Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 87

I came across this sweet gem

Just discovered a Goodreads review for my children's book Jess and Wiggle, check it out:

Shelves: children-s-books, my-kindle-books While looking at Miss Poznansky's site I came across this sweet gem! I had no idea she had children's books out! I absolutely love anything described as "whimsical" and this beautiful book is exactly that! Such a sweet story and the paintings along with it are absolutely stunning! Thank you Miss Poznansky for another wonderful experience! Looking forward to reading it to my daughter!! I know she will love it as much as I do!

Flickering, flaring, leaping into a shower of sparks

Michael peered out of the interrogation room. No one in the station seemed to pay any attention to him. No one cared that he had been so obedient, so mindful of the authorities as to stay put. Angry with himself for having waited that long, he walked with a slow, measured step towards the entrance door, flung it open, and bolted out. The outside air assaulted his nostrils with a bitter smell. Smoke.By the time he arrived at the crooked stairs leading down to Bull’s studio, the view around the city had started to darken. Plumes of black ash were billowing into the sky. In the distance, across a break in the cliffs, fire licked the bottoms of several tree trunks. It was playful at first, flickering, flaring, leaping into a shower of sparks. Then it wound itself around to the top of the trees, like a creepy serpent. Before you knew it, the flame blazed into an inferno. With a crackle, it jumped over Pacific Coast Highway and started devouring everything in its way. Up the street, fire fighters started to knock at every door in the neighborhood, urging residents to leave. Michael leapt down the stairs, two at a time. His body pulsating with heat, he pushed the door open and ran into the studio, knocking over a few art pieces that stood in his way, only to discover that his fear came true. He was too late. Ash wasn’t there, and neither was Bull. Thinking he knew where they might have headed, Michael hurried back out, not before noticing that her cellphone had been left behind, in pieces. To his horror, it seemed to have been purposely crushed, perhaps by the weight of the bronze piece. It now stood amidst the fragments, twisting around itself as if to direct a victorious glare at him.
Excerpt from Virtually Lace


What is this novel about, you ask?
Haunted by the memory of Lace, a beautiful dancer whose throat has been slit, 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, Ashley?Suffering memory loss due to a horrific incident in her own past, Ash is unable to identify her attacker. Despite the persistent fear, she puts her life in danger. In a nail-biting twist, she draws out the man who killed Lace, so as to avenge her murder. Meanwhile, the cops treat Michael as their prime suspect for the crime. The only reason they haven’t arrested him yet is an urgent call for their assistance in a rescue, as Laguna Beach is engulfed in flames. On his way back to the murder scene, will Michael manage to slip away from them and save his sweetheart, before it’s too late? And will he get the murderer?


My new novel, Virtually Lace, is on the drawing board. Stay tuned for more glimpses into it and for the upcoming publication date...

Strong Second Volume in this Amazing Series!

LISTENERJoseph MahoneyGolden Valley, AZ USA
187reviews
340helpful votes
296ratings

The White PianoStill Life with Memories, Book 2By: Uvi PoznanskyNarrated by: David Kudler Strong Second Volume in this Amazing Series! Overall  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️    5 out of 5 starsPerformance  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️    5 out of 5 starsStory  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️    5 out of 5 starsReviewed: 07-22-18Story/Attention Holding

Still Life with Memories, Book 2 by Uvi Poznansky narrated by David Kudler this is an amazing second edition into the author’s series. I was just amazed by the change in perspective the author used when writing the story from Ben’s point of view. The way 2 people see the event differently is so startling.

The background on the life of the family as well filled in so many wholes I did not realize had existed. The lies Lenny tells Ben about his mother and his reasoning for them. Anita and Lenny’s relationship, the deeper meaning of it, and the symbolism throughout the story all make this such a great story. This holds the listener's attention. The story may not be for everyone this is definitely a genre story for fans for women’s fiction and literary fiction. If you have an open mind and are willing to expand your listening palate try Ms. Pozansky’s series. It is a deep and compelling literary treat. And this is coming from a guy whose normal listening fare is post-apocalyptic fiction, horror, and mystery.

Narration/ProductionValue

The narration for the audiobook was provided by David Kudler. This is the first time that I have heard an audio performance by Mr. Kudler. He did an excellent job with this varied cast of established characters. He does an excellent job of matching voices to the characters and making them his own. The production value of this audiobook is excellent it has wonderful crispness and clarity through the entire production. I was given this free review copy audiobook at my request and have voluntarily left this review.

