C.D. Hersh's Blog, page 145
May 31, 2016
Wednesday Special Spotlight Perfectly Planned Linda O’Connor
Shines on
Perfectly Planned
She has it all Perfectly Planned . . .
Chloe Keay is on the hunt for the perfect sperm donor, but who knew it would be this hard? So many things to consider in a father – sure height and hair color are important, but what about the real issues. How does he feel about bagpipe music? Does he buy the extended warranty? Skittles or M&Ms? She doesn’t want an average Joe. She’s narrowed it down to two candidates and has the perfect plan to pick the heir and the spare.
Staff Sergeant Rip Logan, head of the elite Tactics and Rescue Unit, has a gut feeling that Chloe Keay is trouble. She’s a sexy little spark plug who radiates innocence, but it doesn’t jibe with her suspicious behavior and probing questions. The fact that he’s attracted irritates him. What exactly is she after? And should he go with his gut or follow his heart?
Planning for love – what could possibly go wrong?
Buy link: http://amzn.to/22RThWn
Excerpt from Perfectly Planned:
For pretty much everything her parents needed, from house repairs to health questions, they had a child on speed-dial. And bonus, funds flowed freely to pay for their place in a retirement home.
Perfectly planned.
That’s the kind of retirement plan Chloe Keay was after. Maybe not six kids. Six was a bit of a handful, especially flying solo. But she could handle one, at least to begin with.
It would’ve been easier with Roger, but oh well, on to Plan B.
Sperm bank.
She had been poked and prodded and deemed a healthy receptacle.
But, oh how to choose which little swimmers to let loose? She needed smart (had to earn the big bucks), features similar to hers (hair color notwithstanding), family oriented (obviously had to love their momma), and not too nasally a voice (very annoying). They needed to be screened for reverse traits—ones that would make her wish she could reverse the whole process.
She needed more than the measly amount of info available online.
No problem. She had applied for a job as a weekend receptionist at the sperm bank, interviewed quite successfully (naturally), and waited patiently while they narrowed down their selection.
She had started three weeks ago.
The job was straightforward, certainly not as creative as painting. In fact, it was kinda slow. She liked the music in the waiting room, though, especially with her mouse clicking. She could get quite a beat going. Left click. Right click. Left-right-right click. She could see it catching on. In fact, it should be posted on YouTube because it’d give her something to watch at work, too.
She hadn’t lost sight of her plan, but it wasn’t obvious where all the data was stored. She had opened several files, but it wasn’t until she rocked and clicked to The Jaded Gentlemen, that lo and behold, the folder popped up.
Now, she wasn’t a computer genius or anything, but who uses 1234 as their password? You’d think all that confidential information about sperm donors would be behind a bigger firewall. Nope.
So, her two top matches now had names.
4652 Ripley Logan
2485 Jared Clayton
A few social media clicks later, and voilà, she set up friend requests with both. Even better, it looked like Ripley’s baseball team had a rain-date game on Friday, seven o’clock, right here in Rivermede at Fairfield Park.
He was sporty. She clicked a happy beat.
She could go to the game and check him out. Try to learn more about him, but keep it quiet, fly under the radar.
She spun around in her chair and smiled. Perfect.
Buy Link: http://amzn.to/22RThWn
Bio:
Linda O’Connor started writing a few years ago when she needed a creative outlet other than subtly rearranging the displays at HomeSense. It turns out she loves writing romantic comedies and has a few more stories to tell. When not writing, she’s a physician at an Urgent Care Clinic (well, even when she is writing she’s a physician, and it shows up in her stories
May 30, 2016
Tell Again Tuesday Putting Short Stories into Multi-Author Anthologies for More Exposure
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
Putting Short Stories into Multi-Author Anthologies for More Exposure (and more money)
Anthologies have been around for a long time, and it’s no surprise that indie authors are editing and publishing them, along with all other types of fiction.
We’ve talked before about how it’s tough to do well with short stories, in part because readers often prefer longer fiction, and in part because the minimum price you can list your ebooks for on Amazon and the other stores (without doing free) is 99 cents. When you sell entire novels for 3.99 or thereabouts, it can be tough to ask a dollar for a story that might only be 5,000 words and take 20 minutes for someone to read.
I thought I’d present another option, something that . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:
http://www.lindsayburoker.com/tips-and-tricks/short-stories-and-anthologies/
May 26, 2016
Friday Features Maggie’s Fork in the Road Linda Bradley
Finds out about
Maggie’s Fork in the Road
By
Linda Bradley
Today award-winning author Linda Bradley shares with us the inspiration and
background for her Montana Bound Series of books. Her debut novel, Maggie’s Way was a Romance Readers’ Choice Award Summer 2016 Finalist and is a 2016 Booksellers Best Finalist. The newest, Maggie’s Fork in the Road, is due to release June 30th and we wish her success. Here’s Linda.
