Devika Fernando's Blog, page 59

#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 24

When I See Your Face, Part 24Curious now, she nodded and automatically fell into place next to him when he started walking again.

“Right. So, I kept thinking how eager you are to start your own business. And I absolutely believe you should go on with that.”

He shot her an intense sideways glance.

“Don’t postpone and procrastinate, this is your chance and you’ve already begun with some important basics. I know you aren’t going to make money with it soon enough and in high enough quantities, but I’m sure you’re not doing it for the money alone anyway. Also, I am pretty certain that if you hung up some posters in the shop or went from door to door with a wagon-load full of yummy cakes, the villagers would love to support you and buy some of your creations.”

He talked himself into a near frenzy.

“Maybe you could ask them to part with their secret recipes and offer to bake those cakes in larger quantities and give it their name in your shop. That sounds like a good incentive to get them involved and interested enough to be willing to pay. In the meantime, because you need cash, here are two more suggestions: Whenever I have garden work or whatever is my duty here, I’ll let you help and give you a share of my payment.”

Seeing her mouth opening wide to protest, he gesticulated wildly.

“No, no, wait, don’t protest, you said you’d hear me out! Sometimes, I do need somebody to help me to finish a job faster or take on a bigger project. There are some major tasks ahead now with autumn starting and you’ll get a chance to work for what I pay you, so you don’t have to feel dependent on me in any way. Your muscles will be sore and your clothes dirty and you’ll know that you worked for the money and aren’t receiving alms. The other thing is: I know that Aunt Grindle would be willing to wait for her rent or charge you a pittance, but I don’t think it’s fair on her and I don’t think you’d feel good about it either. Why don’t you move into my house? I…”

He stopped, clearly caught short by the expression on her face. Hastily putting up both hands, he ploughed on, “What I mean is this: The house is big and as you’ve seen, I only ever use two rooms or so, one being the atelier and one the bedroom that you haven’t seen yet. There are three more rooms that are practically free. You could stay downstairs, so you don’t have to see me all the time or share a bathroom with me. We could turn the house into two separate units, if you want. It’d be like two students sharing a flat. There’s the kitchen, which is much bigger than the one in your guesthouse apartment and could be used more easily than Aunt Grindle’s for your baking plans. And working together on gardening jobs would be easier. I promise, I don’t suggest this to get you in my bed. It’s so much more practical for everyone involved. You’d get to save lots of hard-earned money. You…”

This time, she actively stopped his flow of words, Michael tripping over his own tongue in his hurry to get his point across. She clasped his hands in hers and brought them down, actually entwining her fingers with his. God, how good that felt. How natural, how right.

“Hey, now let me have my say for a minute.”

Scrutinizing her face, his eyes unreadable, he waited. She wasn’t sure whether he was conscious of it that his thumbs were again softly stroking her hands.

“I think you’re absolutely right. Especially what you said about marketing my cakes with the villagers sounds like a good thing to do. And you’re correct, I wouldn’t want to be indebted to Aunt Grindle. She was the first person in years to be honestly kind to me and accept me and support me, you being the second person. So yes, I will move in and I will help you with your garden work. Under one condition.”

She paused and appealed to the courage she felt growing inside her with each day of her new life. His eyes, shining with happiness and something that looked suspiciously like love—though how was she to know, having no previous experience with real love—made it easier for her to continue.

“I want us to be partners in the true sense of the word. If I get to help you with gardening and you pay me for it, I also want you to get involved in my baking business and pay you for it. All the advice and cake testing and support shouldn’t go unnoticed and I have a feeling you’ll be of even more value once the business starts rolling and I need a helping hand with the bigger quantities of cakes and all that.”

She held her breath as he must have held hers before. Please, let him agree. Please, let this decision of hers be the correct one. Please, luck, be on her side!

His eyes had got shinier. With one of those irresistible wide smiles that lit up her world, he gave her hands a firm squeeze.

“Thanks for not yelling at me or running away or telling me I’ve lost my mind,” he said, chuckling.

She laughed, growing serious again within the matter of a second. This moment was too important for her to joke.

“And thank you for being there for me. It means the world to me,” she said, so many more words on the tip of her tongue, holding them back, though she didn’t know why.

Without a word, he pulled her in for a big hug. Stepping back although it felt wonderfully comfortable, she asked, “Partners?”

“Partners.”

His voice made it sound as though he had much more on his mind than a business partnership, once again sending her heartbeat on overdrive and making a blush rise to her cheeks.

Grabbing a hold of her hand, Michael turned back and pulled her along, once more filled with so much positive energy that it was palpable in the air around him.

“Let’s not waste a minute. We’ll go get your things and set you up at my place. The quicker this is all solved, the quicker you can face your future.”

