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Interview: Marilyn Barr

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Marilyn Barr.

Unlike many authors, Marilyn did not want to be just a writer from childhood. On her kindergarten career day, she told her class she wanted to write, sing, and dance on Broadway. To prepare for her future career, she took lessons in ballet, tap, ballroom dancing, and piano.

“The playground became my stage and I would write plays for my friends to act out. At home, I choreographed routines to the records on my Fisher-Price Record player. From Strawberry Shortcake to Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty featuring the Finnish National Opera, my weekend hours were spent entertaining the audience in my head,” she said. “While my love for the theater never died, my talent for math took center stage by the time I was 10 years old. My focus switched from music to medicine. In high school, my local hospital received over 1,000 hours of volunteer time while I got to watch doctors in action. From the emergency room to the morgue, I shadowed doctors with the Explorer Scouts of Columbus Ohio. Inspired by the Kay Scarpetta novels by Patricia Cornwell, I spent many hours cleaning the morgue after autopsies so I could learn more about pathology. I chased my dream of becoming a coroner until it was time to go to medical school.”

Marilyn began her writing career in a laboratory, researching and writing scientific articles on the probability and possible connections between recovering from influenza and contracting a strep-based otitis media (middle ear infection). With degrees in molecular biology and chemical engineering (read as big nerd), she was interested in the genetic interaction between the influenza infection and ear epithelial cells. Later in her career, she became fascinated with the genetic variations between all epithelial cells of the respiratory tract and how they interact with different sized droplets of infectious material. After earning her master’s degree in particle physics (read as uber-nerd), she published many articles on droplet deposition in the body.

“My job as a scientist was very demanding and I gave up technical writing to pursue teaching,” she told me. “I loved teaching ninth-grade science and twelve grade physics. However, my son was deemed too sick for school in 2013 by his medical team and school authorities. While I could have a tutor teach him under the umbrella of ‘home instruction,’ I decided to try to teach himself. Six years later, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her son is a savant, and Marilyn is an advocate for the autistic community. Her specific type of sensory processing disorder makes her a sensation seeker with each of the seven senses except taste/mouthfeel. To engage intellectually, she must have these senses invested in the process. Having a song for each couple playing on repeat, a candle scent assigned for each character’s point-of-view, and wearing a selected ring for each heroine are tricks she used to getting into character on a daily basis.

There are times, when she’s blocked, she will even go further and change her appearance to channel the character, like method acting.

“In writing Strawberry shifter’s book 3: Go Scorch Yourself, I struggled in generating Betty’s snappy comebacks and vile swears. In general, I do not curse and she is introduced to the series as the ‘fun aunt who says all the bad words.’ I dyed my hair black and wore goth make-up so my reflection on the computer screen was distorted into hers,” she explained. “In writing Strawberry shifter’s book 4: Bad Guy, I struggled with Orchid’s limited English-speaking abilities. I love big words, complex metaphors, and long-winded sentences which do not fit her backstory. When writing her POV, I wore fairy wings, so my reflection is much more Fae than human.”

Her books start with a dream…either the ending or the final scare through the eyes of a new character. She will often write post-it notes in the middle of the night which will later be turned into character aesthetics in the morning to brainstorm their rules.

“It is important to me that the character be consistent throughout the book in their go-to gestures, level of swearing, and favorite phrases,” she said. “After I have my rules for the characters, the next step is a living outline. A grid is laid out on plain paper and each chapter gets a box. During the first draft, the boxes are cut apart to be rearranged with new chapters placed between them as I get tuned into the characters. Bear with Me was entirely from Grant’s point-of-view in its first outline. However, that outline was cut, pasted back together, and decorated with marker five times before the first draft was completed.”

I asked, “What, in your opinion, are the most important elements of good writing?”

“In my opinion, the most important element of writing is planned characterization. Each character must have a unique voice and mannerisms that are consistent throughout the piece. By two-thirds through the piece, I should be able to identify the character without dialogue tags by their shrugs, shy smiles, long-winded sentences, or idiosyncrasies the author has assigned them.

“In the Strawberry Shifters series, Green Witch Alison uses long sentences with complex structures usually containing a plant metaphor. She met her husband in college over twelve years before the start of the novel, so I gave him the same sentence structure. I assumed they would have the same English professors who would have shaped their vernacular. However, Grant would not use plant metaphors. His thoughts are a whirlpool of responsibilities and he never ‘stops to smell the roses.’ He also swears when life doesn’t go his way, something Alison would never do.”