What do you get when you cross a middle-aged woman who is a cancer survivor caught in a hiccup of life with a pesky eight-year-old on a mission to understand her Hollywood mother? You get a cast of misfits waiting to steal your heart as they live life, each on their own soul-searching mission.
I found my voice when I brought Maggie Abernathy and Chloe McIntyre to life. The inspiration for my Montana Bound Series comes from my own struggle with breast cancer three years ago. I pondered the old cliché, write what you know and thought, why not? So, I did. The first book, Maggie’s Way was originally meant to be a stand alone but as I neared the end I knew Maggie’s story was far from over.
In book two, Maggie’s Fork in the Road, youngster, Chloe McIntyre doesn’t take a backseat to anyone. And once again, I thought about, write what you know. And I know seven and eight-year-olds as I teach second grade full-time. In my twenty-seven years of being in a classroom, I’ve met a brood. Some readers ask me if Chloe is inspired by a particular student and my answer is, no. She’s a product of all my students. In the whirlwind of time, and it does seem that way as I grow older, children seem to be much savvier than when I began teaching. My students aren’t the only ones getting an education. I may be teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic, but they’re teaching me a thing or two along the way.
Writing Maggie Abernathy is a great deal of fun. Her sarcastic wit and hearty dreams make for intrigue, but she wouldn’t be her without the eccentric characters that drive her life. Each have their own tribulations and through their interactions find themselves with an ironclad bond, but just when they’ve become connected, their dreams drive them in different directions and it’s never easy to say goodbye.
Life is an adventure. Creating stories that connect with readers is the adventure I dreamed of years ago. Maggie’s Fork in the Road will be out June 30th and the book three, Maggie’s Montana will be out September 28th. It’s an honor to share them with readers across the globe. Enjoy!
Maggie’s Fork in the Road Blurb:
Maggie Abernathy learns that pesky neighbors, John and Chloe McIntyre are moving to Montana. The only problem is…she can’t fathom living without them now that they’ve stolen her heart. While trying to digest the news and accept John’s decision to leave Michigan, Maggie ventures to Chicago with Chloe to see Chloe’s Hollywood mother in a photo shoot, where the three kindle a quirky bond making it even harder to say goodbye. With the support of Maggie’s meddling mother, best friend Judy, and a surprise visit from Montana rancher, Winston Ludlow McIntyre, Maggie begins to wonder which fork in the road leads home.
Buy Links:
Maggie’s Fork in the Road will be available on Amazon.
Where to find Linda:
May 24, 2016
Wednesday Special Spotlight Breakwater Beach
Shines on
Breakwater Beach
Buy link http://amzn.to/1VfwnZR
BLURB – Liz Levine is convinced her recently deceased husband is engineering the sequence of events that propels her into a new life. But it’s sea captain Edward Barrett, the husband that died over a century ago, who has returned to complete their unfinished business. Edward’s lingering presence complicates all her plans and jeopardizes a new relationship that reawakens her passion for life and love. What are Captain Barrett’s plans for his wife, and for the man who is the new object of her affections?
Excerpt:
Mike tipped his hand in salute and went out to his truck. “Morning,” he said to Mae who was getting out of her van.
“Good morning’ to ya, too,” she replied, looking at him askance. “Come along, lassies, still plenty to do.”
Mae looked at Liz standing in the doorway wearing Mike’s sweatshirt. Her eyes traveled from Liz’s hair, still damp and caked with mud and sand, all the way down to her bare feet.
“Ehh . . . a change in plans, girls. We’ll start downstairs today. First, polish the woodwork and then clean all the fixtures. Then upstairs, after the missus has time to get dressed.”
Mae herded them out of the foyer then followed Liz upstairs, smiling like she was about to solve the crime of the century. “From the looks of ya, that was one wild night on the beach. Now ya best be hoppin’ into the tub after passin’ me the nightie. I’ll soak it and get that mud out before it’s ruined. I’ll freshen the big guy’s sweatshirt, too.”
“It was nothing like that, Mae.” Liz couldn’t bear the thought of having to explain this to another person she knew from another life.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not passin’ any judgment. To be honest, I’m relieved. Ya took my advice. There’s nothin’ wrong with livin’, Liz.”
Buy link http://amzn.to/1VfwnZR
Bio:
Carole Ann Moleti lives and works as a nurse-midwife in New York City, thus explaining her fascination with all things paranormal, urban fantasy, and space opera. Her nonfiction focuses on health care, politics, and women’s issues. But her first love is writing science fiction and fantasy because walking through walls is less painful than running into them.
Books One and Two in the Unfinished Business series, Carole’s Cape Cod paranormal romance novels, Breakwater Beach and The Widow’s Walk, were published by Soulmate. Book Three, Storm Watch, is expected in 2017.
