I am excited to share L J Ambrosio’s Guest Post for A Reservois Man and to be a part of this I Read Book Tours tour.
Guest Post By L.J. Ambrosio, Author of “A Reservoir Man”
Sherry @ Fundimental
Title: “Michael’s Relationships With People”
In the novel, Michael’s relationship with his parents is extremely simple, they love each other. Though Michael always thinks of his parents as the two separate individuals, “Francis” and “Andy,” he never dares call them anything except their proper titles, Mom and Dad. Michael never discusses his life choices with his parents, they always support him in his life’s endeavors, they understand him through the bad and the good. Michael’s relationship with them, though sometimes imperfect, is ideal for his character as a young man coming of age.
In Michael’s first year of college, he develops a very strong relationship with Claire. A marriage of the two characters seems likely at this time. Michael at the same time develops a relationship with a male character named Raphael. Within six months, both relationships end, though Claire and Michael remain friends. These two relationships are symbolic of so many relationships Michael has in his life, people come and go constantly. Somehow, their departure is Michael’s choice.
Michael finds at the end of his life the most unconditional relationships with his children and even his dogs, like Buddy. Though it was a difficult road to bring the children up alone, they both become very successful and stand by him. This is true even of the character, Buddy, with whom Michael reaches one of the greatest moments of catharsis and truth in his entire life. One of the greatest disappointments Michael has in his life, is in the sheer number of friendships where he genuinely sought to help someone, in these instances, the vast majority of these people vanish and never offer anything in return.
Join Us For This Tour From: Sep 6 to Sep 26
Book Details:
Book Title: A Reservoir Man by L.J. Ambrosio Category: Adult Fiction (18+), 340 pages Genre: Fictionalized Memoir Publisher:Self-Published, Amazon Publication Date: May 25, 2022. Content Rating: PG-13 +M: There is a few explicit sex scenes, some mentions of sexual abuse, some bad language
In 18th century France, the choices for a young black woman of modest means are slim.
Véronique Clair loves her parents and their small home in the countryside of Burgundy but dreams of using her talent for sewing and embroidery to make her own way, without having to rely on a man.
When Véronique’s well-meaning parents find her a suitor of elevated station their happiness turns into her despair. Véronique must make the difficult choice between agreeing to an arranged marriage–with its promise of elevated status in society–or embark upon an unpredictable journey across France and into a world she’s never known.
…for a young woman of honor, only the heart can guide the way.
The pastor began to speak but was interrupted as a former childhood friend of mine entered behind us, causing many of us to turn around and look. She was red-faced with embarrassment. Big with child and holding onto the hand of two small children on either side of her and sporting a freshly blackened eye. She held her chin up and hustled her babies into a seat as her husband came in behind her, his face a mask of arrogance, daring anyone to say anything. He took the seat beside his family, slouched in the chair like a pouting child.
I leaned to whisper to my mother, eyes still on the man. “He will beat or breed her to death. The bastard. When he was courting her he had nothing but fine words about how well he would treat her. Now she is stuck with him, forever.”
“Oui,” Maman nodded, her pretty features turned down in a frown. “It is a shame. He is angry that he is a married man…”
The Unveiling of Polly Forrest by Charlotte Whitney
GENRE: Historical Mystery
BLURB
Rural
Michigan, 1934.
During the throes of
the Great Depression Polly marries for money. After her husband Sam dies in a
bizarre farm accident, new bride Polly assumes she is set to pursue her dream
of opening a hat-making business. Instead, she becomes the prime suspect in
Sam’s murder. Secrets abound and even Polly’s family can’t figure out the
truth.
EXCERPT
Sunday, August 19, 1934
Having no choice, I began climbing the exterior ladder that
ran up the height of the silo. I got up five or six rungs before my fear of
heights kicked in. My body started shaking and I willed myself not to look
down. I kept putting one foot above the other. The towel around my wounded
right arm had loosened and I let it fall to the ground, not wanting to remove
my other hand from the rung.
Every step required my mind telling my arms and legs to
move. My hands were jittering and I could hardly grip the ladder. You can do
this, I told myself. You can. You can.
“Keep going.” His
voice was piercing.
I willed my feet to move up the ladder. My body convulsed. I
was about five rungs from the top when I stopped. Reason told me I needed to
quit shaking and get my body under control or I would fall. Then it occurred to
me. He’s not going to push me into the soft silage. He’s going to knock me off
the top of the ladder down to the hard earth.
Dried flower on concrete stone surface background. Flat lay, top view, minimal style concept. Greeting card or web banner mockup for wedding anniversary, birthday, womens day.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Charlotte Whitney is the author of historical fiction set during the Great Depression in the rural Midwest. Her most recent work, The Unveiling of Polly Forrest, a stand-alone historical mystery follows her groundbreaking novel, Threads A Depression-Era Tale, which was met with both critical acclaim and commercial success. She received a master’s degree in English at the University of Michigan, and after a short stint of teaching at two community colleges, worked at the University of Michigan where she was an associate director of the Lloyd Scholars for Writing and the Arts. Currently living in Arizona with her husband and two dogs she enjoys hiking, bicycling, swimming, and yoga.
The tortured spirits of the dead haunt a Regency-era English manor—but the true danger lies in the land of the living in the third installment in the Lily Adler mysteries, perfect for fans of Deanna Raybourn.
Regency widow Lily Adler is looking forward to spending the autumn away from the social whirl of London. When she arrives in Hampshire with her friends, the Carroways, she doesn’t expect much more than a quiet country visit and the chance to spend time with her charming new acquaintance, Matthew Spencer.
But something odd is afoot in the small country village. A ghost has taken up residence in the Belleford manor, a lady in grey who wanders the halls at night, weeping and wailing. Half the servants have left in terror, but the family seems delighted with the notoriety that their ghost provides. Intrigued by this spectral guest, Lily and her party immediately make plans to visit Belleford.