Marilyn is fortunate to share an adopted hometown with JR Ward. While she was editing Bear with Me, she was able to attend a presentation at their local library. In addition, she was one of the first thirty participants to RSVP, so she had the fortune of winning a ticket to the pre-lecture reception.

“She talked about having the courage to write how the story in your head instead of the story desired by the market, the publisher, or the haters,” Marilyn said. “She autographed my idea book with the advice ‘only listen to your rice crispies.’ She gave me the courage to keep the spice level of the Strawberry Shifters at the hot level of the books I like to read. One of the themes of Bear with Me is the balance of power in a marriage needs to be equal in all areas: emotional, financial, intellectual, and sexual. Grant and Alison start their journey to Kentucky as adversaries in every area. It is through the bedroom scenes the reader can track their progress toward a loving relationship based on a mutual partnership not a struggle for control. Taking the naughty scenes out or cooling them down would diminish the journey. I had to develop the courage to share them for which I credit JR Ward.”

“You’ve mentioned Bear with Me several times, and we have the blurb below. Can you tell us something about the book that’s not in the blurb?”

“Pumpkins feature on the cover and several times in the story not only because Bear with Me is set in November, but my most harrowing gardening adventure happened with pumpkins. In 2011, My husband and I turned our tiny suburban yard in Ohio into a homestead. Our goal was to live off our grown produce, so we ripped up the grass and farmed in the middle of a neighborhood. Our neighbors were thrilled.

“I didn’t plan for pumpkins, but my husband wanted them. I stuck the vines under the pine trees at the back of the yard hoping the shade would kill them. When I saw groundhogs eating the blossoms, I thought pumpkins would never grow. I buried the vines and forgot about them until November. The vines had grown up the trees and when the pumpkins became too heavy, they fell out. We had swinging pumpkins hanging from our trees and my husband claim I did it with magic.”

An exception is selling here order generic levitra cooked tomatoes as these have been shown to be effective for treating different stages of (Secondary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis) SPMS. But of all the cases, the major case of ED problem is lacking supply of blood in male reproductive organ. cheap viagra order As such, exposure of this drug means taking advantage of a low cost drug with a electric power to let the a man perform the best viagra well his best in bed. Many times, when a man abstains from sexual activity, his wife worries that he might be having an india tadalafil affair or perhaps does not love her any longer. She’s currently working on Strawberry Shifters Book 2, Round of Applause. It is a Rapunzel retelling where she cuts society’s definition of family to find love. This steamy paranormal romance novel is a Yuletide/Christmas romance which Marilyn hopes to have released before Christmas. Fans of the series will be delighted to rescue the golden-haired woman left behind in Bear with Me and to find out what animal James shifts into when he is forced to shift.

Aurora sets out on a post-doctoral journey to find a family and community where she can be a valued contributor but instead becomes trapped in a Sluagh fortress. Now she is stuck in remote Strawberry, Kentucky where no one is who they seem. How far will Aurora have to travel to have the 1990s sitcom family she has always dreamed of having?

Stodgy James has seen it all in his nearly two hundred years as an animal shifter. He climbs the Sluagh fortress to find the beautiful Aurora who smells of cardamom, just like his late wife. Too bad Aurora is a feisty modern woman who requires more than a smell-based prophecy to fall into his arms. He must update his antiquated views on beauty and family standing in his way of finding a second chance at love.

James’s best friend Nate has been searching for the perfect mate too. Exploited during the bulk of his life as a child prodigy, Nate has dedicated himself to reclaiming his right to fun. His relationship with James is the basis of Nate’s joy including adjoining apartments, a shared office, and motorcycle rides side-by-side. Beneath the Sluagh fortress, he is the leopard landing pad for his best friend and Aurora with her donut scent (perfect for a cinnamon roll beta male). He must convince James not to step aside, but that he is the missing piece to achieve happiness for the three of them.

“Your titles are interesting. How did you come up with them?”

“The titles of the Strawberry Shifters books are puns based on what the main characters need the most to find happiness. In the case of Bear with Me, Alison needs her husband to stick around long enough to hear what she needs from him. In Round of Applause, shat could the characters need to find happiness with that title? Find out during the holiday season of 2020.”

Finally, I asked, “What advice would you give a new writer just starting out?”

“Be faithful to your bookshelf. The books you like to read have all the answers to the books you wish to write. How to twist the plot, the genre of your next work, who to query, and how to market your books are all combined on your bookshelf. The books you choose to purchase, read, and keep to read again are your template for your next project.