Urban fantasies set in the world of Carole’s novels have been featured in Haunted: Ten Tales of Ghosts, Seers: Ten Tales of Clairvoyance, Beltane: Ten Tales of Witchcraft, and Bites: Ten Tales of Vampires.
Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bfNver
http://amazon.com/author/carolemoleti
https://www.facebook.com/caroleannmoleti
http://plus.google.com/103609323247390103301
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomCmoleti
May 23, 2016
Tell Again Tuesday What’s in a Genre? Paranormal Romance vs. Urban Fantasy
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
What’s in a Genre? Paranormal Romance vs. Urban Fantasy
Hello my lovelies! So I decided to make a few changes to my blog this year. You may have already seen the Monster Monday posts. Now on Wednesdays I will try to have posts related to writing.
So I decided to start out with a subject that I’ve been asked about many times. What genre is my Paranormal/Fantasy/Sci-fi book supposed to be in? Where is the list of classifications? Where do we draw the line when it comes to gore, sex, cyber mechanics? Where do I fit?
For the rest of the blog go to:
http://rebekahganiere.com/2015/01/07/writing-wednesday-whats-in-a-genre/
May 19, 2016
Friday Features Ryan Jo Summers Upon the Tide
Today is
Ryan Jo Summers
Author of
Upon the Tide
Multi published author Ryan Jo Summers is with us today to share what inspired her to write Upon the Tide. Take it away Ryan Jo:
Years ago I loved the TV show ‘Riptide’ with Perry King and Joe Penny. Later it was Don Johnson in Miami Vice. What drew me to the weekly series was mostly the boats. In both cases one of the main star’s characters lived on houseboats. I thought that was the most incredible way to live. I don’t recall much about the plots of the shows but I remember those boats. Then country music artist Dierks Bentley arrived on the music scene, and he lived on a houseboat. Why did these guys have all the luck?
Thinking it so unfair, I created a character, Kade Wyatt, and had him living on a houseboat called ‘The Hightide’. I fell in love with that trawler and went aboard as frequently as possible in my dreams.
Now, since I work security for a fashion retailer, I am exposed to fashion and clothing to the point of almost being force fed it. However, that does have it advantages. I created a heroine who lived and breathed fashion and clothing as much as my work environment did and plunked her into Kade’s world. A fish out of water? In the Caribbean.
Interestingly, work became helpful for dressing fashion conscious Piper. I was working on a beach dance scene and took a break to go to work for the afternoon. Walking into the back area, I spotted some dresses hanging up, staged to be stored. Literally, I stopped. Immediately I envisioned Piper wearing one of those dresses at the beach and what it would do to poor Kade. I wrote that scene that night when I got home and the beach party is still one of my favorites.
Hook: Tossed together by happenstance, fleeing for their lives and falling in love under the Caribbean sun as paradise turns deadly.
Blurb: New York fashion designer, Piper Kincaid, just wanted to have a pleasant visit with her cousin down in Florida. That was before she and handsome beach bum, Kade Wyatt, become the targets of a gang of robbers and killers. Fleeing for their lives aboard Kade’s big boat, they experience risk, surprise, mystery and romance during the great Caribbean boat chase. However, the biggest surprises are waiting for them back at port.
Excerpt:
Kade moved over to the window, lost in thought for a moment. “I’m not quite ready to share that with anyone, especially someone I just met today,” he said softly, picking up his hat and toying with it before tossing back to the sofa.
“I don’t even know you,” Piper said pointedly.
“You know me,” he corrected, working up to a grin. “We’ve been robbed together, we’ve been shot at together, now we’re stranded here together. Tonight we are going to sleep together.” His grin reached full size at that. “How much more would you like to know me?”
Links:
WEBSITE: http://www.ryanjosummers.com
BLOG: https://www.summersrye.wordpress.com/
FB: www.facebook.com/pages/Ryan-Jo-Summers-author-page/312875648810797
Buy Link: https://amzn.com/B01FFTOD26?ie
May 17, 2016
Wednesday Special Spotlight Wedding Day
Looks at
Wedding Day
Blurb:
Famous Bull Rider Dallas Day met Cassie Bailey briefly in high school, but her plain looks and quiet personality left no lasting impression on him. Cassie, however, couldn’t say the same about Dallas.
Their paths cross again ten years later when Dallas is home recovering from an injury, and Cassie is the only veterinarian who volunteers her services at the home-town rodeo. She’s jump-starting her new practice, and every eligible man within a ten-mile radius is trying to land a date with the attractive vet.
Dallas’ older brother bets him that, even with all his charm and fame, Dallas can’t land a date with the reserved lady vet. Not one to turn down a challenge, Dallas makes it his mission to win a date with Cassie. After seeing her, he realizes they’ve met before, but he doesn’t remember her being so pretty. His persistence pays off, but when Cassie finds out about the bet, their new love is put to the test.
