, which results in precise cubing.I cut yellow-fleshed rutabega by myself, because this root is too hard for him, and peel a few potatoes and parsnips. These go into a bowl of water, so they don’t brown by the time he’s ready to cut them.“Here you go,” he says, as he adds them to the pot. I set the cover on top of the pot and cook the vegetables for a few minutes, before sprinkling a dash of salt and bit of flower to thicken the mix. Then I add chicken stock and a bit of fresh dill. He takes a curious peek into the pot and sniffs the piping steam. His eyes begin to regain their shine when I ask him to fill the pepper mill.Mike makes the peppercorns bounce, most of them into the mill, some all over the kitchen counter. “I didn’t think I was hungry,” he says. “But now I am.”“Well,” I say, while grinding the soup in the blender. “You’ll have to wait a bit longer, it’s not ready yet.”Mike watches impatiently as I blend cream with egg yolks in a small bowl, ladle some hot soup mixture into the mix, then add it back to the soup in a steady stream.“Is it ready now?” he asks.“Almost,” I say. “How about some croutons?”“Mommy is the best at making them.” Mike runs to Tracy, who is still on the couch, still cupping her face in her hands. He touches the tips of her fingers ever so softly, till she removes them from her puffy eyes. “I need your help, Mommy.”“You do?”“Yes,” he says. “Croutons.”Tracy rises up and drags her feet into the kitchen, her face awfully pale. Somehow her hands know what to do, even if she seems absentminded. She cuts up bread and fries it in butter with Italian herbs, garlic powder, and onion powder. Then she spreads the croutons over a cooking sheet. Meanwhile, Mike unpacks his backpack in the living room. He bites the apple she tucked inside this morning. Boy, he must be hungry.“I don’t know why I’m taking all this so hard,” she says to me, under her breath. I take the cooking sheet from her hands and set it in the heated oven. “You loved him.”She looks out the kitchen window at the TV crews, then turns her back on them. “I did, but then I stopped trusting him. He had an affair and wouldn’t admit to it.”“Sorry.”She waves her hand, tries for a smile. “Ed and I separated two years ago. The divorce took effect last Valentine’s Day, at which time I turned our wedding picture to the wall and thought it was over. I was done with him. Why am I so brokenhearted? Why am I missing him so?”
From Overkill
coming soon...
January 30, 2020
A unique twist on an age old story...
I'm delighted to find this review for my historical fiction novel, A Peek at Bathsheba:
Kindred Spirit5.0 out of 5 stars A unique twist on an age old story...Reviewed in the United States on January 29, 2020
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase
Uvi Poznansky’s lyrical writing style paints a vivid story on the canvas of a reader’s mind. The first book I read by this artist/author drew me in on page one and, by the end of the saga, I was hooked as a lifelong fan.
A Peek At Bathsheba, The David Chronicles series, book two, is a spin on the familiar Bible story. Poznansky‘s subtle humor along with her talented ability to freshen an old story with a few modern twists gave this book a unique allure.
The reader is immediately thrust back through time to the middle-east in an era of castles and kings then drawn into a tale steeped in forbidden love and brutal vengeance...all dusted with a sprinkle of modern day influence.
I highly recommend A Peek At Bathsheba. The sheer fluidity of Uvi Poznansky’s unique style is a treat you won’t want to miss.
Kindred Spirit5.0 out of 5 stars A unique twist on an age old story...Reviewed in the United States on January 29, 2020
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase
Uvi Poznansky’s lyrical writing style paints a vivid story on the canvas of a reader’s mind. The first book I read by this artist/author drew me in on page one and, by the end of the saga, I was hooked as a lifelong fan.A Peek At Bathsheba, The David Chronicles series, book two, is a spin on the familiar Bible story. Poznansky‘s subtle humor along with her talented ability to freshen an old story with a few modern twists gave this book a unique allure.
The reader is immediately thrust back through time to the middle-east in an era of castles and kings then drawn into a tale steeped in forbidden love and brutal vengeance...all dusted with a sprinkle of modern day influence.
I highly recommend A Peek At Bathsheba. The sheer fluidity of Uvi Poznansky’s unique style is a treat you won’t want to miss.
January 28, 2020
Thrill ride
A short & sweet review for
Coma Confidential
Amazon Customer4.0 out of 5 stars Thrill rideReviewed in the United States on January 26, 2020
Format: Kindle Edition
This book was intriguing because I've known people in a coma. Presented a unique opportunity to imagine what they felt.