They arrive at the manor the next morning ready to be entertained—only to find that tragedy has struck. The matriarch of the family has just been found killed in her bed.
The dead woman’s family is convinced that the ghost is responsible. Lily is determined to learn the truth before another victim turns up—but could she be next in line for the Great Beyond?
Book Details:
Genre: Historical Mystery Published by: Crooked Lane Books Publication Date: August 9th 2022 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 1639100784 (ISBN13: 9781639100781) Series: Lily Adler Mystery #3 Book Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Bookshop.org
Read an excerpt:
As they walked, Mr. Wright fell in step next to Ofelia. “Have you ever seen a ghost before, Lady Carroway?”
“I have not,” she replied, as polite as ever in spite of the hint of skepticism in her voice. “Pray, what does it look like?”
“Like a lady in white and gray,” he said, and Lily was surprised to see how serious his expression was. His frivolous, unctuous manner had dropped away, and he shivered a little as he gestured toward the windows. “No one has seen her face. The first time I saw her she was standing right there, bathed in moonlight, when I was returning from a late night in the village. And my sister saw her in the early morning only two days ago. Some nights, we have heard her wails echoing through the halls, even when she is nowhere to be seen.”
Lily exchanged a look with her aunt, who seemed surprised by the detail in Thomas Wright’s story and the quaver in his voice. Either he believed wholeheartedly in his ghost, or he was putting on a very convincing performance for his audience.
“And what does she do?” Ofelia asked, sounding a little more somber now, as they drew
to a halt in front of the windows. The small party looked around the corner of the hall. It was unremarkable enough, with several large paintings, and a tall, handsome curio cabinet standing in an alcove. An old-fashioned tapestry hung across one wall, though it was worn and faded enough that it was hard to tell exactly what picture it had originally presented.
“Nothing, so far,” Mr. Wright said, a sort of forced theatricality in his voice that left Lily puzzled.
She had expected, based on what Mr. Spencer had said the night before, to find an eager showman in Thomas Wright, ready to bask in the attention of curious neighbors, not a true believer in the supernatural. Glancing at Mr. Spencer out of the corner of her eye, she thought he looked equally puzzled.
“She stands and weeps, or floats around the hall and wails. Usually, if someone tries to draw close, she vanishes. But last month—” Mr. Wright’s voice dropped a little. He still glanced
uneasily toward the other end of the hall, as if momentarily distracted or looking for someone, before quickly returning his attention to his audience. “Last month she became angry when one of our housemaids came upon her unexpectedly. The lady in gray pursued her down the hall, wailing. Poor Etta was so scared that she fell down the stairs in her haste to get away. That
was when our servants started leaving.”
“I trust the housemaid has recovered?” Mr. Spencer asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
“She has,” Mr. Wright replied. “But no one has tried to approach the lady in gray again. We think she wishes to be left alone.”
“Well,” Lily said, attempting a return to lightness, “as far as ghosts go, that sounds reasonable enough. I confess I feel that way often enough myself, especially after too many busy nights in a row.”
Ofelia, who had been looking a little wide-eyed, giggled, and Mr. Spencer quickly covered a cough that might have been a chuckle.
Mr. Wright scowled, his expression halfway between unease and displeasure. “I take it you are not a woman who believes in ghosts, Mrs. Adler?”
“I have never had the opportunity to find out whether or not I am,” Lily replied. “The homes I have lived in have all been stubbornly unhaunted.”
“For your sake, madam, I hope they remain that way,” Mr. Wright said. There was an unexpected note of resignation in his voice as he added, “It is not a comfortable thing to live with.”
“I would have thought you to be fond of yours, sir,” Lily said. “If you dislike her so, why go to the trouble of showing visitors around and telling them the story?”
Mr. Wright smiled, some of the showman creeping back into his manner. “Because you are here, dear ladies. And how could I resist such a beautiful audience?”
“Tell me, has your family any idea who this lady in gray might be?” Lily’s aunt asked politely.
He nodded, his voice dropping even further, and they all reflexively drew closer to hear what he was saying. “We each have our own theory, of course,” he said. “I believe it is my father’s great-aunt, Tabitha, whose bedroom was just this way. If you would care to see the spot?” He held out his arm to Ofelia, who took it. Mr. Wright, engrossed in his story once more, turned to lead them down the closest passage. “Tabitha died there some fifty years ago, of a broken heart, they say, after news arrived of the death of her betrothed in the colonies—”
His story was suddenly cut off by screaming. Not a single shriek of surprise or dismay, but a cry that seemed to go on without ceasing. Thomas Wright froze, the genial smile dropping from his face in shock. “Selina?” he called.
The screaming continued, growing more hysterical. Dropping Ofelia’s arm, he ran toward the sound, which was coming from the far hallway, past the stairs. The others, stunned into stillness, stared at each other, unsure what to do.
“I think it’s Miss Wright,” Mr. Spencer said, all traces of merriment gone from his face. “Wait here—I shall see if they need any assistance.” He made to go after, but Thomas Wright was already returning, rushing down the hall next to another man, who was carrying the screaming woman.
“The parlor, just next to you, Spencer!” Mr. Wright called. “Open the door!”
Mr. Spencer, the closest to the door, flung it open, and the hysterical woman was carried in. She was laid on a chaise longue in the middle of the dim little room, Mr. Spencer stepping forward to help settle her as the man who had carried her stepped back. Lily, glancing
around as she and the other ladies crowded through the door, thought it looked like a space reserved for the family’s private use, which made sense on an upper floor. Thomas Wright knelt next to the hysterical woman for a moment, clasping her hands.