Excerpt:
“Is there anything I can help you with?” A deep voice asked from behind her.
“No, I think we have it.” She hopped down from the pen. Glacier blue eyes locked with hers. She would know his eyes anywhere. Her heart quickened just as it did the first time she’d ever laid her gaze upon him, and a tingling sensation shot through her.
Dallas looked older than she remembered, broader, gruffer, but still sexy.
Tucker, you have Tucker.
Where was he, anyway? In her haste to get ready, she’d forgotten to call him.
“Dallas? Yeah, we can use a hand.” Chevy still fumbled with the lock. “Can you come over here and help me with Knuckle Head? Dr. Bailey wants him to walk around so she can get a closer look.”
“I really don’t think that’s necessary–”
“I would love to help. That’s why I’m here.” Dallas jogged to the front of the bull and grabbed the lead rope with his left hand. A plastered cast circled his right wrist and rose halfway up his forearm.
She turned to Spencer and furrowed her brow.
Spencer stared back at her and displayed her pageant winning 2005 Miss Frisbee smile, her thumb up in the air. Some friend she was.
Dallas and Chevy led the bull out of the pen while she observed the bull’s gait.
“Let’s get him over by a water hose. I want to get a closer look at his foot.” She pointed toward a washing station and followed behind the men as they led the bull, sure to steer clear of Knuckle Head’s hind legs in the event he wanted to kick her.
From her position, she had a clear view of Dallas’s backside. Everything appeared to be as tight as she remembered, which did nothing to settle those distracting tingling sensations.
Focus.
Buy Link: http://amzn.com/B01CSM9M92
Bio:
Erin Bevan was born and raised in Southwest Arkansas. She spent her teenage years working for her aunt at the local gas station flipping burgers and making milkshakes, dreaming of the day when something better would come her way, and it did in the form of a five foot six, one hundred and fifty pound engineer.
Fast forward ten years later, she found herself stuck inside an apartment in South Korea while her daughter went to preschool and her husband went to work. Alone and unable to speak the local language she turned to books for a friend. After reading a few hundred in such a short time, she decided to try her hand at writing one.
That first one sucked, but by the fifth and sixth book, Erin started to get the hang of this writing thing. Getting the first contract in the mail was a dream come true. Now, with three babies at home, she squeezes in stories one word at a time, one sentence at a time, one day at a time.
She’s a full time mom, a full time wife, with a little writer sprinkled in whenever she can get the chance. And the laundry? Well, it’s best not to open the washroom door!
Author Contact Links:
Website: http://www.erinbevan.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/erinbevanwrites/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ErinBevan
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6927178.Erin_Bevan
May 16, 2016
Tell Again Tuesday What’s in a Name? Dealing with Pronunciation & Criticism
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
What’s in a Name? Dealing with Pronunciation & Criticism
Posted by Tracee Ford, Author on April 4, 2016
Here’s some straight talk about my latest book. My son is working his way through Blessing of the Elements. He reads it out loud as an exercise to strengthen his reading and comprehension skills. The names frustrate him. He said, “Mom, where did you come up with these names?” So, let me explain . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:
May 12, 2016
Friday Features Rosalie Redd Untamable Lover
Visits with
Rosalie Redd
Author of
Untamable Lover
Today we get to visit with Rosalie Redd. Today she is sharing with us the back story of her series The Worlds of Lemuria. Without further comment here’s Rosalie.
What brought me to write this series? Well, I love the mystery of ancient societies—when civilizations existed before written history. There are ruins all over Earth that have similarities in structure and construction, yet are thousands of miles apart. Who built these structures? How did these people live? What happened to them? I’ve often wondered what life in these ancient civilizations was like. I thought, what if I wrote a love story about a couple that came from one of these ancient societies?
With that idea in mind, I decided to do a bit of research. There are many legends about the great civilization of Atlantis and its destruction, but along the way, I heard about an even older civilization called Lemuria. I found a few books on the subject and dived in. The myths and legends surrounding Lemuria indicated a great civilization thrived in the island chains of the Pacific Ocean, disappearing about ten thousand years ago from rising sea levels and a great flood.
Fascinated with this ancient society, I created a series that provided an alternate reality for the Lemurians, showcasing their struggle to survive against an age-old enemy, yet finding love along the way. What if the Lemurians were actually a race of shape-shifters from another planet, here to protect Earth and it’s most precious resource—water? If the Lemurians lived in the Pacific Islands, and were forced to scatter throughout the world due to the destruction of their homeland, maybe they are still hidden among us and continue to battle for Earth? From that, The Worlds of Lemuria: Earth Colony series was created. Untamable Lover is book two in the series.
Blurb:
A World at War…
Shape-shifting Lemurian warriors battle against a deceptive, ruthless enemy in the dark of night. The prize—Earth’s most precious resource—water, and the fate of humankind.