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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Tornado Giveaway 2: Book 55: THE RUNAWAY BRIDEGROOM by Sundari Venkatraman

Go to Book No. 54 Check all the Books Here 




Name of the Book: THE RUNAWAY BRIDEGROOM
Author: Sundari Venkatraman

Read some reviews:

1. Rubina Ramesh
2. Inderpreet Kaur Uppal 
3. Sumeetha Manikandan 

The Story:

Chanda Maheshwari’s family is shaken when her thirteen-year-old bridegroom Veerendra runs away immediately after the wedding. The eight-year-old child doesn’t even understand the impact on her life. Unable to face their neighbours and friends, the Maheshwaris move from their village to Jaipur and begin a new life in the city.
Fourteen years later, Chanda is studying in a Delhi College. She takes up a temporary job at RS Software Pvt. Ltd. and falls head-over-heels for the boss of the operation. But what about Ranveer Singh? Is he interested in her?
Ranveer’s secretary Shikha is desperate to make him fall for her. All she wants is life-long security with a rich man. But it’s nerd Abhimanyu who keeps getting in the way. Abhi is Ranveer’s second-in-command and Shikha isn’t keen on him as she’s eyeing the main chance.
When Ranveer appears to show interest in Chanda, she’s faced with a new problem. Astrologer Vidyasagar insists that she would get back with her husband Veerendra. Does anyone want to know what she wants?
Chanda feels torn between the man she has fallen for and the family values that have been instilled in her. Will she ever find happiness?
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About The Author 


Sundari Venkatraman 
Even as a kid, Sundari absolutely loved the ‘lived happily ever after’ syndrome as she grew up reading all the fairy tales she could lay her hands on, Phantom comics, Mandrake comics and the like. It was always about good triumphing over evil and a happy end.

Soon, into her teens, Sundari switched her attention from fairy tales to Mills & Boon. While she loved reading both of these, she kept visualising what would have happened if there were similar situations happening in India; to a local hero and heroine. Her imagination took flight and she always lived in a rosy cocoon of romance over the years.

Then came the writing – a true bolt out of the blue! She could never string two sentences together. While her spoken English had always been excellent – thanks to her Grandpa – she couldn’t write to save her life.

All this changed suddenly one fine day in the year 2000. She had just quit her job as a school admin and didn’t know what to do with her life. She was saturated with simply reading books. That’s when she returned home one evening after her walk, took some sheets of paper and began writing. It was like watching a movie that was running in her head – all those years of visualising Indian heroes and heroines needed an outlet and had to be put into words. That’s how her first novel, The Malhotra Bride, took shape. While she felt discouraged when publishing didn’t happen, it was her husband who kept encouraging her not to give up.

In the meanwhile, she landed a job as Copy Editor with Mumbai Mirror. After working there for two years, she moved to the Network 18 Group and worked with two of their websites over the next six years, as Content Editor.

Despite her work schedule, she continued to write novels and then short stories and had them published in her blogs. She also blogs voraciously, writing on many different topics – travel, book reviews, film reviews, restaurant reviews, spirituality, alternative health and more.

Her first eBook Double Jeopardy – a romance novella – was published by Indireads and has been very well received by readers of romance.

In 2014, Sundari self-published The Malhotra Bride (2nd Edition); Meghna; The Runaway Bridegroom; Flaming Sun Collection 1: Happily Ever Afters From India (Box Set) and Matches Made In Heaven (a collection of romantic short stories).

2015 brought yet another opportunity. Readomania came forward to traditionally publish this book – The Madras Affair – a mature romance set in Madras.

Stalk her @
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Go to Book No. 56
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#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 23

When I See Your Face, Part 23Grabbing her by the arms rather firmly and speaking in a voice full of intensity, he continued, “I want you to know that you matter to me, that I care for you. I am not Mark. I don’t use women to boost my non-existent self-esteem or pamper my over-grown ego. I love you.”

He took a calming breath.

“And I understand your situation. There is much you don’t know about me, so you have every right to be wary. And I don’t want you to think that I’m using your emotional weakness and need for a supportive shoulder to get into your pants, though believe me, I’m interested in them too.”

For a moment, he was his flirtatious, joking self and she couldn’t help a giggle at his choice of words before it hit her: He had just told her that he loved her! Her eyes opening wide, she stared at him. Without realizing it, she blurted out, “You love me?”

He bent forward and pressed a hungry kiss to her lips that had opened in surprise. He let go of her arms and took some more steps away.

“I do,” he said. “But I will not pressure you with it.”

And before she had the chance to say something—though she was the last person in the world to know what she wanted to say—he turned and looked out of the living-room window. His whole body straightened, his hands flexing into fists and relaxing again. He was obviously trying to return back to normal. She stood rooted to the spot, her heart and head in turmoil. He loved her. Did she love him? He loved her!

Sounding so casual that it had a fake ring to it, he said, “The weather looks perfect for a stroll outside. Shall we walk through the hills and discuss your next steps? I’ve got so many ideas that won’t break free inside this place. I need nature around me now.”

She mentally and physically shook herself. Come on, girl, the world doesn’t stop turning because Michael has told you they love you. Snap out of it already! It registered with her that he had spoken of her next steps and with that, reality and its worries bullied their way back into her brain.

“Shall we?”

He was already at the door. For a moment, she looked at him, noticing with a tinge of embarrassment that the front of his T-shirt was stained a darker green where she had soaked it through with her tears.

Enough crying and longing, there was a life to be lived.

“Let’s go,” she said, surprising herself with the realization that she actually looked forward to going for a walk with him and being surrounded by nature.


Chapter 8  

As soon as they had left the last few houses of the village behind and were strolling through the green hills, Michael grabbed her hand. He continued walking, softly stroking his thumb over her hand. Each stroke sent a jolt of current through Cathy, making her aware again and again of how much she wanted this man, of how much she treasured his affection.