“In the same vein, do not try to write a book you wouldn’t read for fun just to please the market, your friends, or your family. You will read your book a thousand times between the initial story and the final print, only to take it on a tour where you read excerpts at libraries, bookstores, and coffee shops. You will be miserable if you don’t love it. The answers to all my career questions have been answered on my bookshelf. It is a much smoother ride being true to yourself.”

Blue eyes, dimples, and silky brown hair; Grant Luther has all of Alison’s weaknesses.

When he asks for one last chance to save their marriage, she agrees to relocate their family to isolated Strawberry, Kentucky in pursuit of his career dreams. Grant views Alison’s sensory issues as limitations and protects her from outside threats. When he finds his new job includes changing him into a shifter in a war against the soul-sucking Sluagh he vows to keep the changes a secret. What he doesn’t know is Alison has been hiding a magical secret of her own. One that makes her a target of the Sluagh.

Will Alison emerge from Grant’s shadow to protect her family? And can Grant learn that being different can be a strength not a weakness?

About the Author:Marilyn Barr currently resides in the wilds of Kentucky with her husband, son, and rescue cats. When engaging with the real world, she is collecting characters, empty coffee cups, and unused homeschool curricula.

She has a diverse background containing experiences as a child prodigy turned medical school reject, biodefense microbiologist, high school science teacher, homeschool mother of a savant, and advocate for the autistic community.

She would love to hear from readers via her website.

website| Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Amazon author profile | Goodreads | BookBub Author Profile

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A Cowboy State of Mind by Jennie Marts

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Jennie Marts who is celebrating the upcoming release of the first book in her Creedence Horse Rescue series, A Cowboy State of Mind. Enter to 1 of 2 sets of the Cowboys of Creedence series.

The town of Creedence, Colorado, gets involved in horse rescue in bestseller Jennie Marts’ brilliant new series

Zane Taylor has a gift for communicating with animals, particularly horses, but he’s at a loss when it comes to women. He’s a scarred and battered loner who has sworn off love—except he can’t seem to stay away from Bryn Callahan.

Bryn Callahan has a heart for strays, as evidenced by the assembly of abandoned animals that have found their way to her doorstep. But she is through trying to save damaged men. She vows to date only nice guys, which is a category that does not include Zane Taylor. Too bad he’s the one who sets her pulse racing every time she’s around him.

A chance encounter with a horse headed for slaughter brings Zane and Bryn together. Although starting a horse rescue ranch wasn’t in the plan, now Zane and Bryn have a chance to save not just the animals, but maybe each other…

Enjoy an Excerpt

The still-nameless dog jumped into the cab as Zane Taylor opened the door of his pickup, and he absently patted its head and rubbed behind its ears. The dog leaned into him and got that blissed-out look on its face, and Zane’s tension eased a little as it always did when he interacted with an animal. The late spring sun warmed Zane’s back, and as soon as he turned his attention away from the dog, he felt the weight of the decision he bore on his shoulders. His former boss, Maggie, had been nagging him to come back to his old job on her Montana ranch. She’d taken in a herd of wild stallions, and she needed him. He’d gotten by so far with vague replies, but it was time to give her an answer. Time to get back on the road and out of Creedence. Except the reason he was so fired up to leave was also the reason he wasn’t ready to walk away.

He shrugged the soreness from his shoulders. He’d had a good morning with Rebel, the headstrong black stallion he’d been working with for weeks now. Maybe the horse could feel the warmth in the air as well. Although it was Colorado, so they could still get a snowstorm or two before spring reluctantly slid into summer.

“Nice job today, horse whisperer,” Logan Rivers, his current boss, and friend, hollered from the corral where he was putting another horse through the paces.

Zane waved a hand in his direction, ignoring the comment, as he turned the engine over and pulled the door shut. He wasn’t fond of the nickname, even though Logan had been using it since they were in high school and working summers at Logan’s family’s ranch.

Zane could admit grudgingly that he did have a gift with horses, especially the dangerous or wild ones, somehow connecting with the animals better than he ever did with people.

The black-and-white border collie mix rested her head on Zane’s leg, and he stroked her neck as he drove toward Creedence, where no one was a stranger and everyone knew not just your business, but your cousin’s as well.

He lowered the windows and turned on the radio, contemplating the errands he needed to run after he grabbed a plate of biscuits and gravy at the diner. The thought made his mouth water. So did the thought of hopefully seeing a certain blond waitress who had been taking up way too many of his thoughts these last few months.