A reckless commander…
Panthera leader Demir is stricken by the enemy’s dart and trapped in his fevered, haunted mind with only the memories of his brutal, violent past and his lost mate. When Aramie, his second in command, takes control of the Pride, she breaks one of the revered laws in her quest for the sacred blue sunstone—Demir’s only chance at life. His duty and honor force him to impose punishment despite his unbidden desire to claim her as his mate.
A hardened warrior…
Battle hardened Aramie is strong and determined—she will never bow to the Panthera mating ritual and sacrifice her independence. Instead, her deeply buried feelings for Demir drive her to a dangerous quest and rash decisions. With grief fueling her anger, she takes on a solo mission for revenge, and when Demir’s life is on the line, she must decide—submit to him as his mate, or lose him forever.
Excerpt:
Deep in the Cascade Mountains of the Pacific Northwest
Present day
Demir was a hostage in his own body. Immovable, invisible bonds bound him tight. Unable to open his eyes, constant darkness engulfed him, an eerie reminder of how much he relied on his vision. His sense of hearing and smell sharpened, heightened, compensated for his lack of sight and only increased the knot of frustration in his gut. He concentrated on his fingers, willing them to move, but they remained motionless. The smooth, cool satin sheets caused goosebumps to form on his skin, sending a mental shiver along his nerves. His supine body didn’t flinch.
He’d been this way for several weeks, ever since the enemy’s dart had penetrated his hide, poisoning him with some kind of mysterious liquid. How much longer could he stay like this and survive? The muscles in his arms and legs screamed to move, to flex, to exert the strength his body once contained.
The familiar scent of his leather jacket hanging on a hook near his bed stirred his senses. Heated sunstones lined the cave ceiling and walls, yet even the warmth couldn’t bring him any solace.
Tick, tick, tick.
The clock on his bedside table magnified into the tolling of a bell. He wanted to grab the thing and smash it against the rock walls. The vision of the shattered timepiece and its bits scattered across the stone floor made him smile inside.
In his current state, he couldn’t even mark his territory. How wrong was that? As a shape-shifting Lemurian Panthera, that was torture.
The underground Keep was as much a prison to him as his own body. He longed to be free, to search out Ram and his Gossum minions, to rid the earth of the foul beasts. The battle between the Lemurians and the Gossum had gone on for millennia. His Goddess, Alora, had placed the Panthera and the other Lemurians here to win the war to ensure Earth remained a free planet. If they failed, Earth would be enslaved, and the humans would be forced to give up their most precious resource—water.
The echo of footsteps eased through the crack under his door. He had visitors. As the door opened, a cool breeze wafted into the room, caressing the skin on his arms. A squeaking wheel in need of some oil pierced his sensitive eardrums, grating across his nerves. Fresh and clean, the scent of soap could only mean one thing—a bath.
Quick footsteps entered. The door clicked shut.
“Good evening, Demir.” Bet’s cheerful voice reverberated around the chamber. “I brought Til with me. It’s time for your bath.”
Demir mentally stiffened, although his body remained still. The last thing he wanted was another bath. Grrrrrrr. The growl echoed in his mind, but no further.
A thin film of sweat broke over his skin. The Keep’s Jixies were back and despite their best intentions, a bath would be another lesson in humiliation. He didn’t need to go through that again. Helplessness was the worst kind of torture.
“Til, thank you for coming with me today. I can’t move him on my own.” Bet’s melodic voice only increased Demir’s anxiety, and a bead of perspiration raced over his brow, pooling along the edge of his ear.
“No problem.” Til’s words were clipped.
The table rolled closer to Demir. The wheel squeaked and water sloshed as if over the lip of a bucket. Demir strained against the bonds, and he tried to open his eyes.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Bet asked.
Silence stretched out for several seconds. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just…I don’t know.” Til sighed.
“What is it?” Bet’s soothing, encouraging response rolled over him.
“It’s just—do you think he can hear us? Does he know what’s going on?”
Of course he did, he heard every damn word, felt every touch. His anger boiled beneath his skin, hot and fevered. His need to break free threatened to drive him mad.
Bet shuffled across the floor, away from Demir, the sound of her soft leather shoes imprinted on his brain. “I don’t know. Gaetan told me that he hasn’t responded to any form of treatment. It’s as if he’s—”
“No, don’t say it.”
“Oh, sweetie, if you aren’t up for this, I can get someone else.”
“You’re King Noeh’s chambermaid. Why do you do this?”
“Demir saved Noeh’s life. It’s the least I can do for this honorable male.”
He winced. Honorable was the last thing he was. He’d had a lot of time to think about why he’d taken that dart for Noeh. During a battle in the middle of a small clearing, Ram had aimed the dart straight at the Stiyaha king. Noeh hadn’t appeared to hear the click as their enemy fired the gun. In his Panthera form, Demir had jumped in front of the projectile’s path. His impulsive choice had changed everything. If he could raise a sarcastic eyebrow, he would.