All my sorrows are about to melt away

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Now they turn on a big kiln, pick up their tools and, one by one, come over to surround us. They snip at the coils and break Adam free. I can see only a glimpse of him between their shoulders. He strains, in his own quiet manner, to give me one last look. They lift him away, after which I lose sight of him forever. I can remember very little after that. The light in this place is so white, so intense, it fills me with such radiance that I am forced to close my eyes. The air is hot, and getting hotter, and yet I can feel a shiver running through me. Something is changing here, inside and out. The Creator is coming. She is near me, around me. I have no doubt. A big flame of fire flares up, engulfing me. I feel it in my veins, swelling in me like a flow of molten bronze. I hear it in the crackling of embers from below. That hazy glow of my earlier existence is finally here, burning brighter than ever. I am grateful to go back. No longer am I stuck here, in a place of doubt. No longer am I inflicted with sensing shadows. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. All my sorrows are about to melt away. In this inferno, nothing will be left behind me but an empty shell. I fly into the brilliance. I am ablaze. I am in bliss. For where I am going I shall be reborn.  
Clay figure in Twisted

The sculpture in the image, interposed onto the image of fire in a kiln, is a bronze cast of my own art. The figures in it inspired the story I, Woman in my book Twisted.


★ Love Horror? Treat yourself to a thrill ★Twisted FREE Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Google Play ★ Smashwords Audiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ Audible Paperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&Noble 

"More than once Uvi caught me by surprise with the twists and turns in this lovely volume. It is at once surreal and yet tied into experiences of daily life. Transported into other dimensions, realities behind everyday scenes, I finished the tales and was intrigued and satisfied."  - Paul DeBlassie III, Author

Adventures in the French Resistance

LISTENERAurora Dawn
75reviews
36helpful votes
84ratings

Marriage Before Death: WWII Spy ThrillerStill Life with Memories, Book 5By: Uvi PoznanskyNarrated by: Don Warrick Adventures in the French Resistance Overall  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
    5 out of 5 starsPerformance  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
    5 out of 5 starsStory  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
    5 out of 5 starsReviewed: 07-17-18
In this fifth installment of the story of their lives, Lenny relates a story of his and Natasha's time in France during the Second World War. Told with that bittersweet nostalgic magic that only Poznansky can capture, he recalls love and bravery and abject terror, counterpointed against the knowledge that the wife he adores is quietly but ever more certainly slipping away from him.
Another heart-wrenchingly beautiful story that you won't be able to leave until the very end.

A peek in my studio

Enter my studio to see the model of my sculpture, which I cast later into bronze. Working on this sculpture, the dancer became so real to me that I could hear their voices, which inspired me to write their duet as a poem:


He: From dust you gather meI beg you on my knee Look away—imagine me, The way I used to beNow shadows spread upon meStain by stain I shiver. Touch me, heal meMake me whole again
She: I see him in my mindHe moves, he stirs tonight But when I come to him, Our limbs entwined That arm wraps around me It holds me and controls me—Can we take flight?
He:In darkness take a leap For trust is blindImagine me: I'll lift you, Caress you and possess you Imagine us: In passion and in sweepOur limbs entwined
She: Pressed against that ribcageWhere not a breath escapesNot a sigh of sorrow, Not a cry of rageHow can I bear his silence When shadows grow immense—
He: If shadows peel and lift awayIf ever you break free From my embraceIf you catch sight of meIn light of day—Go... Leave me here, My grace,In my debris—
She: In my dream I'm soaringAmidst a flap of wingsMy heart so light, So happy, Forgetting him, ignoringThat arm  Wrapped around me, How heavily it clings

The creation of this piece also inspired my story, I, Woman. The poem and the story are included in my book Twisted.
★ Love Horror? Treat yourself to a thrill ★Twisted FREE Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Google Play ★ Smashwords Audiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ Audible  Paperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&Noble 

Want to win these prizes? Join us!

My author friends have joined forces with me!We bring you an amazing collection of 21 Romantic Suspense stories.

We offer scores of prizes for you.  For a chance to win themJoin our  Love Under Fire  bonanza event
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At our Grand Finale, we'll give away these prizes:
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The blaze of the fire would be mirrored in my father’s eyes

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The sun scorched overhead, beating upon the steep, rocky slopes. I hesitated. I looked back. The peaks of the tents had shrunk away. A short time later, they disappeared completely from view. The notion of asking my brother—no, begging him—to forgive me, crossed my mind. I thought of retracing my footprints and perhaps, finding my way back home, only to realize, by nightfall, that those footprints had led me astray. I must have been walking around in circles that entire day, which made me feel helpless. I thought that in the future, if I was lucky enough to have one, I could never become more helpless than this. How wrong was I then! Now I laid down under some wilted bushes, using a rock for a pillow. So miserably disgraced, so alone was I, that I wished to bury myself right there in the sand. A great blackness yawned upon me. It was like no other night sky I had ever seen before. Back home, I remembered, it would be lit up by the campfire, around which the family would gather for the evening meal. The faces of the young girls, sitting with their skirts spread on the woven mat, would blush. You could see their cheeks flaming as they giggled, hinting at the shepherds, who would rise up then, stand in a loop and play their flutes, made out of reeds, or strum their stringed instruments, made out of sheep sinews. The blaze of the fire would be mirrored in my father’s eyes, and looking at him, you could barely believe he was going blind. His rich voice would lead us in songs, which turned, gradually, into wordless melodies, as the wine cask was passed from one hand to another, making its way several times around the fire.At bedtime you could spot, through the canvas of your tent, the glitter of my mother’s candlelight. Her soft, charming voice would bid goodnight to you, goodnight to all. Then, from the maidservant’s quarters, you could hear the gurgle of a baby, falling asleep on his mother’s breast. And later, the whispers of love making from one tent, then another, followed by peaceful rhythms of breathing. All around you, men and women stirring, from time to time, in their sleep. The glow of this memory was as tempting and as fanciful as delusion. I ached for warmth, and wished I could leap, somehow, over time and distance, and find my way back into that circle. I wished I could sit there by the fire pit, and stretch out my hands, even blacken them by touching the dying embers. Now in this place, the moonless sky was completely devoid of light, and for the first time in my life I was forced to listen, really listen, to the desert. 
Here was the void. The silence of God.
Jacob in A Favorite Son