“Selina?” he said loudly. But she kept screaming, her eyes wide and darting about the room without seeing anything. Judging by the round cheeks and dark hair they both shared, Lily thought she must be his sister. Whether they had other features in common was hard to tell when Selina Wright was in the middle of hysterics.
“Miss Wright?” Matthew Spencer tried giving her shoulders a shake. “You must stop this at once!”
But she clearly could not hear either of them. Thomas Wright took a deep breath and looked grim as, with a surprising degree of practicality, he slapped her across the face.
The screams stopped abruptly, her blank expression resolving into one of terror before her eyes latched on her brother. Her face crumpled in misery. “Oh, Thomas!” she sobbed, gasping for breath.
He gave her shoulders a little shake. “Selina, stop this—you must tell me what happened.” But she only shook her head, clutching at his coat with desperate fists and dropping her head against his shoulder, her weeping shaking them both. Mr. Wright turned to the servant who had carried his sister. “Isaiah, what happened to her?”
Isaiah was a young Black man with very short, curly hair and broad shoulders. His plain, dark clothing marked him clearly as a servant, though it was nothing so formal as the livery that
would have been worn in a great house. His wide stance spoke of confidence, and the easy way that Thomas Wright addressed him indicated long service and familiarity.
But there was no confidence on the manservant’s face as he hesitated, gulping visibly and shaking his head. His eyes were wide, and he stumbled over his words as he tried to answer, either unsure how to respond or not wanting to. “It’s . . . it’s Mrs. Wright, sir. She didn’t open her door when we knocked, and Miss Wright . . . she asked me to open it, since no one has the key . . . and she was there, sir—Mrs. Wright. She was there but she wasn’t moving. There was nothing we could do, but there was no one else there what could have done it. She’s dead, sir,” he finished in a rush. “Mrs. Wright is dead. She was killed in the night.”
Beside her, Lily heard Ofelia gasp, though she didn’t turn to look at her friend. Mr. Spencer looked up, his dark eyes wide as he met Lily’s from across the room. She stared back at him, frozen in shock, unable to believe what she had just heard.
“Killed?” Thomas Wright demanded, his voice rising with his own disbelief and his arms tightening around his sister.
“It killed her, Thomas,” Selina Wright said, raising her head at last. Now that her hysterics had faded, her cheeks had gone ashen with fear. “There was no one else who could have entered that room. The lady in gray killed our mother.”
***
Excerpt from Death at the Manor by Katharine Schellman. Copyright 2022 by Katharine Schellman. Reproduced with permission from Katharine Schellman. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Katharine Schellman is a former actor, one-time political consultant, and now the author of the Lily Adler Mysteries and the Nightingale Mysteries. Her debut novel, The Body in the Garden, was one of Suspense Magazine’s Best Books of 2020 and led to her being named one of BookPage’s 16 Women to Watch in 2020. Her second novel, Silence in the Library, was praised as “worthy of Agatha Christie or Rex Stout.” (Library Journal, starred review) Katharine lives and writes in the mountains of Virginia in the company of her husband, children, and the many houseplants she keeps accidentally murdering.
I love to give authors a podium and the freedom to share whatever they like. I found Vince’s Guest Post to be interesting and it got me thinking….
Guest Blog Post
Which two authors would I have dinner with?
Ernest Hemingway and Taylor Caldwell have been
known for their inspiring and exceptional writing. So, what would it be like to
have dinner with them?
Let the fantasy begin …
As we waited for our drinks, I leaned over to
Ernest. “Put that cigar away,” I whispered, to avoid embarrassment.
“It’s Papa,” he replied in his usual charismatic
tone. “I told you many times, call me Papa. And this is no ordinary cigar. It’s
a Cuban puro.”
“I know what it is,” I said as my eyes followed
the waft of smoke charging towards me like one of the bulls from his book, The
Sun Also Rises. I moved my head to the side and added, “This is not El
Floridity and it’s not 1952. It’s 2022 in Sotto Sotto, Toronto. You remember
Toronto, don’t you?”
“Of course,
I do,” Ernest said as he extinguished his cigar. “The Toronto Star. I started there
as a freelancer and eventually worked as a foreign correspondent in Europe
writing stories about post-WWI conditions.”
I looked over to Taylor. She wasn’t a bit annoyed.
The curl of her lip suggested she rather enjoyed the exchange and would have
also enjoyed a Cuban cigar.
Our server came with our drinks. “Two daquiris,” he
said. Ernest smiled and tapped his finger on a space on the
table in front of him. “Martini for you, madam. And Negroni for you, sir.” We
toasted to friendship and writing and as the food and drinks came in plenty, so
did the conversation.
“Congratulations,” Taylor said, raising her glass
to me. “I thoroughly enjoyed reading The Final Crossing. Well done.”
“As did I,” Ernest said. I thanked them, smiled,
and took a sip of my Negroni.
Then Taylor turned to Ernest. “Papa, you should
have added more religious themes in your books.”
“You mean like your stories?”
“You know very well I have written on a broad range
of subjects, not just stories related to real historical events or persons. I
do not need to defend my work.”
Ernest smiled and raised his glass in tribute of her
accomplishments. It was probably more in his appreciation of a woman who
exemplified his own persona – strong-minded, adventurous, and passionate about her
craft. The wise fisherman was no match for this marlin, at least not this time.
“And don’t forget,” I said. “While you published The
Old Man and The Sea in 1952, for which you later won the Nobel Prize,
Taylor had written The Devil’s Advocate, set in
a dystopia where North America came under Communist rule.”
Ernest leaned back in his chair and took another sip of
his drink. Then he began to talk about his time in Cuba and in Paris and in
Spain. Taylor raised her hand. Ernest
stopped and remained
quiet. She then leaned forward towards him and said, “Don’t let the past steal
your present.”