Despite her inner state of confusion, she made an effort to look at all the natural beauty surrounding her, indeed having the feeling that it calmed her down. Some of the trees were already preparing for autumn with their colorful leaves and off and on, a cool breeze ruffled the grass and swept her hair into her face.

They continued in silence. After some time, Michael took to pointing out trees, shrubs and flowers with his free hand, telling her their names and an interesting tit-bit of information about each. What this flower would smell like when she crushed it and rubbed it unto her skin. What time of the year this tree bore flowers and for how long. Where this long blade of grass got its name from. His voice had that casual, professional tone to it that she remembered from their work for Mr. Thackeray’s garden. As had happened then, she found herself listening to him with real interest, trying to save the information for future use, hearing the love he had for his job in every word he uttered.

He bent and plucked a dandelion, holding it in front of her face.

“Make a wish and blow on this. Folklore has it that such wishes come true when they are carried away on the wind and are heard by fairies.”

There was a faint grin on his lips, but his tone was more serious than the suggestion warranted it.

She had so many wishes crowding together in her head, jostling for a place at the front of the queue.

“Am I supposed to say it out loud or is it best kept secret?”

“Make your wish silently. I have always believed that thoughts are more potent in their magic than the spoken word.”

She blinked. What kind of man had beliefs like that? How much was there to him to discover and revel in? How much more to make him so appealing that she could never find it in herself to resist him?

Drawing close to his hand, she closed her eyes. Frowning with concentration, she tried and tried to decide which wish to make. Sucking in a long breath, she opened her eyes again and blew hard at the fluffy white dandelion. Its seeds flew apart and sailed away on the air, like so many tiny parachutes carrying her wish to God knew where.

Straightening up, she looked after them with an almost painful longing.

“Do you think I’ll be lucky? Will the fairies listen to me?” she asked, working hard at keeping her tone casual, and not succeeding.

He smiled his crooked, charming smile that got to her each and every time.

“I would if I were a fairy.”

She heard the flirting in it and it felt like a caress to her.

“Don’t you think it’s my part to be the fairy?” she joked.

His smile widened and his eyes darkened.

“You’d make a wonderful fairy. I can just about imagine you in gauzy, loose clothes and diaphanous wings with flowers in your hair and bare feet, dancing lithely through the fields and making lone wanderers fall head over heels in love with you.”

His voice was a sensual growl deep in his throat. His fingers brushed over the pulse hammering at her throat and strayed sideways, lifting a strand of her hair and twirling it round his index finger.

With her heart beating in her mouth, she made an effort at lightening the mood.

“If you had ever seen me dance, you wouldn’t describe me as a lithe and graceful fairy. I am a clumsy wooden donkey with two left feet.”

“Maybe you’ve had the wrong partner all along,” he said, his voice full of meaning.

She swallowed.

“Maybe,” she conceded.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time, frozen in place, their minds full to the brim with possibilities and dreams and obstacles. It was Michael who snapped out of it first, though he let go of her hair with visible reluctance.

“Speaking about partnerships, I have some ideas how you could overcome your financial difficulties. I’m not sure at all that you’ll like them. Promise me you’ll hear me out and think before saying no.”

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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Tornado Giveaway 2: Book 54: THE MANY LIVES OF RUBY IYER by Laxmi Hariharan

Go to Book No. 53 Check all the Books Here 




[image error] Name of the Book: THE MANY LIVES OF RUBY IYER
Author: Laxmi Hariharan

Read some reviews:

1. Privy Trifles 
2. Mukti Jain 
3. Biswanath Banerjee 

The Story:

A YA action-thriller, with strong dystopian undertones and a kickass protagonist, taking you on a white knuckle ride through a disintegrating Bombay City.
A terrifying encounter propels Ruby Iyer from her everyday commute into a battle for her own survival. Trusting her instincts, she fights for the things she believes in, led on a mysterious path between life and death on the crowded roads of Bombay; and when her best friend is kidnapped by the despotic Dr Braganza, she will do anything to rescue him. Anything, including taking the help of the sexy Vikram Roy, a cop-turned-rogue, on a mission to save Bombay. The city needs all the help it can get, and these two are the only thing standing between its total destruction by Dr Braganza's teen army. As Bombay falls apart, will Ruby be able to save her friend and the city? Will she finally discover her place in a city where she has never managed to fit in? And what about her growing feelings for Vikram?
The Origins of Ruby Iyer
Growing up in Bombay I was weighed down by the expectations of traditional Indian society. Yet, I wanted to be economically independent. So, daily I would leave the relative safety of home, knowing that my commute to work was going to be nightmarish. It's just how public transport is in this city. When you get on a crowded local train platform, you accept that you are probably going to be felt up. Every time this happened to me, I would get really angry. But, I would deal with it and get on. When a young photojournalist was raped in the centre of Bombay in broad daylight, I was furious. It was as if nothing had changed in all the years I had been away. I had a vision of this young girl who would not back down anymore; who would stand up for herself regardless of the consequences. Who would follow her heart ... Thus Ruby Iyer was born. Ruby is her own person. She leads I follow.
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About The Author 


Laxmi Hariharan 
A near life experience told Laxmi Hariharan to write...She never stopped. Laxmi is the creator of Ruby Iyer and the Bombay Chronicles (The Destiny of Shaitan). London is where she writes. Bombay is what fuels her imagination.