Amazon Customer4.0 out of 5 stars Thrill rideReviewed in the United States on January 26, 2020
Format: Kindle Edition
This book was intriguing because I've known people in a coma. Presented a unique opportunity to imagine what they felt.
January 25, 2020
I know you’re up to something. I can just feel it.
Coming back to life is a tough undertaking. I’m in over my head.Michael says I should put what happened out of my mind. Now that I’ve recovered, there’s no point in trying to bring back into memory my stay in the ER, only to dwell on it to no end. He does his best to distract me from my agonizing thoughts, not only by sending me chocolate, wine, and flowers but also by sweeping me off my feet, straight into his fantasy worlds. Michael invites me into imagined adventures, which he constructs using the virtual reality software he’s developing. There is nothing he enjoys better than riding upon the scaly backs of dinosaurs, surveying a prehistoric landscape, or flying a spacecraft through the milky way and beyond—but lately, I have lost interest in his dreams. First and foremost, I must contend with my own nightmares.My silence must sound painfully long on the cellphone. Facing it, Michael begs me to set aside my pride and ask him for help any time I need it. “Don’t cut me off.” “Have to,” I whisper. “I don’t feel like myself.”His voice is terribly worried. “If you try to go it alone, your exhaustion will force you into making costly mistakes.”I take a deep breath, then listen to the last remnant of it as it flutters in my throat. He’s right, of course—but I’m not going to tell him that, because compelled by the little devil in me, I’m just about to embark on my very first mistake. I must be free to do it, right? I must decide on my own course of action—even if to others, it may seem entirely wrong. At any rate, this mistake must be kept private. Michael should be the last person to know. I try not to sound evasive. “Sorry. Have to go now.”“Sweetheart,” he says, “I know you’re up to something. I can just feel it.” I blow him a kiss as his face fades out. After a while, the cellphone screen goes dark.
Excerpt from Overdose
Overdose (Volume III of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)Audible: US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DEAudiobook: Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ iTunesPaperback: Amazon
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?
"This book is exactly the kind of complex psycho-drama I've come to expect of Uvi Poznansky. The characters are full blown and full of contradictions and there are more plot twists than switchbacks on an Tibetan mountain side." - Aurora Dawn, VINE VOICE
Excerpt from Overdose
Overdose (Volume III of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)Audible: US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DEAudiobook: Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ iTunesPaperback: Amazon
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?
"This book is exactly the kind of complex psycho-drama I've come to expect of Uvi Poznansky. The characters are full blown and full of contradictions and there are more plot twists than switchbacks on an Tibetan mountain side." - Aurora Dawn, VINE VOICE
January 23, 2020
A bit of whimsy to counterbalance the passion and angst
Dan Strawn took up creative writing after a long career in business and education. In addition to Dan's longer works, his stories and essays have been published in a number of editions of Idaho Magazine and Trail Blazer Magazine. I am delighted to find his review for my WWII romance trilogy, Apart from War.
Dan Strawn5.0 out of 5 stars Your chance to read Uvi Poznansky at her literary bestReviewed in the United States on January 22, 2020
Format: Kindle Edition
Read Uvi Poznansky at her literary best in this bundle of three related stories. Follow Lenny, a World War II Marine, and Natasha, a concert-caliber pianist, through a passionate, tinged with war's intrigue romp of caring that end's three decades later with Alzheimer's Disease.
Poznansky's detailed reconstruction of the forties war years at home and on the war fronts of England and France, the strategic interludes of poetic phrasing, the strong supporting cast of interesting characters, the thread of romance that bind the three novels into one compelling tale – these put Apart With War on a par with her brilliant telling of the biblical David's life in The David Chronicles, heretofore in my mind, the most compelling of Poznansky's growing volumes of excellent work.
At appropriate times, Poznansky adds a bit of whimsy to counterbalance the passion and angst in the telling of Lenny and Natasha's romance.
“Just listening to you, Mrs. Horowitz, I'm getting better at my craft. Any more advice?”
“Yes. Avoid cliches like the plague.”
“I'm making a note of it.”
Apart From War entertains while showing readers the rigors of finding love and compassion in a world of angst and disruption. I highly recommend it.