The place fell in deafening silence as if everyone
had heard our conversation. I broke the stillness with my own curiosity about
their work.
“Papa, did writing come easy for you?” He shifted
in his seat and cleared his throat as if ready to respond in an interview with
a seasoned journalist.
“Writing is something that you can never do as well
as it can be done,” he said. “It is a perpetual challenge, and it is more
difficult than anything else that I have ever done—so I do it. And it makes me
happy when I do it well.”
Then I turned to Taylor. “You have always been
outspoken which is reflected in your intricately plotted, suspenseful stories
depicting family tensions. Much of this stemmed from your childhood. Would you
agree?”
“To some extent,” she replied. “As you know, I
emigrated to the U.S. with my parents and younger brother in 1907. Shortly
after my father died and the family struggled. I think I tapped into those
experiences and wrote them in my stories.”
“I believe you started to write at the age of eight
and wrote your first novel when you were twelve.”
She smiled. Then, as if the memories surfaced, her
smile faded. “My ill health prevented me from doing many things, except writing
of course. I buried myself in writing and the world knew little about me. Many
presumed I or rather the author, was a man. That was my first editor’s doing,
giving me a pen name. When my identity was eventually made known there was even
some public fuss over it.”
“Did that experience change how you thought about
people?”
“The nature of human beings never changes.
Political fads come and go; theories rise and fall; the scientific truth of
today becomes the discarded error of tomorrow. Man’s ideas change, but not his
inherent nature. That remains.”
My eyes darted towards Ernest who sat with his hand
on his chin, and I could tell he learned something new about Taylor.
“OK, now please humour me,” I said. I reached into
my pocket and pulled out three pens, one for each of us. I then took out a
piece of paper, ripped it in three and distributed them. I had obviously planned
for this moment.
I continued. “If we were stranded on an island and brought
with us only one book, what would it be? Write it down, fold the paper and pass
it to me.”
They were pensive at first. But then, in unison,
they wrote down their answer and handed it to me. I also wrote mine. I unfolded
each one and placed them on the table for us to see which book we would have had
brought with us.
Taylor wrote, The Old Man and The Sea. Ernest
wrote, The Devil’s Advocate. I wrote, The Final Crossing.
We laughed and laughed. We ate and drank. We
savoured the evening until the place had emptied, except for three revelling
authors.
And the fantasy ended.
What a fun post. I know I have read The Old Man and The Sea, but the others….I’ll be checking. I loved the post and you made it so enjoyable, Vince. Thank you very much.
The Final Crossing: A Tale of Self-Discovery and Adventure by Vince Santoro
GENRE: Historical Fiction
BLURB
In this tale of self-discovery and adventure,
we are connected with a history we’ve come to know as the cradle of
civilization.
Nenshi, an Egyptian house servant, raised in
nobility, is well-schooled, a master huntsman and hungers to be free. His
master agrees to grant his freedom but while the petition is set to be heard,
Nenshi’s indiscretion gets in the way. He is caught in a secret love affair
with a woman above his social status.
As punishment, he is exiled to labour in the Nubian
gold mines. His life turns upside down as he is thrust into a world for which
he had been ill prepared. He escapes from the mines and vows to return to
Thebes, but his attempts push him farther and farther away on a journey that
redefines him – a journey mired with cruelty, bloodshed, and the discovery of a
new deity.
In the end Nenshi learns his freedom has been
granted and must decide whether to return to his homeland or start a new life.
“I greatly enjoyed this well written story by
Vince Santoro. He takes us across the Ancient World
through the protagonist, Nenshi, an exiled Egyptian
servant who struggles with class structure, both around and within himself.
Santoro weaves a story of ideas – a sense of belonging, monotheism, and the
human soul – told through Nenshi’s rite of passage through to his final
crossing. The setting is visually evocative of “spirit of place” as
the novelist and travel writer Lawrence Durrell called it. It’s a story worth
reading.” – Terry Stanfill
Award winning historical fiction author of The Gift
from Fortuny, Realms of Gold, The Blood Remembers and other works.
“Vince Santoro is a gifted storyteller. I
found The Final Crossing difficult to put down because it is
well written. As an historian and author of
non-fiction books, I am impressed with the amount of research that Santoro has
done to prepare this story of adventure and romance set in the ancient Middle
East. The customs, the beliefs and even the character names are all authentic
to that region and era. With so many plot twists and turns, Santoro will keep
you guessing about what might happen next to the protagonist until the very
end!” – John Charles Corrigan
Author of The Red Knight and “Love
Always”
EXCERPT
Twilight was fast approaching, and they returned to the trail.
From a distance they saw an abundance of trees and vegetation that sprung from
the hard soil. Moments later, they heard rushing water. A twisting river
murmured. It called out and invited them to consume its wealth. Nenshi and
Aziza went to explore it.
Aziza stopped and kneeled to examine small flowers in bloom.
On the river’s edge Nenshi bent over and splashed water on his face. He cupped
his hands and drank its cool refreshing offering. Rocks jutted out from the
shallow water. He heard footsteps and threw a glance behind him. Aziza, ran
towards him, as free as the wind blew, eager to jump into the river. Nenshi
screamed from the top of his lungs to warn her.
“Aziza … Aziza … be careful, the water is shallow! There
are rocks!”
Her excitement muffled his warning. Nenshi then stood,
flapped his arms to get her attention. She pushed her legs hard against the
water to run faster until it was just deep enough to jump in.
“Aziza …. Aziza … stop …” Nenshi cried. Aziza took another
step but this time slipped and almost fell. She tried to regain balance and
continued moving forward. Nenshi gasped hoping she realized the danger and
would stop. But she didn’t and it was too late. She slipped again, fell and hit
a rock. Nenshi immediately ran to her, stepping and slipping on rocks that
almost caused him to lose balance. Babak who had heard Nenshi’s cries dashed to
the river. Nenshi crouched over the wet and motionless body.