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Tornado Giveaway 2: Book 53: BUTTERFLY SEASON by Natasha Ahmed

Go to Book No. 52 Check all the Books Here 


Name of the Book: BUTTERFLY SEASON
[image error] Author: Natasha Ahmed

Read some reviews:

1. Rubina Ramesh 
2. Dola Basu Singh 
3. Ruchi Singh 

The Story:

On her first holiday in six years, Rumi is expecting to relax and unwind. But when she is set up by her long-time friend, she doesn’t shy away from the possibilities. Ahad, a charming, independent, self-made man, captures her imagination, drawing her away from her disapproving sister, Juveria.
Faced with sizzling chemistry and a meeting of the minds, Ahad and Rumi find themselves deep in a relationship that moves forward with growing intensity. But as her desire for the self-assured Ahad grows, Rumi struggles with a decision that will impact the rest of her life.
Confronted by her scandalized sister, a forbidding uncle and a society that frowns on pre-marital intimacy, Rumi has to decide whether to shed her middle-class sensibilities, turning her back on her family, or return to her secluded existence as an unmarried woman in Pakistan.
We follow Rumi from rainy London to a sweltering Karachi, as she tries to take control of her own destiny.
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About The Author 


Natasha Ahmed 
Natasha Ahmed is a pen name. In real life, Natasha is a graphic designer, a businesswoman and occasionally writes art and book reviews for publications within Pakistan.

She works in a small office at home, not far from Sea View, Karachi. From a tiny window, she can see the Arabian Sea sparkling in the distance, and small fishing boats trawl up and down the water throughout the day. When she’s not writing books, she’s dreaming of setting sail towards the horizon and never looking back. Great adventure, she believes, starts with great daring.

Butterfly Season is her first novella, though not, she hopes, her last.

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Tornado Giveaway 2: Book 52: FINDING FISHER by Dakota Madison

Go to Book No. 51 Check all the Books Here 


Name of the Book: FINDING FISHER
Author: Dakota Madison

Read some reviews:

1. Linda Sims 
2. Paula Phillips 
3. Margaret 

The Story:

Franklin Smith was the perfect fiancé. He was at the top of our class at Stanford and had been recently accepted to Harvard Law. But Spring Break our senior year of college changed everything. He went back home to New Jersey and never returned. At his funeral I discovered a guy I never knew. His secret past. And a twin brother, Fisher, I didn’t know existed.

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About The Author 


Dakota Madison 
Dakota Madison has been writing since she learned to read and fell in love with books. When she's not at her computer creating spicy new romances, Dakota is traveling to exotic locales or spending time with her husband and their bloodhounds.

(A USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR, Karen Mueller Bryson writes contemporary romance under the pen names Dakota Madison, Savannah Young, Sierra Avalon and Ren Monterrey.)

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Go to Book No. 53 
Now for the Rafflecopter: Gather as many points as you want to. The more points you get, the more you have a chance to win it all. Show your love for books.. Tweet, Like and Spread the Word... Thank you for being a Reader... You keep the Authors motivated... This is our way of saying a Thank you :) 
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Review - 'The Madras Affair' by Sundari Venkatraman

My Review of "The Madras Affair" by Sundari Venkatraman I am a huge fan of Sundari Venkatraman’s books like “The Runaway Bridegroom” and “Meghna”, so I was over the moon when she approached me with a beta-reading request for her latest romance novel “The Madras Affair”. And the book didn’t let me down at all, quite the contrary. I think it’s her best novel yet (though I have a tendency to say that after each of her new releases).

The story started with a glimpse of the present, where everything seemed so positive but with foreshadowing hints that I just knew something big had to be amiss. Sure enough, the next chapter was like a slap in the face.

I suffered alongside Sangita, and I could associate with her plight because the situation here in Sri Lanka is similar to the one in India, though not as severe and tragic. From that chapter on, the author had me hook, line, and sinker. She whisked me away in a maelstrom of emotions, portraying a deeply hurt heroine who had been pressed into a mould and made to obey, and felt like a caged bird to me. But she wasn’t as weak as she could have been, as the encounter with Gautam proved soon enough. And suddenly I had a different image while reading about her dilemma: a raw gem plucked from the depths of mud, with just a bit of sparkle to entice. The more I read about her – and the more she got involved with Gautam and his cajoling and admiration – the more of the gem shone through the rough shell, as if someone were polishing the stone. And once enough colours had broken through, Sangita bedazzled like the most beautiful of gemstones, showing her hidden strength, her awakened passion, and her potential.

Most of it was thanks to wonderful Gautam, a hero I have been dreaming about since. It wasn’t just his mix of India and America that is perfect, but also the way he never gives up. I loved the way he wooed Sangita, and the way he shaped her present and their future throughout the book. He too underwent a change, though much more subtle than Sangita’s immense transformation. I loved and hated the other characters with a passion.

As a beta reader, I look for inconsistencies in the plot, for superfluous scenes and for abrupt developments. I found none in this book. The flashbacks were neither too many nor too few and inserted in the right places.