Dan Strawn5.0 out of 5 stars Your chance to read Uvi Poznansky at her literary bestReviewed in the United States on January 22, 2020
Format: Kindle Edition
Read Uvi Poznansky at her literary best in this bundle of three related stories. Follow Lenny, a World War II Marine, and Natasha, a concert-caliber pianist, through a passionate, tinged with war's intrigue romp of caring that end's three decades later with Alzheimer's Disease.Poznansky's detailed reconstruction of the forties war years at home and on the war fronts of England and France, the strategic interludes of poetic phrasing, the strong supporting cast of interesting characters, the thread of romance that bind the three novels into one compelling tale – these put Apart With War on a par with her brilliant telling of the biblical David's life in The David Chronicles, heretofore in my mind, the most compelling of Poznansky's growing volumes of excellent work.
At appropriate times, Poznansky adds a bit of whimsy to counterbalance the passion and angst in the telling of Lenny and Natasha's romance.
“Just listening to you, Mrs. Horowitz, I'm getting better at my craft. Any more advice?”
“Yes. Avoid cliches like the plague.”
“I'm making a note of it.”
Apart From War entertains while showing readers the rigors of finding love and compassion in a world of angst and disruption. I highly recommend it.
January 20, 2020
A new multi author series, coming soon!!!
If you can not see this chirbit, listen to it here https://chirb.it/3KDB3A
Here is a first glimpse into what I've been up to lately: heading a new multi-author series where each author contributes a thriller, and—get this!—weaves in scenes with guest characters penned by the other authors in the team.
The principal characters in the series are all high-tech crime fighters, even if they are amateur sleuths. They are connected to several plots in this series, lending their state-of-the-art skills to solve several of the mysteries.
The authors are a team, and so are their characters!
With this in mind, I wrote several brand new dialogs for my thriller, Virtually Lace . This book will be taken out of the Ash Suspense Thrillers series and become volume 1 of the new series, High Tech Crime Fighters. I will also redesign the cover and create covers for all the new volumes in the multi-author series. The image below gives you a hint of the new design, it is on the drafting board as we speak!
My guest character is Michael Foreman, penned by Robert I. Katz in his upcoming new thriller, Virtually Undead.
Michael Foreman is 6'2" tall and thin, with long ‘surgeon's fingers.’ He's an excellent pianist, particularly classical, though he has a secret passion for boogie-woogie. He never played sports in school and doesn't appear physically formidable, aside from his height, but he has excellent eye/hand coordination and is more athletic than he looks. His parents are archaeologists, and often, when he was a child, dumped him either with his aunt's family or his grandparents as they went off on digs. He is somewhat emotionally repressed.
Here is one of his dialogs with my character Michael Morse(narrated by my wonderful voice artist, Don Warrick):
A sense of loneliness swept through him, perhaps because of the chill. When his cellphone started buzzing, he jumped at the opportunity to talk to someone, anyone, even if it was some wrong number. It wasn’t. It was Dr. Michael Forman, whose call the other day had been left unanswered. Why on earth would this successful man, who had such an illustrious education, be looking for a high school dropout like him?“Michael Morse?” said the doctor. His voice was raspy. Tired, too, perhaps because of spending long hours at the ER, or because of the mixed blessing of saving some of his patients, losing others. “Yes, that’s me.”“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for some time now. Let me introduce myself—”“I know who you are,” Michael blurted out.At the other end, the man gasped. “You do?”Michael recalled seeing his picture somewhere: a handsome fellow, older than him by five years or so, but already weighed down, perhaps by the gravity of his profession, his face pasty as if he rarely saw the light of day. In his eyes was an unmistakable look, the look of being tired, even bored with life, as if he would rather escape the all-too-bright glare of professional success and do something entirely different. Play the drums, maybe.“Doctor Forman,” said Michael, “a few months ago I read scores of your abstracts, which I found online. Fascinating research. Of course, I’m unqualified to fully understand it.”“Oh, I’m flattered,” the man said, in a somewhat uneasy manner. There was a repetitive sound at the other end. Perhaps he was drumming over his cellphone with those long surgeon fingers of his.The conversation came to a halt, so finally, Michael was moved to explain, “At the time, I wanted my girlfriend to get a second opinion from the best brain surgeon out there, but since then—”“She’s stopped dating you?”