“Help me get her out,” Nenshi cried out as he lifted her,
propped her head and shoulders in his arms. Blood, washed by the water, dripped
from her head.
AUTHOR Bio and Links
Vince is an Italian-born Canadian who grew up in Toronto,
Canada, and now lives in Pickering, a suburb of Toronto.
In his youth, education and sports became a priority. A private
boys’ school, St. Michael’s College in Toronto, provided the opportunity for
both. He graduated from York University, Toronto, with a degree in history and
a minor in behavioural science.
Vince was always up for new challenges. After completing his
studies, he set his eyes on Europe and played professional basketball in Italy.
When he returned home, he shifted gears and worked in the aerospace industry in
several capacities. The most rewarding was managing internal communications for
a large aircraft manufacturer. It was during this time he decided to hone his
writing skills by studying journalism at Ryerson University, Toronto, and he
had several articles published.
His career in communications along with studies in history and
journalism prepared him to take on his next challenge: to write a book. His
debut novel, The Final Crossing, has been a labour of love, one he worked on
for many years. It reflects life experiences, woven into a story that inspires
and entertains, and perhaps even show the world in a different way.
I have loved all the books I have read by Anita Dickason, but Deadly Keepsakes is my FAVORITE. It all starts with the lovely cover, add in an historic house with hidden secrets, some wonderful characters that stole my heart, and I am hooked.
Alone. A hospice nurse. A mysterious death. A vicious dog. Sure did get me going, from the opening pages and I love when an author hooks me so quickly I am unable to look away.
It was the beginning of her descent into a living hell of fear
She knew the police couldn’t protect her. It was up to her to protect herself. Like her, I had thought danger would be over after the trial, but the story would have been over too soon and Anita Dickason wouldn’t have it. Now I know why. Thrills and chills coming up.
Anita Dickason didn’t take the story where I thought it would go. Well done, Anita. I do love when an author can throw a surprise my way and I should have known better than to leap to conclusions with an author like Anita.
The best thing that ever happened to Tori Winters was meeting MIa…and Cammie, Heidi and Tina. I loved watching Tori grow, along with her friendship with these amazing characters, so well fleshed out I wanted them for my friends too. I laughed and cried with them.
I was swept up in the intrigue that became Tori’s life. Who to trust? What the heck is going on? How much danger is she in? Where is it coming from?
I have to come back to the characters, so richly developed. I love the ladies. The more I read of them, the more I came to love them, their generosity, their desire to help a newcomer to their town, their selflessness, doing something good for someone and expecting nothing in return…but Tori will show them how much she appreciates and loves them.
The suspense is not in your face, fast paced danger and thrills, but an underlying current of menace and intrigue flows through the entire novel. I didn’t want to put the book down, but sleep was calling to me.
I love the historical elements, Benny Binion, Top O’Hill Terrace, Granbury, Texas. I love when an author adds elements that make the book special to me, touching on familiar things and introducing me to new things that make me want more.
WOW! I am blown away and super excited about more to come. I can’t say much more or I may include spoilers that are worth discovering for yourself, but I will repeat myself, WOW. I want more of these characters and I can hardly wait to see what is in store for them next.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Deadly Keepsakes by Anita Dickason.
5 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
The past becomes a deadly future.
Stalked and nearly killed for her role in a murder trial,
Tori Winters isn’t giving the killer a second chance. On the run, she’s
desperate to find a place where she can’t be found. A puzzling phone
call about a vague inheritance seems to be the answer. After all, who
would look for her in a Granbury, a small, quaint Texas town?
Instead,
Tori’s life is about to spin into an existence where nothing is as it
seems. The historic house she inherits is steeped in secrets from the
past. Secrets that could prove deadly. There is the disinherited
step-grandson, and the lawyer and his son. What are they hiding?
When a killer strikes again, who can she trust? Tori’s newfound wealth may not be a blessing. It could be her death warrant.
ABOUT ANITA DICKASON
Code Name: Trackers: The elite of the elite. FBI agents, each with a secret, an extra edge, that defies reason and logic.
Characters
with unexpected skills—that extra edge for overcoming danger and
adversity—have always intrigued Anita. Adding an infatuation with
ancient myths and legends of Native American Indians, and Scottish and
Irish folklore creates the backdrop for her characters.
Anita is a
retired Dallas Police Officer. During—what she refers to as an
extraordinary career—Anita served as a patrol officer, undercover
narcotics officer, advanced accident investigator, and SWAT
entry/sniper.
Upon retirement, she became involved in a research
project that dealt with the death of a witness to the Kennedy
assassination. The research led to her first book, JFK Assassination
Eyewitness: Rush to Conspiracy, that details the results of her
reconstruction of a 1966 motor vehicle accident that killed Lee Bowers,
Jr., a key witness to the assassination.
Once the Bowers book
was written, Anita reached the same point many authors ultimately face:
I’ve written it, now what do I do? Answering that question has become
another career, one she has wholeheartedly embraced. The publishing
field is in a constant state of flux, offering unlimited possibilities
for an author, but also endless landmines.
Anita started a new
company, Mystic Circle Books & Designs LLC, offering cover design
and manuscript services. In addition to her works as an author, she
enjoys helping other authors see their dream become a reality.
Who should be held responsible for public
wrong? By 2008, it finally seems that the Peruvian government is ready to make
amends to its citizens after the violent guerilla movement of the last three
decades.
Otilia and Salvador, a mother and son torn apart
during the conflict and separated for twenty years, are eager to have their
pain and suffering acknowledged. But they hit a roadblock when the government
denies responsibility in their legal case.