I can highly recommend this novel to all those who love heroines that are anything but ordinary and refuse to be trampled upon. And to all who love reading about hunky heroes that are not ashamed to show emotions and know how to fight for what they want and what is right. The story is full of sizzle, thrill and insights into the human mind and heart. It’s thought-provoking, sensual and alive not just with the many authentic characters but also with the exotic setting of Madras, which the author clearly seems to love.

Rating: 5/5


Buy Links

Amazon.com - 
http://www.amazon.com/dp/819299757X
Amazon.in - 
http://www.amazon.in/dp/819299757X

Featured - Blog Tour for 'Unexpected Gifts' by SR Mallery - Guest Post

Welcome to my stop on the Blog Tour of Unexpected Gifts by S.R Mallery.  "Unexpected Gifts" is the story of a confused college student who gains clarity in life when she begins to read the journals and diaries of her ancestors from America's past.Checkout my post and enter the cool giveaway! :)
Follow the Tour to read Interviews, Excerpts, Reviews and Guest Posts. Checkout the schedule of the Tour: Click Here
~About the Book~
Title and Author: Unexpected Gifts by S.R Mallery
No. of Pages: 317
Publication Date: 2013
Genre: Historical Fiction

Blurb:
Can we learn from our ancestral past? Do our relatives’ behaviors help mold our own?  

In "Unexpected Gifts" that is precisely what happens to Sonia, a confused college student, heading for addictions and forever choosing the wrong man. Searching for answers, she begins to read her family’s diaries and journals from America’s past: the Vietnam War, Woodstock, and Timothy Leary era; Tupperware parties, McCarthyism, and Black Power; the Great Depression, dance marathons, and Eleanor Roosevelt; the immigrant experience and the Suffragists. Back and forth the book journeys, linking yesteryear with modern life until finally, by understanding her ancestors' hardships and faults, she gains enough clarity to make some right choices.




~Excerpt~

SONIA’S paraplegic Father --CHAPTER 2: Sam––Living With Fear
“First thing I killed was no kind of thing at all. It was an enemysoldier, which was a hell of a lot easier to say than the first thing I ever killed was a man.”--Steve Mason
“...Nearing the village, we passed women in their beige tunics, black pants, and Sampan hats, shouldering thick bamboo rods weighted down by buckets of water. Most kept their heads lowered as they walked, but the few who didn’t, stared up at us with dead, black-brown eyes and pressed lips. The afternoon was drawing to a close by the time we reached a village compound that reeked of nuoc maum rotten fish sauce and animal dung. An old, leathery woman, squatting by her hooch was our welcoming committee, but once she saw us shuffle by, she scurried back into her hut, clacking loudly in Vietnamese as chickens pecked at rice granules, bobbing their heads up and down in 2/4 time.

            Carbini cut to the chase. “First, pull every one of those gooks outta their hooches, then line them up here,” he barked.

            I watched my troop comb each thatched home, rounding up families of all ages and herding them out into the open like a cattle drive in Oklahoma. I, too, started the mission and stooping into one of the huts, saw a young woman sitting on a straw mat, eating some rice in a black bowl, a young child at her side.

            She was exquisite—the best possible combination of French and Chinese ancestry, with such delicate features, she made my heart ache. My immediate instincts were to protect her and her son from Carbini and this horrendous war, but she just gazed up at me, emotionless.    

            I could hear Carbini yelling orders to get a move-on, and I signaled this girl, this treasure, to follow me. She shook her head vehemently, and curled her legs around her son. I motioned again, but still, she refused. I froze, unable to think, but when Carbini popped his head in the doorway and snarled, “Weylan!” she got the message and followed me out.

            Whimpering slightly, she joined her fellow villagers, gripping her child’s hand and wiping off a tear that had slid halfway down her cheek. I suddenly pictured slave owners in pre-Civil War days and felt my lunch rise up in my throat.

            “Now, get your Zippos ready, men.” As Carbini’s face flushed red, I sucked in my breath. He caught sight of my reaction and came over. “Weylan here doesn’t like my orders. Anyone else here who doesn’t like my orders?” Nobody spoke up.            He opened up one of my backpack pockets, yanked out my Zippo lighter, and shoved it into my face. Immediately, you could hear the snap of pockets opening and boots shifting. We were getting ready to Rock ‘n Roll.

            Carbini was first. He marched over to a hooch, flipped on his Zippo, and carefully lit the underbelly of its thatched roof. It smoldered for a few seconds, a thin, rising wisp of smoke twisting in the tropical air. From that, a flame grew, nibbling at the straw with a low, blue heat before suddenly bursting into a torch, arcing up towards the sky in a yellow-hot blaze.

            Carbini turned to us and nodded, his eyes glazed. This was our cue, yet I spun around to search for the girl, who was at the back of the pack, crying softly as she hugged her son. I glanced over at some of the other men, their hands jammed deep into their pockets, and decided to follow their lead. The fire was raging full force on each hooch now, the thatch and bamboo crackling like a 4th of July fireworks display, leaving its reflections in the villagers’ eyes and turning the sky dark with thick, bulbous smoke.

            “Weylan! You son-of-a-bitch coward! You’re no better than the rest of us, you hear me?” Carbini started to charge over, then stopped mid-stride.

            In the distance, a large formation of F4’s was headed our way, torpedoing fireballs of napalm every several hundred yards and scattering screaming villagers down the main road. We were ordered to take cover, but followed the fleeing Vietnamese instead, charging after them and trying not to show our own fear...”