“She’s recovered.”In return Dr. Foreman gave a chuckle, or that’s how it sounded to Michael Morse. So, he felt compelled to clarify. “She’s awakened from her coma—but what caused it in the first place remains a constant source of pain. You see, Ash was raped and severely beaten. Even worse: to this day, she doesn’t know the identity of the attacker.”“Sorry to hear it,” said Dr. Foreman. “Of course, at this point I can’t do much to help—but I know someone who can.”“Really? Who?”“My cousin, Rachel Foreman. She’s in Chicago. A few years back, she worked at a series of jobs at non-profit organizations, devoting herself to helping abused women or women otherwise down on their luck. Let me text you her number.”“Thank you, but I don’t think Ash will want to talk with her.”“Why not?”Feeling suddenly choked, Michael uttered a sigh. “Because. Ash seems to think that no one can possibly understand what she’s gone through.”“Well then.” Dr. Foreman cleared his throat, which seemed to remove his cool, professional tone. This was personal. “Tell her that Rachel, too, suffered an ordeal of a horrific nature.” “Even so,” said Michael, shaking his head.“To make a long story short, my cousin was kidnapped on the highway, then fitted with a suicide vest loaded with TNT, part of a blackmail scheme against her family, you see. Moments after the bad guys got what they wanted, the vest exploded.”“Oh no!”“So, Rachel was scarred for life, in more ways than one. She’s still healing, which allows her to understand pain like no one else can.”“You say she’s in Chicago?”“She is, but nowadays, distance is immaterial. I know she can do wonders for Ash, even over the phone.”“I’ll give Ash her number,” said Michael Morse. “Who knows, maybe she’ll call.”He took a breath and hope filled him. Could his sweetheart emerge from that dark, tight place where she seems to have been trapped?
Meanwhile, Dr. Foreman said, “So, I’m glad to hear you don’t need my professional advice anymore. At this point, I need yours.”Michael was flabbergasted, but managed, somehow, to mutter, “Mine? About what?”“Virtual Reality,” said Dr. Foreman. “I’ve heard you’re unmatched in designing VR systems. Games, in particular.”Michael Morse couldn’t help but beam with pride. “I’ve done my own Dungeons & Dragons game, back in high school, and it was good enough to fool the senses, if I say so myself.”“So I’ve heard! A friend of mine—you may know him, Ralph Guthrie—told me it was the most brilliant, the most immersive version he’d ever played.”“Oh, Ralph likes to exaggerate,” said Michael, waving a hand as if to dismiss the compliment and at the same time knowing this is a failed attempt at humility. “I admit, there’s nothing I enjoy better than riding upon the scaly backs of dinosaurs, surveying some prehistoric landscape. You should try that yourself, sometime!” “Can we meet?”“Where?”Dr. Foreman sounded surprisingly ready for this question. “I’m attending a neurosurgical conference in San Diego and would appreciate it if you came to hear my talk.”Michael hesitated, so Doctor Forman pressed on, weaving in his technical jargon with great ease. “It’s about the interpretation of functional MRI in association with electroencephalography to map brain activity. Don’t worry, it’s more straightforward than it sounds. Afterwards, we can discuss Virtual Reality, perhaps over a glass of scotch at the bar.”In a blink, Michael found himself overcome by curiosity. Still, he had trouble picturing himself mingling with doctors and investors dressed in suits and ties at some elegant conference hall. “I don’t think I’ll fit in with your kind of crowd.”“Never mind that,” said Dr. Foreman. “I have a lot to discuss with you. I’m trying to develop systems to diagnose brain damage and compensate for it. Funds I can get, but need someone with your skills to make this dream a reality.”“You mean, virtually.”“That’s just what I mean. So, will you come, Michael?”“Let me think it over.”
Virtually Lace (Volume II of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)Audible: US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DEAudiobook: Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ iTunesPaperback: Amazon
Haunted by discovering the body of a beautiful dancer, Michael sets out to create a virtual reality simulation of her murder. Can he bring the mystery to life? Can he solve its clues in time, before the killer turns on the woman he loves, Ash?
Here is a first glimpse into what I've been up to lately: heading a new multi-author series where each author contributes a thriller, and—get this!—weaves in scenes with guest characters penned by the other authors in the team.
The principal characters in the series are all high-tech crime fighters, even if they are amateur sleuths. They are connected to several plots in this series, lending their state-of-the-art skills to solve several of the mysteries.
The authors are a team, and so are their characters!