Things begin to look up however when Otilia meets
Jerry, a kind man and the son of Jewish parents who escaped the Holocaust.
Grappling with his own upbringing and the psychological struggled his parents
endured, Jerry is just the person to empathize with Otilia’s feelings.
Together, Otilia, Jerry and Salvador must support one another through the
turbulent journey that is healing from historical trauma. And through it, find
the courage to rebuild their lives and open themselves to love and
companionship.
Artfully weaving together different timelines and
countries, this novel examines the nuanced topic of grief a community endures
after a collective tragedy. In this exploration of the culture of remembrance
following displacement and loss, we discover what happens when out past calls
us back to what we must do to achieve justice and reconciliation when we
return.
EXCERPT
Salvador entered the prison gates, following an orderly line of elderly men carrying multiple plastic bags. When a person in the back started to yell, the advancing lineup came to a stop. Almost immediately a guard raised his baton and struck the unruly man to one side.
At the first security checkpoint, bags were opened for
inspection. Since Salvador carried no package, he was told to move on. Next, he
spread his legs wide for a pat-down. Up ahead, after showing his identity card,
he was given a metal token with a printed number he’d have to return to the
guards on his way out to account for his visit. Lastly, while shuffling along,
he was asked to contribute a few coins for soft drinks for the guards. He
reached into his pockets and found some money for drinks for the guards, which
he dropped in a box at the end of the corridor.
In the prison yard, Salvador was keenly aware of the throng
of people milling about. These places are jam-packed, he thought as he looked
for his uncle in the crowd. Inmates talking to suited lawyers, visitors meeting
up with family members, joggers getting exercise, and a group of men shooting
hoops. Cooked meals, fruit, drinks, batteries, radios and clothes for sale were
set up in stalls against decrepit walls. Long lineups of raucous men waited to
use a few public phones that only accepted calling cards. Among the cacophony,
supervising guards moved through, keeping an eye on the inmates while yelling
into their megaphones.
Salvador noticed Tomas, drawn and frail, walking slowly toward him dragging his feet, his face grim. He seemed shorter than Salvador remembered him. It’d been years since they’d seen each other last, and the man had aged badly.
Tomas let out a deep breath, nodded, and pointed to a bench.
Salvador checked out the courtyard, wrinkling his nose at the stench. Before
Tomas rolled down his sleeves, Salvador noticed the naked female tattooed on
his uncle’s forearm. Tomas pulled two cigarettes out of his stained pants
pocket and held out one for Salvador.
“No Thanks, I don’t smoke.”
“So you found me, kid. How about that?” His voice was loud.
He lit his cigarette with trembling hands. “How’s life?”
Salvador had no stomach for small talk. It was colder than
usual for the end of March, and he wanted to be out of there as soon as he
could.
Tomas coughed.”I’m stuck in this fucking place.”
“I’m here for only one reason,” Salvador said, staring him
in the eyes.
“Thought you’d be wearing your cop uniform.”
“Cut the crap,” Salvador snapped.
Tomas looked puzzled, his face carved with age.
Salvador removed a pad of paper and pen from the inside
pocket of his light jacket.
“What the fuck is that for?” Tomas sneered.
“I need facts.”
“Say that again; I’m hard of hearing,” Tomas said leaning
in.
“Since when?” Salvador looked at Tomas doubtfully.
“Be nice. Remember that I took you in when you were an
orphan – when your mother and father left you alone. You were just a grimy
little beggar. Now it’s your turn to take care of me- get me out of this
nightmare.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links
Eliana Tobias was born in Santiago, Chile, to immigrant
parents who escaped
the Holocaust. She graduated from the University of Chile
then completed
other degrees in early childhood and special education in
the United States and
Canada. After working in this field in various capacities,
including teaching at
the National University of Trujillo in Peru, she moved to
Vancouver, where she
has lived for thirty years and where she discovered her love
of writing. Her rich
experience of political turmoil, of listening to stories of
the Holocaust when
Jewish communities in Europe were shattered, of losing
family in Chile under
military dictatorship, and living in Peru during a time of
intense civil conflict,
fueled her passion to write about the ways in which people
caught in devastation
rebuild their lives. Eliana Tobias lives in Vancouver, B.C.
I love anything to do with water and I would love to visit Atlantis, so I am eager to read The Undine’s Tear by Talena Winters. The blurb says epic fantasy, mermaids like you have never seen them before…and I HAVE TO KNOW.
Calandra is the most powerful healer to arise in three thousand years. Her people are counting on her to save them. The cost may be too much and time is running out.
Even though Calandra and Tanni are complete opposites, they became fast friends. Tanni’s dream was to be a guardian of the island and would put down her life for her.
Zale performs with the gypsys using his fishy ability, like a carnival act in a freak show. He spends his day in a tank of water. Abela came to him, telling him he had a sister and only he could save his mother, who had been taken by the Grigori.
Damon comes to Calandra in her dreams. He has become her hidden teacher, but I am leery of him. She has a push/pull attraction to him and I think, deep down, she senses there is more than meets the eye to him.
Women rule the island. There are no male Undines, so human men were brought in and Redeemed. That is a misnomer, because all their will is taken from them, so what’s to redeem? Calandra’s conscience is telling her there is something very wrong about this.
Narcissa is a princess whose mother is Adonia, the queen. Narcissa envies Calandra and will do all she can to bring her down, maybe even be the cause of her death. AND, not all the characters will survive the story. There is one that I really hate Talena Winters took a particular one out, but I also like when an author isn’t afraid to kill them off if it adds to the story.
I know there are people who thrive power. Those that have it often feel justified and entitled in their actions, but it is not necessary to be cruel.
Reverend Berian. I am having a hard time deciding if he is a good guy or if he has his own agenda.