He slowed, his brow furrowing, as he recognized that same waitress’s car sitting empty on the side of the road. The car was an old nondescript blue sedan, but there was no mistaking the colorful bumper stickers stuck to the trunk. A bright blue one read “What if the hokey-pokey really is what it’s all about?” and the hot-pink one above the back taillight read “It was me. I let the dogs out.”

His heart rate quickened as his gaze went from the empty vehicle to a hundred yards up the road, where a woman walked along the side of the highway, her ponytail bouncing with each step and a light-colored dog keeping pace at her heels. Which was pretty impressive, in and of itself, since the dog had only three legs.

But then, everything about Bryn Callahan was kind of bouncy, and she was just as impressive as her dog. The woman was always upbeat and positive. Even now, with her car sitting busted on the side of the road, her steps still seemed to spring, and the bright sunlight glinted off her blond hair.

He drove past the abandoned car and onto the dirt shoulder as he slowed to a stop beside her. “Need a ride?”

She turned, her expression wary, then her face broke into a grin, and it was like the sun shining through the clouds after a rainstorm.

“Hey, Zane,” she said, the smile reaching all the way into her voice as she grasped the door handle. She looked steadily into his eyes, her gaze never wavering, never sliding sideways to stare at the three-inch, jagged scar starting at the corner of his eye and slicing down his cheek. Most people couldn’t keep their eyes off it, but Bryn acted as if it wasn’t there at all. “I sure do. I was supposed to start my shift at the diner ten minutes ago.”

She opened the door, and the dog bounded in, hitting the floorboards, then springing onto the seat to wiggle and sniff noses with the border collie. They could have powered a wind farm, the way their tails were wagging and their little butts were shaking.

“Hey, Lucky.” He leaned in as the dog leapt over the collie’s back and into Zane’s lap, where it proceeded to drench his face in fevered licks and puppy kisses. Lucky was like a hyper three-legged Tigger as he bounced from Zane’s lap back to the collie, over to Bryn, and back to Zane.
“Lucky, get off him,” Bryn scolded. She tried to push her way into the truck as she got her own slobbery reception from the collie.

Zane chuckled and grabbed her hand to help her into the cab. But his laugh stuck in his throat as heat shot down his spine and his mouth went dry. He swallowed and tried to focus on assisting her, instead of staring at the area of bare skin he glimpsed as the top of her dress buckled and gaped from her movement. It was just the side of her neck, but it was the exact spot he’d spent too much time thinking about kissing.

“Silly mutts.” She laughed as she tossed her backpack on the floor and plopped into the seat. Her hand was soft, but her grip was solid, and for a moment, he wondered what would happen if he didn’t let go. “Wow, what a greeting,” she said, as she released his hand to buckle herself in.
Zane’s eyes were drawn to her legs like bees to honey. The woman had great legs, already tan, and muscular and shapely from her work at the diner. Her white cross-trainers were scuffed with the red dirt from the road, and she had a smudge of dust across one ankle that Zane was severely tempted to reach down and brush away so he could let his fingers linger on her skin.

Bryn wore a pink waitress dress, the kind that zips up the front, with a white collar and a little breast pocket, and the fabric hugged her curvy figure in all the right spots. For just a moment, Zane imagined pulling down that zipper—with his teeth. His back started to sweat just thinking about it.

Simmer down, man. He took a deep breath, utilizing the stress-reducing exercise he’d learned in the military, and tried to think of something witty to say. He didn’t usually let himself get carried away with those kinds of fantasies. But he didn’t usually have Bryn in his truck, filling his cab with the sound of her easy laughter and the scent of her skin—traces of honeysuckle and vanilla and the smell of fresh sheets off the line on a warm summer day.

“That dog is serious about kissing. I haven’t had that much action in months.” He winked, then laughed with her, pulling his hand back to ruffle Lucky’s ears as the dog settled into the seat next to the collie. He tried to play it off like a joke, to settle his pounding heart, when what he really wanted to do was pull her into his lap and kiss her face and throat the way Lucky had done to him. Well, not exactly the same way.

Bryn snorted and scratched the ears of the collie, who was softly whining as she pressed into Bryn’s shoulder. “He’s just happy to see you. It’s been a while, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.” It had, in fact, been months since he’d seen her.

“Well, Lucky has noticed you haven’t been around much.” She dropped her gaze and her voice as she focused on petting the dog. “We both have.”

Both?

“Are you saying you missed me?”

“I didn’t say missed. I said noticed.”

His shoulders slumped. Of course she hadn’t missed him.

She playfully nudged his elbow, and he felt the heat of her skin against his arm.

“Of course I missed you. You all but disappeared after the great Christmas pie bake-off in December.”

