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Super reviews of my hard work, 'The Gamecocks.'http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17...
Fran Lewis’ 5* review excerpt: “The final chapters bring it all together as we once again go back in time as author Stephanie M. Sellers and Jake link history to the Knights Templar and finally Jake ask the final question on page 212: “Can anyone tell me the link of Lumbees to the Holy Grail? Then the past comes to life. When you read Chapter 12 you will understand the connections as one picture says more than just a thousand words and the finding the jeweled cross in a sketch and giving it to them would be prove perfect of the Lost Colony’s contact with the Lumbee. Just what happens next and a letter would change it all. Gamecocks: a rooster of a fighting breed or one bred for fighting. Just what this means and how fierce would these people fight for what they believe and the truth read The Gamecocks and find out what happens when lies, betrayals, truths and deceits unfold with one major secret. An ending that is so powerful you will never forget it.”
Yolando Bond’s 5* review: “I couldn't put it down. I loved the relationships of the two main characters. True lifetime friendship are hard to find. To know someone will always be there for you no matter what is inspiring. I enjoyed the way the author kept you wanting to know more. Very enteraining and riveting. I experienced rage,love,pity and compassion.”
Only 7 more days to enter! 'The Gamecocks' carries historical theories on North Carolina's Lumbee Indians and The Lost Colony to a dangerous level with a friendship that will never leave you.http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/sho...
Excerpt from 'The Gamecocks,' during funeral: The chairs behind the Wilkes screeched and squalled and crashed against the hard tile floor as the scallys rushed up front. Mr. Fisk and Wart fumbled with their baggy pants’ pockets and pulled out what looked to be wooden clubs as long limbed Scarecrow lurched to Dan. “I’m a-gonna whopicoddle his ass!”Mrs. Wilkes then shouted for mister to call the police, but he insistently pointed out a man in a worn out corduroy blazer with an empty holster. Their heads snapped back to Dan and Bruce as Mr. Fisk and Scarecrow peeled Bruce, now frenzied mad like a raccoon took fresh from the wild, from Dan the Man’s arm. Bruce punched at the bate of them and got in a couple of good whacks before he calmed to a slow foaming mad.
Jake leapt around his dad’s legs and ran to his best friend. Scarecrow hovered over Bruce and held his jean jacket around Bruce’s face, like a shield. But when Jake called out, “Let’s get out of here. Come on,” Bruce pushed Scarecrow aside. Scarecrow quickly shined his silver badge at the boys and jutted his chin at the man with the corduroy blazer who had a sweet forty-five pointed directly at Dan the Man.
With Bruce still under his arm, the boys hurried on numb legs down the cracked tile aisle when Lilly’s pearl onion button shone up from the rank floor like a cornucopia symbol of pure raw lust. Jake scooped it up without missing a step. Then the chandelier bulbs popped; crack crackle pop, one after the other and the boys looked back toward the black coffin’s happenstance as if the Little People purposely busted those bulbs over Dan the Man’s suffering head. Glass penetrated his weakened flesh and blood spilled in streaks down his face like black reflected prison bars in the dim light.
http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/sho...
'The Gamecocks' is sassy. Real. Dangerous and Southern.
Excerpt: “Now, I detect some of you here still don’t get the connection. Sounds like a couple are touched even. Anyone know what pidgin the Lumbee’s speak? Where the languages connect?” Jake squinted and pursed his lips like he had an osmosis lead line to tug up an arm.
After he’d planted his seedy greens across every single row and didn’t get a sprig of reckonin’ he doggedly continued, flipping over note cards as he proceeded. And the prim lady seated nearby hurriedly marked her notepad. But both whoahed real sharp like when an aged Lumbee in overhauls, from deep within the Lum group in the back rows, raised his weathered hand. His huge shiny palm glimmered as his scarred blackened leather knuckles spread. “Hope m’ die, n’er had no White man a-meddlin’ on the swamp like dis,” his riled voice deepened his atypical tenor into a bon a fide bass, “and right in my face, too. Orta notta munk up our chances a-gettin’ federal funds, boy. Look at me. I’m Cherokee.” His chin lowered and squint glared as he rattled, “Tell me I haint.”
“Put a root on ‘at boy,” a young Lum yelped through his baccar filled mouth. A nasty black line drooled down his chin as he spit into a well used bandana. Shook off what didn’t make the cloth onto the carpet and rubbed it in with his work boot.
“Uhm- uhm,” the aged Lum’s grunt vibrated like it was rattlin’ sticky phlegm. His whiskers danced like corn silks on fancy colored Indian corn and his blue eyes sparked like prize kernels heatin’ up to ‘xplode.
Jake zealously tapped the slide projector’s screen and its retraction bar dinged the backside of his head. He politely winced as he worked to still the waving screen. But his hands still shook like he was sifting beans. And all the while, the heated Lumbee guest was showing off his hawkbill as the screen lit up with an image of the holy tablet. The Lum flicked the shiny silver blade and scraped out a crusty black line from under his thumb. Perked the blade up in his overhauls’ front pocket and with mesmerizing Mediterranean blue eyes glared up at Jake from under a canopy of wily gray curls. “The Lumbee Council’ll hear ‘bout you a’fore mornin’, you see me.”
Finally, the cop on duty as umpire shifted from the rear corner halfway up into the room so all the Lums could view him straight on.
Jake’s slim muscular build and farmer’s tan complimented his hayseed hair and green eyes. They sparkled like North Carolina’s emeralds dug up fresh from a shiny clay bed. “Okay. On to another psychohistorical fact: In 1656, historian William Dugdale wrote that explorer Sir Walter Raleigh visited the area where the section of holy tablet was discovered and was told a story about the Templars hiding treasure there.” Jake aimed at the screen’s image where an aged map with a yellow cross marked the spot. “Raleigh obsessed over the treasure seeking and even persuaded his wealthy wife, Elizabeth Throckmorton, Maid of Honor to Queen Elizabeth I, to buy land there and hired a crew to dig the ruins of the Templar preceptor. It was rumored nothing was found.
In fact, Raleigh has a whole string of raw deals where he claims to have found nothing.