Instead of getting rid of his rival, and taking his place as king of the Stiyaha and the Jixies, he’d saved Noeh’s miserable life and ended up in a coma. That had worked out great, hadn’t it? The only good to come from the deed was some clarity. Whatever was in that dart had paralyzed his body, but purified his mind. I have much to atone for.
Author bio:
After finishing a rewarding career in finance and accounting, it was time for Rosalie Redd to put away the spreadsheets and take out the word processor. She writes Fantasy/Science Fiction Romance inspired by classics from the science fiction, fantasy, and horror genres layered with a good, hot dose of romance.
She lives in Oregon, where rain is just another excuse to keep writing. When not at her computer, you can find her at Jazzercise, waterfall collecting in the Pacific Northwest, or relaxing with her husband and their pesky cat, Snookums.
Author links:
Website Facebook Goodreads Pinterest Author Page
Book links:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01CIZMJDK/
http://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B01CIZMJDK/%0d%0d
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01CIZMJDK/
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1090321710
https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/untamable-lover
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/untamable-lover-rosalie-redd/1123489253
May 10, 2016
Wednesday Special Spotlight Shadows of Damascus Lilas Taha
Shines on
Shadows of Damascus
By
Lilas Taha
Blurb:
Bullet wounds, torture and oppression aren’t the only things that keep a man—or a woman—from being whole.
Debt. Honor. Pain. Solitude. These are things wounded war veteran Adam Wegener knows all about. Love—now, that he is not good at, not when love equals a closed fist, burns, and suicide attempts. But Adam is one who keeps his word. He owes the man who saved his life in Iraq. And he doesn’t question the measure of the debt, even when it is in the form of an emotionally distant, beautiful woman.
Yasmeen agreed to become the wife of an American veteran so she could flee persecution in war-torn Syria. She counted on being in the United States for a short stay until she could return home. There was one thing she did not count on: wanting more.
Is it too late for Adam and Yasmeen?
Excerpt:
PROLOGUE
YASMEEN
Damascus, Syria
Summer 2006
The seductive fragrance of Damascus roses drifted through the open window and flirted with fifteen-year-old Yasmeen’s olfactory senses. The potent flowers in her neighbor’s yard delivered the best awakening. She loved beginnings, especially early, mid-summer mornings like these. Stretching across the bed, her imagination raced with possibilities for the promising day.
Thursday. The day her older brother’s friends visited and stayed well into the evening. Yasmeen ticked off potential visitors in her head, dashing young university students who loved to talk politics with Fadi. Today, she would do her best to discover the name of the quietest member in the group, the thin one with round-rimmed glasses. On her nightstand, the sketch she worked on during the last visit waited for his name, and more details around the eyes.
Peeling off the covers, she tip-toed to the window. Lively noises matched her optimistic mood. Nightingales sang greetings. Clanging dishes and pots resonated from surrounding houses beyond high walls. Mothers called out for their daughters to get breakfast ready. Men’s deep voices describing fresh fruits and vegetables with tempting traditional phrases drifted above hidden alleys. One vendor claimed his cucumbers were small as baby fingers, and likened his ripe apples to a virgin bride’s cheeks. Another boasted his plum peaches shed their covers without enticement, and his shy eggplants hid well in a moonless night.
Yasmeen succumbed to the enlivening chaos spilling in from her bedroom window, her own special and personal opening to the world. Tilting her head back, she exposed her face and neck to the sun, allowing its invigorating rays to paint her cheeks.
Today, her mother told her she would be allowed to take a coffee tray into Fadi’s room once all his friends arrived. What would she wear? She should tell her best friend Zainab to stop by earlier than usual to go through her wardrobe. She could help her decide. Perhaps one of Fadi’s friends would notice her. More than one? Why not?
Draping her arms on the windowsill, she looked at the neighbor’s yard, counting the blooming roses, a ritual she performed each morning since the season started. In the north corner of the largest flowerbed, two violet buds grabbed her attention, their delicate petals about to unfold. Once they came to full bloom, their deep purple color would dominate the landscape.
A knock sounded at her door.
“I am awake.”
Her father walked in. “Good. We have work to do.” He held a hammer in one hand and a couple of boards in the other. “Move aside, Yasmeen.” He approached the window.
She stepped away and pointed at the boards. “What do you need those for?”
Her father closed the windowpanes, locked them, placed one board across the frame, and hammered it in place.
“What are you doing?”
“This window is not to be opened again, child.”
She could not believe her ears. “Why?”
“Neighbors moved out last night.” Her father nailed the second board in place. “Mukhabarat took over their house.”
ADAM
Baghdad, Iraq
Summer 2006
M4 Carbine rifle ready, Sergeant Adam Wegener scanned the street, skimming from window to rooftop. Nerves on edge, his neck and shoulder muscles strained to keep him focused. His heart thumped against his ribs.