~HERE'S WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT UNEXPECTED GIFTS BY S. R. MALLERY~ “The author has a remarkable gift. The amazing ability not only to bring rich, historical events to life, but also the ability to perfectly blend different generations…”“It simply is one of the best books I've ever read. I wish I could give it six stars!”“I have never read a book that wasn’t a textbook that was able to successfully cover so many time frames in such little space, with the accuracy you really would expect from reading the journals of those who had actually lived in those times.”“Colorful writing, recreation of periods that prove adept challenges for any films about the influences of the past being made, and all of this is written with such style that it often times is dazzling...”“SR Mallery has created an important and impressive monument of a novel.”“If only my history teacher would have taught history like Mallery has, enriching it with living, feeling people that the reader can equate to, I would have been a better student.”“Long after the completion of the book, I missed the characters and the impact their stories made on me. This one really touched me deeply.”“Beautifully and sensitively written, anyone who loves a good story interwoven with actual historical events will enjoy this very special novel.”“A master storyteller has been at work, and this marvelous piece of writing is the result.”“I'm in awe of how the author could write about the events so realistically, putting the reader firmly into different time periods in America's history.”“… she blends the past and the present with a seamless texture that only a “true” storyteller can manage.”“This is a book you can keep on your shelf to read over and over…”
~Buying Links~
Grab the book for just 99c or Rs 61 on Amazon and Kobo!
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~Meet the Author~
S.R. Mallery has worn various hats in her life. First, a classical/pop singer/composer, she moved on to the professional world of production art and calligraphy.
Next came a long career as an award winning quilt artist/teacher and an ESL/Reading instructor. Her short stories have been published in descant 2008, Snowy Egret, Transcendent Visions, The Storyteller, and Down In the Dirt.

Website/Blog:  www.srmallery.comTwitter:  @SarahMallery1FB: http://facebook.com/pages/SR-Mallery-Sarah-Mallery/356495387768574Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/107388739382996104658/postsGoodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7067421.S_R_MalleryPinterest:  (I have some good history boards that are getting a lot of attention—history, vintage clothing, older films)http://www.pinterest.com/sarahmallery1/Amazon Author page:   http://www.amazon.com/S.-R.-Mallery/e/B00CIUW3W8/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1


~Giveaway~ Prize: 10 Ebooks of Unexpected Gifts by SR Mallery
Ends 13th September
Open Worldwide.

Open only to those who can legally enter and receive the prize. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded.No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by  Nikita (Njkinny) from  Njkinny Tours & Promotions  and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.



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GUEST POST by SR MalleryGuest post topic: What do you think are the benefits of keeping a journal/writing in a diary?

There are so many reasons why people keep journals or diaries. Some people, trapped in their boring job during the day, itch to release their hidden creativity at night. Others yearn to express their anger or love without actually confronting anyone, and some do it simply to leave behind some sort of legacy.

As for me, I kept a diary at nine years old––a small, blue leather book with a clasp, endlessly unfastened (I had quickly managed to lose its key). I filled it with descriptions of what happened at school as well as what afterschool was like with my two best friends: the fights we had, the hilarious moments we shared, and my crush on one boy who at the time reminded me so much of JFK.  I had also decided that year to add the unofficial middle name ‘Jane,’ so each entry had a “love, Sarah Jane” at the bottom to add to its authenticity...

Then, when I was just shy of twelve, my family and I went to Europe on a summer vacation. My mother suggested that I keep a journal for the trip and I took that assignment seriously. At the end of each day, I made sure all the names of the museums, cemeteries, parks, restaurants, and tourist places we had visited were correctly spelled. For example, the Tower of London was scary, and Buckingham Palace was fascinating, particularly watching the Beefeater guards stand as rigid as statues no matter how many tourists tried to lure them into conversation. Madam Toussaud’s in Paris captivated me, not only because of the likenesses enclosed within its walls, but also the little brochure about the English monarchy they handed out.  Many of those kings and queens later appeared in my journal. I also documented in detail a wonderful canal boat ride we took in pastoral England, where we learned how to open up locks, the names of a myriad of well-known local pubs along the way, and slowly experienced the glorious scenery the countryside afforded, as well as the various lockkeepers’ spectacular gardens entered in competitions every twelve months.

Years later, when my family had gathered for a holiday, I was asked to bring out that journal and it was a treat indeed to read the daily entrances out loud.

“Almost as good as watching a slide show,” one of my uncles exclaimed, and that was certainly true. Since I had forgotten so much of it, revisiting all those places enriched everyone that evening.

But I also grew up with a family filled with prolific letter writers. Typewritten, single-spaced, my mother, father, aunts, and uncles all had reams of these gems, with everyone delighting in giving rich detailed descriptions of locations, events, and philosophical ramblings. Somewhat like a Pandora’s Box, they all contributed to a rich, ancestral history. A history that lived and breathed, and ultimately, I believe, helped shape who I am today.

Diaries/Journals? Definitely treasure troves, forever locked into eternity!

#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 22

When I See Your Face, Part 22She told him how she was the only child of a typical middle class city family. Of how her mother and father had both worked and never been able to spend much time with their daughter, who turned to books to find company and hide from real life.