With this in mind, I wrote several brand new dialogs for my thriller, Virtually Lace . This book will be taken out of the Ash Suspense Thrillers series and become volume 1 of the new series, High Tech Crime Fighters. I will also redesign the cover and create covers for all the new volumes in the multi-author series. The image below gives you a hint of the new design, it is on the drafting board as we speak!
My guest character is Michael Foreman, penned by Robert I. Katz in his upcoming new thriller, Virtually Undead.
Michael Foreman is 6'2" tall and thin, with long ‘surgeon's fingers.’ He's an excellent pianist, particularly classical, though he has a secret passion for boogie-woogie. He never played sports in school and doesn't appear physically formidable, aside from his height, but he has excellent eye/hand coordination and is more athletic than he looks. His parents are archaeologists, and often, when he was a child, dumped him either with his aunt's family or his grandparents as they went off on digs. He is somewhat emotionally repressed.
Here is one of his dialogs with my character Michael Morse(narrated by my wonderful voice artist, Don Warrick):
A sense of loneliness swept through him, perhaps because of the chill. When his cellphone started buzzing, he jumped at the opportunity to talk to someone, anyone, even if it was some wrong number. It wasn’t. It was Dr. Michael Forman, whose call the other day had been left unanswered. Why on earth would this successful man, who had such an illustrious education, be looking for a high school dropout like him?“Michael Morse?” said the doctor. His voice was raspy. Tired, too, perhaps because of spending long hours at the ER, or because of the mixed blessing of saving some of his patients, losing others. “Yes, that’s me.”“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for some time now. Let me introduce myself—”“I know who you are,” Michael blurted out.At the other end, the man gasped. “You do?”Michael recalled seeing his picture somewhere: a handsome fellow, older than him by five years or so, but already weighed down, perhaps by the gravity of his profession, his face pasty as if he rarely saw the light of day. In his eyes was an unmistakable look, the look of being tired, even bored with life, as if he would rather escape the all-too-bright glare of professional success and do something entirely different. Play the drums, maybe.“Doctor Forman,” said Michael, “a few months ago I read scores of your abstracts, which I found online. Fascinating research. Of course, I’m unqualified to fully understand it.”“Oh, I’m flattered,” the man said, in a somewhat uneasy manner. There was a repetitive sound at the other end. Perhaps he was drumming over his cellphone with those long surgeon fingers of his.The conversation came to a halt, so finally, Michael was moved to explain, “At the time, I wanted my girlfriend to get a second opinion from the best brain surgeon out there, but since then—”“She’s stopped dating you?”“She’s recovered.”In return Dr. Foreman gave a chuckle, or that’s how it sounded to Michael Morse. So, he felt compelled to clarify. “She’s awakened from her coma—but what caused it in the first place remains a constant source of pain. You see, Ash was raped and severely beaten. Even worse: to this day, she doesn’t know the identity of the attacker.”“Sorry to hear it,” said Dr. Foreman. “Of course, at this point I can’t do much to help—but I know someone who can.”“Really? Who?”“My cousin, Rachel Foreman. She’s in Chicago. A few years back, she worked at a series of jobs at non-profit organizations, devoting herself to helping abused women or women otherwise down on their luck. Let me text you her number.”“Thank you, but I don’t think Ash will want to talk with her.”“Why not?”Feeling suddenly choked, Michael uttered a sigh. “Because. Ash seems to think that no one can possibly understand what she’s gone through.”“Well then.” Dr. Foreman cleared his throat, which seemed to remove his cool, professional tone. This was personal. “Tell her that Rachel, too, suffered an ordeal of a horrific nature.” “Even so,” said Michael, shaking his head.“To make a long story short, my cousin was kidnapped on the highway, then fitted with a suicide vest loaded with TNT, part of a blackmail scheme against her family, you see. Moments after the bad guys got what they wanted, the vest exploded.”“Oh no!”“So, Rachel was scarred for life, in more ways than one. She’s still healing, which allows her to understand pain like no one else can.”“You say she’s in Chicago?”“She is, but nowadays, distance is immaterial. I know she can do wonders for Ash, even over the phone.”“I’ll give Ash her number,” said Michael Morse. “Who knows, maybe she’ll call.”He took a breath and hope filled him. Could his sweetheart emerge from that dark, tight place where she seems to have been trapped?