We do have mermaids, Atlantis, other magicals, danger, betrayal, sacrifice…
Even though the mers spent most of their time on two legs, I loved the concept of the story. I am curious about what happened to all the mermen, seeing Zale is the only one of his kind…
Action packed, suspenseful, and I want more.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of The Undines Tear by Talena Winter.
4 Stars
Bonus Review for The Waterboy
The Waterboy by Talena Winters is a novella that tells Zale’s story. It is not necessary to read this before The Undines Tear, but if you are going to read the series, I would recommend adding this to your reading list. The Undines Tear covers the basics, but The Waterboy adds a lot of the details of his life and how he came to be with the gypsys.
3 Stars
BLURB
She’s
destined to save the world . . . if she doesn’t destroy it first.
Calandra’s destiny is
also her doom. As the most powerful healer since the woman who sank Atlantis,
she’s been raised to restore the Heartstone that protects her island from
humans . . . before she goes Mad like her mother and all the powerful undine
healers before her. When she learns she needs both male and female magic to
succeed, she becomes desperate—there hasn’t been an undine male born for over
three thousand years. Instead, she’s being pressured to use the siren mind-bond
to enslave her childhood friend, the one man she’s sworn to risk a death
sentence to free.
When Calandra discovers
a cryptic message that shows her exiled mother was not only sane but pregnant
with a boy, she questions everything she’s been taught to believe. But
revealing the horrifying truth of the bonds could tear her island apart—and concealing
it could unleash the Earth’s oldest, most destructive enemy. With insanity
looming, can Calandra find her brother and save the Heartstone, the man she
loves, her people, and the world . . . before she loses control and destroys
them all?
The Undine’s Tear is
the first book in the mind-blowing young adult epic historical fantasy series
Rise of the Grigori. Packed with complex characters, lush world-building,
gritty action, and impossible odds, this intricately woven tale presents
mermaids like you’ve never seen them before. Join Calandra in a search for
redemption that will threaten the very fabric of the universe. Dive into the
adventure today!
EXCERPT
“You are wondering how to gain control of your powers,”
Damon said without preamble.
Calandra thought about ignoring him or denying it, but what
was the point? This was nothing more than a dream, and the slippery logic of
dreams fuzzed her will to keep her more rebellious thoughts to herself.
“You know, I shouldn’t even be talking to you. An Unredeemed
male. I could get in big trouble.”
The corners of his mouth curved under his trim goatee.
“And who will report you?” He indicated the blackness around
them. “Certainly not I. I exist only in your mind.”
She crossed her arms and cocked her head, studying him.
“Have you ever been Redeemed?”
His expression became stony. “Redemption is for humans.”
“Redemption is for men. To make them safe. It just happens
that the only men are human.”
Thinking of Osaze’s dread, she wondered again at the
morality of it. Uncrossing her arms, she shifted her gaze from Damon’s face to
his bronze chest.
“And one of them is my friend.”
“All humans should be controlled,” he replied nonchalantly,
drawing nearer. “They have not the patience nor discipline to control
themselves. And I am not human, yet I am male.”
She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “I can see that. What
are you? I’ve never seen an undine with golden eyes.”
He smiled knowingly. “Not human. But I could be your
friend.”
That same feeling of security and warmth from their first
encounter enveloped her, as though he were projecting it from himself
intentionally. She frowned, wanting to accept it and shake off her heavy heart,
but not daring to trust him yet.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to help you.”
Damon came near enough to touch her but didn’t, pausing
before her with his arms to the sides in a placating gesture.
She wrapped her arms around herself and glared into the
blackness beyond him. “Yeah, well, you can’t. Not unless you can tell me how to
control powers that could sink an island and heal the Heartstone without going
Mad.”
“Little lark,” he said, amusement dripping from his voice
like honey from a spoon, “that is exactly what I intend to do.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links
Talena Winters is addicted to stories, tea, chocolate, yarn, and silver linings. She writes page-turning fiction for teens and adults in multiple genres, coaches other writers, has written several award-winning songs, and designs knitting patterns under her label My Secret Wish. Master of the ironic GIF response. She currently resides on an acreage in the Peace Country of northern Alberta, Canada, with her husband, three surviving boys, two dogs, and an assortment of farm cats. She would love to be a mermaid when she grows up.
Bridges Linda Griffin Published by: The Wild Rose Press Publication date: April 25th 2022 Genres: Adult, Historical Romance
In 1963, Neil Vincent, a middle-aged World War II veteran and “Christian atheist” is working at Westfield Court as a chauffeur. He spends most of his spare time reading. Mary Claire DeWinter is a young, blind, Catholic college student and reluctant heiress. To secure her inheritance, she has to marry within a year, and her aunt is pressuring her to marry a rich man who teased and bullied her when she was a child. Neil and Mary Claire shouldn’t even be friends, but the gulf between them is bridged by a shared love of books. Can they cross the bridge to more?
On the drive to Brierly Station, he didn’t speculate about who Miss DeWinter might be. It wasn’t his job to know who she was, only to meet her train and take her safely back to Westfield Court. She wouldn’t be the last of the friends and relatives who would gather as the old man’s life came to its long-awaited and peaceful end.
Brierly was bustling today, as restless as the St. James household. He was in plenty of time for the train and sat in the car reading. The car was a Bentley Mark VI, as well-maintained and highly polished as it was the day it was purchased. The book he was reading was Thomas Hardy’s The Return of the Native.
When the train rumbled in, he got out of the car. He stood patiently on the platform as the passengers disembarked, holding up a small slate on which he had chalked DEWINTER in large capitals. There weren’t many passengers, but they were briefly delayed while the conductor helped a blind woman navigate the steps. Neil’s gaze fell expectantly on a woman in her thirties, with an awful hat, but she was immediately met by a portly man and a teenage boy. No other likely prospects appeared, and he waited for someone to respond to the sign. No one did.