Patrol leader Lieutenant Clifton moved his troop with caution through the street, Adam’s fire team at the rear. They’d done street sweeps many times before, but this one was different. Something was not right. Apprehension took hold of his insides and squeezed tight with every step.
Adam turned and walked backwards a few steps, establishing eye contact with Corporal Scottsdale. He nodded at the big guy’s expressionless face, assurance at having Big Scott cover his back. He checked on the other two members of his team trailing his left, Corporals Andrews and Bradley, and faced forward again.
The neighborhood seemed unnaturally quiet. No children walked to school, no laundry hung outside windows on this breezeless day, not even alley cats explored the overflowing garbage containers.
From a corner of his eye, he caught a movement in one of the windows. Wood shutters slammed closed against the windowpane.
A loud boom burst the air. Adam hit the dirt, his head pounding the pavement. The world went silent. He spat blood mixed with something solid. Parts of his body armor and uniform had been ripped off, along with patches of skin. He rose to his knees, his hands searching for his rifle. Finding it, he clasped the rifle in his arms and crawled. He moved as if swimming in a viscous liquid, not knowing which direction to take. He saw only clouds of smoke.
He screamed the names of the soldiers in his team, not sure if his voice even worked. He couldn’t hear a damn thing. His elbow landed on something hard, a boot. He moved his fingers up the leather, across the twill fabric of the pants, until his hands sank in soft flesh and wetness. The man mumbled something, his voice muffled and distant.
“Big Scott, that you?” Adam shouted.
A shower of bullets rang by his side. Helmet gone, he ducked and covered his head. His ears popped from the pressure, jump-starting his hearing.
“Take cover.” Big Scott’s voice penetrated the sounds of warfare.
He scrambled to his feet, hoisted Big Scott on his shoulder, and dashed to the nearest house. He kicked the door and threw himself and Big Scott inside. Propping the injured soldier’s back to one wall, away from the windows, he snatched the M9 Beretta pistol from the holster mounted on his chest rig and forced it into Big Scott’s hands.
“Cover the door.”
Rifle raised and ready, he moved from room to room to secure the small house. He entered the kitchen, coming face-to-face with an old woman. Sitting motionless on a wooden chair, hands clasped on the Formica table in front of her, she stared down Adam’s raised barrel.
Keeping an eye on the wrinkled, tanned face, he scanned the kitchen. No place for anyone to hide, not even a closet door to check behind.
“Anyone else in the house?”
She held her stare, unflinching.
Adam tried to recall Arabic words he heard Fadi, the interpreter assigned to his patrol unit, say in situations like these. But he couldn’t recall a single one.
“Where’s your husband?”
The woman blinked. She craned her neck to one side, looking past him toward the front of the house. The white scarf covering her hair slipped down to her shoulders, revealing gray strands pulled back in a tight bun. She lifted the scarf and refastened it under her chin.
His hand shook. He aimed a loaded weapon at a woman the same age as his mother. Hell, she even resembled her.
“Rajul? Rajul?” Was that the right word for man? Why was she so calm?
The only point of entry was the door he came through. He heard heavy movement outside. The sounds of shouting men grew closer. The old mother could yell to alert the insurgents any second. He snatched a towel hanging on a hook to his left, and held his index finger to his lips, motioning for the woman to go with him to the front room.
She followed without uttering a sound.
Adam pointed his weapon for her to sit on the cement floor. He tore the towel into strips and kneeled in front of her.
Big Scott moaned. He slumped to one side, pistol aimed at the door.
“I got you, man. Have to secure the old mother first.” He used a towel strip for her hands and tied another around her mouth.
He turned to Big Scott, got his first aid kit out of a side pocket on his torn pants, and dug for supplies. He applied bandages to Big Scott’s bleeding midsection. Keeping pressure on the wound with one hand, he pulled the radio from his pack and reported to his platoon sergeant they were trapped inside one of the houses.
“Damn it, which one?” Lieutenant Clifton’s voice crackled.
“Don’t know. Scottsdale’s injured. It’s bad.”
“Andrews, Bradley?” The lieutenant screamed back.
“God damn IED was right under them. Can’t confirm.”
“Second platoon’s six blocks away. They’re en route and—”
A loud explosion silenced the radio. Cursing, he flung the radio across the room.
“Hang in there, big man. QRF’s on the way.” There was no way the Quick Reaction Force could come to their rescue if they didn’t know where they were.
“How long?” Big Scott’s voice came out calm, surprising him.
“Ten minutes.” He fumbled with more bandages. Could second platoon make six blocks in ten minutes? It was possible. “Stay with me. Think about that sweet girl you got back home. Sandy, right?”