She told him how her father worked himself into an early grave, his heart not being able to handle the pressure of a job that demanded all and then some. Of how she had left her mother to go to university, planning to find a job as soon as possible to support both of them. Of how, while she was still studying for her Bachelor in Business Administration and hating it, her mother had remarried and they had lost touch as though they had never been one family.

She told him of how she had found a job as a junior secretary in one of the glittering, glass-windowed high-rises in the financial district. Of how she had felt like an outsider while playing the part expected of her. Of how one day during lunch, Mark Nolan himself—one of the most famous real estate agents, manager of Nolan House & Property and heir to a family fortune—had sat down opposite her and asked her out for a date.

She fought hard at keeping any feelings out of her voice when she told him of how Mark had overpowered her with his charm, his confidence, his position and the promise of what a life with him could be like. After two dates and a load of flattering attention, he had proposed and she had accepted, not minding the age difference of more than ten years, not minding that his snobbish parents terrified her and that she didn’t know how to behave around him, at that time lying to herself that she loved him.

She felt the first tears slide from her eyes when she related how Mark had told her to quit her job, quit her studies and stay at home, enjoying the luxuries of being his wife. Though she hadn’t planned it and it couldn’t be useful to him, she also told him of how after the marriage, Mark had quickly turned abusive on some days while being the impersonation of a perfect husband at other days.

Not knowing that by now her voice was trembling with her effort not to sob, she told him, “So, that’s why I’m absolutely useless at everything. I never grew up. I never lived. I’m an introverted, talentless bookworm who was forced into studies she didn’t like, a job she didn’t like and later a marriage she wasn’t suitable for. I wouldn’t be good at any normal job now. I only like reading and baking cakes and now it looks like even the latter is something I can’t do. I’m useless. Unlovable.”

She stopped, the last word bordering on a shout, fighting the first sob that wanted to break out. She hadn’t realized that Michael was standing right behind her. His arms came up around her and he pressed her to himself.

“My love.”

His voice was rough with emotion, as though he felt like crying too. It was the push that sent her over the edge. Turning around and sinking against him helplessly, she broke into tears. She sobbed for the years when she had denied herself, the months spent being treated like a thing instead of a human being. For the recent days of freedom with all their joys and woes.

When her crying subsided, awareness of her situation slowly dawned. Michael’s arms were wound tightly around her and it felt so perfectly right. He had tucked her head under his chin, one hand cupping the back of her neck in a protective gesture. The other hand rested against the small of her back, stroking softly and rhythmically. He hadn’t spoken a word, none of those banalities that people were usually bound to mutter, that everything would be all right, or not to cry. His embrace filled her with warmth and care. She felt as though she belonged exactly to this spot, in this man’s arms that were as strong as the person himself appeared to be. Sniffling quietly, she told herself that she should step away now, apologize, say something, do anything. She simply couldn’t.

When he noticed that she had calmed down somewhat, he spoke for the first time in minutes.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Now she did move back an inch, craning backward as well as upward to read his face. The expression on it was so serious bordering on grave. It spoke of pain.

“I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for whining and complaining. It’s my life and my mess and now it’s over anyway and I should forget it,” she stuttered, now earnestly trying to get away from him. His grip around her didn’t loosen, though. He looked at her, stared at her face as if he were seeing it in a new way.

“Don’t say that. I needed to know this. You…we need this to move on.”

“We?”

Her voice shook slightly, her heart beating faster while she waited for him to go on.

“Yes, we,” he said.

And then his mouth was on hers and nothing else mattered.

His kiss was full of love, tender yet at the same time loaded with feeling. When she responded to him, stood on her toes and grabbed a hold of his T-shirt, he increased the pressure of his lips. They were cool and hard against her mouth, but didn’t remind her for one second of other hard, cool lips that had kissed her not so long ago.

The kiss grew more urgent when he realized that she kissed him back. His tongue begged for entrance, and she parted her lips. With a husky moan, he pulled her closer, the fingers of one hand tangling in her hair. When his other hand crept under the hem of her blouse and his fingers brushed over the bare skin of her back, she shivered with desire. How strange that everything else was far away. That she lost herself in this, in him, like she had never lost herself in previous moments of physical closeness. She felt like floating and was glad that he was holding her so tightly because her legs were weak with desire.

When his kiss grew more passionate and he nipped lightly at her lower lip, a hardly audible sound escaped her. It brought him back to his senses, because all of a sudden, he let go of her and took a step back.

She was reeling, one hand rising to her lips, feeling colder and lonelier than ever with the loss of his closeness, warmth and touch.

His eyes were a deep, dark grey with hardly any blue sparks in them and his breathing was going as fast as hers. For a few seconds, they stared at each other. He slowly reached out and brushed his fingers across her wet cheek, wiping away the tears that had such a cleansing effect.

“Cathy, sugar, don’t ever say that again, that you’re unlovable. You’re the loveliest and most lovable person on earth to me. I know that sounds crazy, but ever since I got to know you, I feel like I can’t live without you anymore. I want you by my side. I want to get to know every part of you and want you to get to know me too.”

When she made to say something, he lay a finger across her mouth, his eyes darkening another shade when she kissed it.

“I know you aren’t ready for a new relationship and that I look exactly like the bastard who ruined your life. I’m not like him, I want you to know that. I would never take advantage of you!”

She nodded, overwhelmed. Was this wonderful man professing his love for her or was she dreaming?