Meanwhile, Dr. Foreman said, “So, I’m glad to hear you don’t need my professional advice anymore. At this point, I need yours.”Michael was flabbergasted, but managed, somehow, to mutter, “Mine? About what?”“Virtual Reality,” said Dr. Foreman. “I’ve heard you’re unmatched in designing VR systems. Games, in particular.”Michael Morse couldn’t help but beam with pride. “I’ve done my own Dungeons & Dragons game, back in high school, and it was good enough to fool the senses, if I say so myself.”“So I’ve heard! A friend of mine—you may know him, Ralph Guthrie—told me it was the most brilliant, the most immersive version he’d ever played.”“Oh, Ralph likes to exaggerate,” said Michael, waving a hand as if to dismiss the compliment and at the same time knowing this is a failed attempt at humility. “I admit, there’s nothing I enjoy better than riding upon the scaly backs of dinosaurs, surveying some prehistoric landscape. You should try that yourself, sometime!” “Can we meet?”“Where?”Dr. Foreman sounded surprisingly ready for this question. “I’m attending a neurosurgical conference in San Diego and would appreciate it if you came to hear my talk.”Michael hesitated, so Doctor Forman pressed on, weaving in his technical jargon with great ease. “It’s about the interpretation of functional MRI in association with electroencephalography to map brain activity. Don’t worry, it’s more straightforward than it sounds. Afterwards, we can discuss Virtual Reality, perhaps over a glass of scotch at the bar.”In a blink, Michael found himself overcome by curiosity. Still, he had trouble picturing himself mingling with doctors and investors dressed in suits and ties at some elegant conference hall. “I don’t think I’ll fit in with your kind of crowd.”“Never mind that,” said Dr. Foreman. “I have a lot to discuss with you. I’m trying to develop systems to diagnose brain damage and compensate for it. Funds I can get, but need someone with your skills to make this dream a reality.”“You mean, virtually.”“That’s just what I mean. So, will you come, Michael?”“Let me think it over.”
Virtually Lace (Volume II of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)Audible: US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DEAudiobook: Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ iTunesPaperback: Amazon
Haunted by discovering the body of a beautiful dancer, Michael sets out to create a virtual reality simulation of her murder. Can he bring the mystery to life? Can he solve its clues in time, before the killer turns on the woman he loves, Ash?
January 11, 2020
The writing is exquisite!
David F. Berens is an independent publisher and author of multiple tropical thrillers. He has traveled up and down the East Coast and has been a tourist at every beach from Key West to Pawleys Island. Today he calls Knoxville, Tennessee home, but constantly dreams of sun and sand and ocean breezes. He has a beautiful wife, a rambunctious little girl and a happy little boy who remind him daily of why he is alive. I'm thrilled to find his review for my WWII Thriller, Marriage before Death:
David F. Berens5.0 out of 5 stars The writing is exquisite!Reviewed in the United States on January 10, 2020
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase
So, I'll be honest and tell you I have not read the first 4 books in this series, but I will soon. I was absolutely enthralled with the beautiful writing in this book. It is so vividly worded that I found myself thinking this would make an excellent movie!
This is a love story wrapped in a thriller and I was turning pages long into the night to see what happened next. I won't spoil the plot for you, but I will tell you this story takes place through flashbacks that are hindered by Alzheimer's—a disease that has touched my own family. One of the major characters, Natasha, struggles with the disease as the story unfolds and the author makes it so real that I often found myself nodding and fighting back tears.
Do yourself a favor and get this book. I feel like maybe the story would be EVEN RICHER with a reading of the other 4, so ... I'll be downloading those as well.
David F. Berens5.0 out of 5 stars The writing is exquisite!Reviewed in the United States on January 10, 2020
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase
So, I'll be honest and tell you I have not read the first 4 books in this series, but I will soon. I was absolutely enthralled with the beautiful writing in this book. It is so vividly worded that I found myself thinking this would make an excellent movie!This is a love story wrapped in a thriller and I was turning pages long into the night to see what happened next. I won't spoil the plot for you, but I will tell you this story takes place through flashbacks that are hindered by Alzheimer's—a disease that has touched my own family. One of the major characters, Natasha, struggles with the disease as the story unfolds and the author makes it so real that I often found myself nodding and fighting back tears.
Do yourself a favor and get this book. I feel like maybe the story would be EVEN RICHER with a reading of the other 4, so ... I'll be downloading those as well.