Finally, only two passengers were left on the platform—a small, homely man and the blind woman. Blind girl, really. She couldn’t be more than twenty. She had a jointed white cane, and her large sunglasses didn’t cover the edges of the scars on her face. She would not have been beautiful even without the scars—too thin, for starters, of average height but with small bones. On the other hand, her face might once have been pretty, and her hair was clean and shining, raven black, and well brushed. She was too pale, and the scars around her eyes were red and ugly. She looked a little lost.
Feeling foolish, he lowered the slate. “Miss DeWinter?” he asked as he approached her.
“Yes,” she said, turning toward his voice with a smile.
“I’m Vincent,” he said. “The St. James chauffeur.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Vincent,” she said. “Thank you for meeting me.” Her voice was soft, her enunciation perfect.
The porter fetched her luggage—a single gray vinyl suitcase with a flower decal—from the depot and turned it over to Neil with a cheerful nod. Jane would be disappointed, especially if the girl’s other clothes were as plain as what she wore, a simple dark dress with long sleeves and an unfashionable, below-the-knees hemline. “Would you take my arm?” he asked, positioning himself so she could place her hand in the crook of his elbow, which she did with easy confidence.
“Do you have a Christian name?” she asked.
“Yes, miss. It’s Neil.”
“That’s a good name,” she said. “Mine is Mary Claire. How is my grandfather, do you know?”
Neil, who hadn’t known the old man had any grandchildren, said, “Hanging on, miss.”
He opened the car door and helped her into the back seat.
“You don’t have to call me ‘miss’ all the time,” she said. “Please call me Mary Claire. Or my friends at school call me Sunny.”
“Yes, miss,” he said automatically and closed the door.
Author Bio:
For more information, visit my website, sign up for my newsletter, and claim a free autographed copy of Stonebridge: https://www.lindagriffinauthor.com/
I was born and raised in San Diego, California and earned a BA in English from San Diego State University and an MLS from UCLA. I began my career as a reference and collection development librarian in the Art and Music Section of the San Diego Public Library and then transferred to the Literature and Languages Section, where I had the pleasure of managing the Central Library’s Fiction collection and initiating fiction order lists for the entire library system. Although I also enjoy reading biography, memoir, and history, fiction remains my first love. In addition to the three R’s—reading, writing, and research—I enjoy Scrabble, movies, and travel.
My earliest ambition was to be a “book maker” and I wrote my first story, “Judy and the Fairies,” with a plot stolen from a comic book, at the age of six. I broke into print in college with a story in the San Diego State University literary journal, The Phoenix, but most of my magazine publications came after I left the library to spend more time on my writing.
My stories have been published in numerous journals, including Eclectica, Thema Literary Journal, The Binnacle, The Nassau Review, Orbis, and Avalon Literary Review, and in the anthologies Short Story America, Vol. 2, The Captive and the Dead, and Australia Burns. Four stories, including one as yet unpublished, received honorable mention in the Short Story America Prize for Short Fiction contests.
Member of RWA, Authors Guild, and Sisters in Crime
The
satisfying conclusion to Angela Lanza’s story which began in Between the Cracks
when she loses her entire family in the earthquake on Sicily following the 1908
eruption of Mt. Etna and continues in The Ascent as she adjusts to life in the
United States as a new bride and Italian American immigrant. Now, in the final
installment in the trilogy, The Benevolence of New Ideas, thrusts Angela and
her family into the heart of the Vietnam War and the turbulent times of the
1970s. As the family matriarch, Angela guides her niece, Marie, through these
challenges and the era’s limiting structures of education and organized
religion, helping Marie to embrace new ideas and expand her intuition and
relationship with the unseen world. Angela’s compassion and wisdom has an
exceptional impact on Marie’s life and those around her. A fulfilling ending that
celebrates Angela’s wisdom in all things along with her well lived life from
tragedy to triumph and from heartbreak to the enduring love of family.
EXCERPT
Angela had cared for Franco during his long illness, and now
she was free. The relief she felt made her cringe. How could she so easily feel
relief when Franco had suffered? She grieved but was thankful there would be no
more concerns about leaving him home alone, or trips to the doctor, or Franco
insisting he could perform a task when he couldn’t. He had emigrated from
Sicily at age twelve 12 in the early 20th century full of energy and promise.
Now, in 1968, Angela looked back and felt he had been successful in fulfilling
that promise. Franco had brought Angela, at age eighteen, from the convent
orphanage in Palermo, where she had lived since the 1908 earthquake, to a new
life in Nelsonville, New York, about forty-five minutes north of Manhattan. It
was not the life she thought she would have in America, but what she had
created in America she never would have had the opportunity to experience had
she stayed in Sicily.
Angela kissed Franco several times on both cheeks and on the
lips. The doctors had said it was a matter of time until he would pass away.
She could see death hovering and begin to slowly drape his body from his head
to his feet as if giving Angela time to say good-bye.
“Adio mio caro,” whispered Angela. “Grazie di tutto.” Tears
rolled down her face onto Franco’s cheek and mouth. His eyes were open and
fixed, as if peering into the world beyond. She put her hands on the sides of
his face and with her thumbs closed his eyes.
AUTHOR Bio and Links
Carmela Cattuti
started her writing career as a journalist for the Somerville News in Boston,
MA. After she finished her graduate work in English Literature from Boston
College she began to write creatively and taught a journal writing course at
the Cambridge Center for Adult Education. As fate would have it, she felt
compelled to write this homage to her great-aunt, who survived the earthquake
and eruption of Mt. Etna and bravely left Sicily to start a new life in
America.
Between the
Cracks and The Ascent began the story, which now concludes with the final book
in the trilogy.