He slumped beside Big Scott. Sticky stuff on his back squished. He closed his eyes, hoping to God the sensation resulted from an injury he hadn’t yet felt, rather than the blood and flesh of his missing team members splattered all over him. He needed to find a way to signal their location.
Big Scott clamped a charred hand on top of his. “Won’t make it.”
“The hell you won’t. Sandy’s waiting for you.” He pulled himself to his feet and approached the door. “You’d better not disappoint her.” If he opened the door and his patrol didn’t spot him, the insurgents would be alerted to their position, and that would be the fucking end. If he didn’t do anything, Big Scott would bleed out. He looked back at the corporal. His friend didn’t have much time. There was only one thing to do.
“We have to get out of here.”
He propped Big Scott on his shoulder and opened the door. Clouds of smoke blocked his view. Using the cover of smoke, he edged his way along the side of the house, unable to see a yard past his face. His foot stumbled over a chunk of cement, and he collapsed against the house, slumping down on the dirty street, overcome by how absurd this mission was.
A clomp of boots on the gritty pavement caught his attention. They were trapped. They could not fade into the concrete, not a car nor a bush to hide behind, and he didn’t have time to retrace his way back to the door. He aimed his rifle in the direction of the approaching boots and counted the steps. One man, probably a scout. Shots would draw others.
He slung the rifle across his chest and let it hang. Clamping a hand on Big Scott’s mouth, he stifled the soldier’s agonized moan. Adam stretched to full height, flattened his back against the wall, and pulled his knife.
Heavy fire erupted around them. Bullets shattered the wall to Adam’s left. He hit the dirt again. Big Scott’s limp body fell on top of him, pinning him down. Knife gone, he tried to push Big Scott off. Pain shot through his body like electricity. He doubled over and collapsed once more, trapping his rifle under him.
Leather boots slammed right next to his face. He wrapped his hand around the ankle and tried to topple the guy down.
“Don’t fight me, Adam. I’m here to helb you.”
“Fadi? That you Fadi?”
“Shut ub before zey hear us.”
Fadi took hold of Big Scott’s shoulders and pulled him into the house. He returned to Adam and dragged him until they were inside. He checked their injuries.
Multiple holes on Adam’s left side bled. Big Scott lay flat on his back, praying aloud.
“Clifton knows where you are now.” Fadi applied bandages to Adam’s leg.
He sucked in a sharp breath and tried to stay alert, his eyelids too heavy to keep open.
Fadi shook his uninjured shoulder. “Do what you always do to stay awake.”
Adam opened his eyes. “What?”
“Count, man. Count za bains. Double za number if zey were very bainful, half if zey were minor,” Fadi urged in his particular accent.
Adam’s mind kicked into counting mode. Shit, was he crazy?
“How’d you know where we were?”
“I heard za insurgents shouting to each ozer.” Fadi moved fast to administer the articles in his first-aid kit to Adam’s other wounds.
Crunching numbers didn’t do much to alleviate his pain, but the process helped him filter through Fadi’s heavy accent.
“At first I didn’t understand the words they were using for directions,” Fadi explained. “Arabic has two words to indicate left. One can mean north, depending on the dialect. I had to get closer to figure it out, and that’s when I saw you. Clifton was very mad. Didn’t want me to leave the team, but hey, I’m a contract interpreter, not one of his soldiers.”
The woman moaned from her corner. Fadi shot his head up and approached her.
“Who did this?”
“Needed to make sure she didn’t scream.” Adam tried to lift himself on his elbows. He groaned, the full force of deep searing pain setting in.
Fadi untied the woman’s mouth, released her hands, and spoke to her, his tone low and gentle.
“She’s an old woman, Adam. She’s trapped here just like we are. This is her home. No one and nothing is going to drive her out of it. You didn’t need to tie her up.”
“Not taking any chances.”
Scott’s praying voice disturbed rather than comforted Adam. He concentrated on breathing. Why couldn’t he just pass out and be spared this agony?
The woman placed her hands in her lap, flipped her palms upward and muttered something.
“What’s her problem?”
“She’s praying,” Fadi said.
“I didn’t hurt her. See what else you can do for Big Scott before I lose it.” Adam found it hard to formulate his words.
Fadi kneeled in front of Big Scott, tore a bag with his teeth, and spread its contents over his gaping wound.
Adam’s eyes darted between the old mother and Big Scott. Never hesitant Scott. Never questioning and never smiling either. Were they praying to the same God? Would He listen?
“Tell her I’m sorry I tied her up, will you?”
“Itlaa barrah balady,” the woman responded to Fadi.
“What the hell did she say?”
“She wants us to leave.”
“We wouldn’t be here if her people hadn’t planted that Goddamn IED. Tell her that.” Adam spat blood.
“She meant leave her country.”
Darkness closed in on Adam, the bliss of unconsciousness threatening to take over. He closed his eyes.
“I’m okay with that . . .”
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