★ Love literary fiction? Treat yourself to a gift ★A Favorite SonAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ AudiblePaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&Noble

"There is so much I enjoyed about this book, that I do not quite know where to begin. I read somewhere that Uvi Poznansky "paints with her words" and that she has a background in architecture. FAVORITE SON shows these with a strong building technique in her story and the colorful play with her words."  - Maria Catalina Egan, Author

In a flash, it all crumpled into ashes

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I used to think that ‘throwing caution to the wind’ was an overblown expression—until I found myself doing just that. I hurried in the direction of the glow and then, upon arriving at the village square, found the sight of the fire to be nothing short of hypnotizing. So did a crowd of Frenchmen.There was not a young man among them in sight. Most of them seemed to be in their fifties and sixties. Their faces reddened by blows of heat, there they stood, watching the flames engulf a building with a frightening roar.  
There was a bursting of timber as the door collapsed into the blaze, its mass reduced to embers. Hot air rippled, one sheet over another, over the equipment inside, which included telegraph and encoding machines, as well as a large printing press. First, its metal turned white-hot. Then it started melting in a tortuous twist, as if trying to release flaming letters. Stacks of typed leaflets were arranged in one corner of the space; stacks of newspaper in the other. Over them, flying cinders swirled in the air, sparking fire. And in a flash, it all crumpled into ashes.“There goes Le Populaire,” said one man, with a sigh. And another echoed, “Oui, there it goes.”“One more underground newspaper, destroyed.”“The mere existence of it used to show us dissenters that we are not alone.” “Now, alone we are.”I stood in the back, wondering why none of them made a move, no one carried buckets of water to douse the flames. I mean, with Paris newspapers under tight German supervision, why not try to save this place? Why not help the French Resistance get their word out? Should there not be an alternative to controlled press? Were these villagers immobilized by shock—or else, was there some other explanation, which I failed to grasp, for being so passive?The sun had not risen yet, but every facade around the square was brightly lit. It was in that glow that I noticed something, a curious image that drew me away from the crowd, toward the opposite side. Pasted across the wall was a Nazi propaganda poster. At the top, in large capital letters, was a one-word question directed at the French people: Liberateurs? Are you foolish enough to consider these criminals, these members of the L'Armée du crime who are wanted dead or alive, your liberators? Take note, a reward is offered for their capture!There they were, displayed under that title for all to see: five coarse, black-and-white photographs, under which were five names of Resistance fighters. The picture in the center was the one to which I was drawn. It gave me a pang of distress. Amazingly this young, pale woman with a defiant gaze in her eyes looked a lot like Natasha—but no, that could not be! My vision must have deceived me, perhaps because of the shadows dancing across the poster, or the flames behind me, or the smoke, or something. After all, my sweetheart was elsewhere. She was far, far away.The only thing that I found more surprising than this remarkable resemblance was this: the label under her picture. It said, Rochelle.In confusion I shook my head, or rather, tried to do so—only to sense that something, some hard thing, was blocking me. It pressed directly against my temple. I heard the sound of a hammer being cocked, being pulled back into position so it might strike when released by the trigger. By that sound I knew what it was:The barrel of a gun.
Lenny in Marriage before Death


★ Love romantic suspense? Find your thrill ★The complete series:Still Life with Memories
Volume V: Marriage before DeathAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon US ★ Amazon UK ★ AudiblePaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&Noble

"The story of how they survived such horrors is extraordinary. Also extraordinary is the author's deep and gorgeous writing, interweaving desperation with descriptions of 'beautiful light streaming from high-arched, stained glass windows, rattling in the duel between the German artillery and ours.'"  -  J.A. Schneider, author of suspense and psychological thrillers

Filled with beautiful art, this short book tells a story

A short and sweet review for Inspired by Art: The Edge of Revolt:

5.0 out of 5 stars InspiringByVion July 8, 2018Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase Filled with beautiful art, this short book tells a story. Inspiring you to read the story in the Bible. I highly recommend.