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 21

When I See Your Face, Part 21Only two days after the last time, she found herself standing in front of Michael’s door, full of mixed emotions and preparing herself for a confrontation she dreaded but kind of looked forward to, as well.

Yesterday, she had spent most of the day in town. It had taken her roughly three hours by bus to get there and twice as much time rounding up shops that might accept her few valuables for cash. Along with her wedding ring, her anklet, her watch and her purse, she had sold two pairs of earrings for a pittance and managed to earn a handful of coins for her pair of summer sandals, which fortunately had been new and the latest fashion.

It hadn’t been easy to find people who would actually buy these second-hand items, and even more difficult to step over her own shadow to actually approach them and bargain for a pound or two more. More than half of the newly acquired cash had been spent on two baking forms she absolutely needed and a denim jacket from a thrift shop. More money left her hands to buy a ticket back to the village where she planned to stock up on flour, butter, eggs, milk, sugar, ground almonds and raisins.

Eating only a sandwich in town, she had finally knocked on Mrs. Grindle’s door and asked to have a share of her dinner. Telling the kind old lady that she would be a few days late with the weekly payment for the room had pained and shamed her more than thinking of her financial plight in general, though of course her new-found Aunt waved it all aside and pressed some more desert and tea on her.

Now, she had come to him for help. Somewhere inside, she knew he would help her indeed; another part of her, however, was reluctant to increase her dependence on him, get closer to him, and like him better.

Michael, once again shirtless, opened the door and beamed at her again, as if it meant the world to him to see her at his doorstep.

“Cathy, love! What a nice surprise! I had hoped I’d see you yesterday with another of your irresistible cake creations, but I guess being a baking queen takes some time.”

She grinned half-heartedly, her courage almost leaving her then and there and her heart skipping a beat or two when it registered that he had called her ‘love’.

“Actually, I haven’t brought you a new cake to try. I want to talk to you.”

Cocking his head to the side, he dropped his joking demeanor.

“Is everything all right?”

For a moment, she had to swallow back tears. The concern in his voice, the worry in his eyes—and the same feelings clearly displayed by Aunt Grindle last evening, though not voiced—shook her to her core. How could these people care for her so much after having known her for not even a month? Was it fair of her to act on that care? Why did it feel as though she were using the only two people who had ever shown any interest in her apart from her own parents? No, she’d better not think of her parents now or she’d really start crying.

“Can I come in? I won’t keep you long, I promise.”
“Oh, come on in and stop it with those platitudes. You’re not keeping me from anything but a new painting. And that can wait a lifetime if it means I can spend time with you.”

She blushed and brushed past him into the house hurriedly, the meaning and depth of feeling in his words cutting her to the quick.

Some minutes later, they had shared a cup of fruit tea and chocolate chips cookies and she had told him about her latest predicament, trying her utmost not to sound defeated or helpless or anxious.

“The bastard!” he cursed under his breath before shooting her an apologetic glance.

“Sorry. It’s so unfair. Then again, he has every right to act like that.”

He still sounded disgusted with Mark’s behavior, as though it touched him personally.

She nodded.

“Yes, it’s a logical and perfectly understandable thing to do. It’s my mistake that I didn’t think of it earlier. Anyway, so my plan is this: Instead of venturing ahead with a business that I can’t afford to start properly, I want to look for a job. I came to you to ask you for help with my job search. I thought you might know of any vacancy here. I bought the local paper yesterday and will of course check that, but I don’t see any suitable vacancies for someone who has only half of a degree and a few months of working experience.”

She knew she sounded bitter. She couldn’t help it. All of her past life looked like such a failure to her now. As soon as she was on her own and had to face reality, she was totally incapable. She hated that, especially hated belittling herself in front of him because she so badly wanted to impress him.

He had sat back on the sofa, one arm resting on his knee, face propped up in his palm. Despite all the emotional turmoil, she couldn’t stop her eyes from flickering over his body now and again, longing tying itself into knots inside her. This time, he caught her looking, making her blush.

“Uh, sorry for that. I was in the middle of painting. I usually do that without a T-shirt on because I hate getting paint stains on my clothes. Damn nuisance to wash and I have only a handful of T-shirts anyway.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hand and got up. In the matter of a minute he was back with a lime green T-shirt on, his cut-offs with holes replaced by grey jeans. He sat down and ran his hands through his hair, turning it into a black mess that she itched to run her fingers through and brush back from his forehead.

“So. Let’s get down to business. I’m glad you’ve asked me for help. I’ll do anything I can. The thing is, with only a hundred or so people living here and everybody playing their part, there seriously aren’t any jobs for you that I could think of.”

She looked down at her hands, lying on her knees in a fake display of calm. She had thought as much, hadn’t she?

“Cathy.”

Looking up again, she had to swallow when she saw the concern on his face and heard the earnest wish to help her in his voice.

“You need to tell me more about your past life, so that I know what to look for, what you might be able to do to earn a living here.”

Getting up from the couch and walking to his bookshelf, she sought to put some distance between him before starting to pour out the story of her life. She tried to keep to the facts, to what he needed to know, but once she had started, the words kept flowing and flowing as though a dam had broken. With his back to him, her fingers brushing aimlessly at the spines of books that her blurry eyes couldn’t see, she talked and talked for what felt like ages.

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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