He chuckled as he shook his head. “I still can’t believe we made fifteen pies in four hours.”

“I still can’t believe you wore a frilly apron with a glittery cupcake on the front.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What other kind of cupcake is there? And I liked that glittery color. I’m thinking of having it added to the paint job on my truck.”

A laugh burst from her. “I dare you to.”

He let his voice drop and offered her what he hoped was a flirtatious grin. “I do enjoy a good dare.”

She chuckled, then lowered her gaze to the dog’s shoulder, where she scratched its fur. “So, why didn’t I hear from you? Was it something I said or did?”

Yeah, it was everything you did—everything that made me want and hope and wish for something more. “Nah. I was going to call you, but we got real busy at the ranch. Then I heard you started dating some rough-stock cowboy, and I didn’t want to overstep.”

“Is it overstepping to be my friend?”

He cocked his head, eyeing her. “Is that what you want me to be? Your friend?”

“Of course. I didn’t give you my number for you to not call me.”

Wrong question, dumbass. Should have asked her if all she wanted was to be his friend. He offered her a shrug. “I’m not much of a talker.”

“That’s perfect. Because I can talk up a blue streak, and I’m always on the lookout for a good listener.”

He chuckled. “I can do that. I can probably even throw in an occasional grunt of agreement just so you know I’m paying attention.”

She giggled softly, and the sound swirled in his chest, melting into him like molasses on a warm pancake. “That sounds great.”

***
Excerpted from Cowboy State of Mind by Jennie Marts. © 2020 by Jennie Marts. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author:Jennie Marts is the USA TODAY Best-selling author of award-winning books filled with love, laughter, and always a happily ever after. Readers call her books “laugh out loud” funny and the “perfect mix of romance, humor, and steam.” Fic Central claimed one of her books was “the most fun I’ve had reading in years.”
She is living her own happily ever after in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, two dogs, and a parakeet that loves to tweet to the oldies. She’s addicted to Diet Coke, adores Cheetos, and believes you can’t have too many books, shoes, or friends.

Her books include the contemporary western romance Hearts of Montana series, the romantic comedy/ cozy mysteries of The Page Turners series, the hunky hockey-playing men in the Bannister family in the Bannister Brothers Books, and the small-town romantic comedies in the Lovestruck series of Cotton Creek Romances.

Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Pinterest | Amazon Author Page

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Bolder and Braver by Patricia V. Davis – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will be giving away a $25 Amazon/BN gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Bolder and Braver

The one gift I never expected to receive so late in life was to meet such wonderful women, all of them unique, but all the same in one way: they uplift and support other women better than any 16-hour bra.

These women are not women I would have met unless I got out of my comfort zone. That started when I moved to Greece with my Greek husband. I did that. I did it to “save my marriage.” That plan didn’t go as expected. But you know what? Getting out of my comfort zone saved me, instead. I discovered something not many of us have been told: women do not have to be exactly like you in order to be real friends. They don’t have to have the same religion or politics as you in order to have the same values. They don’t have to speak the same first language, have the same color skin as you in order to “get” you, and for you to “get” them.

Considering all that’s happening today, this will be hard to believe. But the truth is, I never set out to write the characters in The Secret Spice Cafe Trilogy as so ‘diverse.’ Their voices came to me through the women I’ve been lucky to meet in the last twenty-three years since I moved to Greece and started writing. I did meet a woman whose marriage had been arranged, as was Rohini’s in Cooking for Ghosts. I did meet a sexy, dynamic Cynthia. The character Jane is based on a woman who was my business partner in the bookshop and book distribution company we owned in Athens, called Serafim Books. We’d name it for guardian angels, because that’s what we became for each other — our own angels. We looked out for each other, helped each other through many life crises during that time, an experience I treasure to this day.

And Angela is named after another friend, (who really needs to write her own book someday). Angela was in the US military when she met and married her own Greek husband. Unlike mine, their marriage has lasted through thick and thin, I’m happy to say. Marriage to a Greek and living in Greece were the only commonalities Angela and I shared, or so people might think, at first. I know nothing about military life. Or growing up in Louisiana. Or being one half of a couple in an interracial marriage. But when we talk, which we still often do, we talk about the things that matter to both of us: our families, how much good we’re doing or not in this life, and of course, books.

And as for Sarita, the teenager in my story who has doubts about herself, her fears about being “different” — who hasn’t felt that? Or what mother, like Angela, hasn’t had to re-examine and adjust her expectations when it comes to grown children?

So, when people ask me, “How did you come up with these characters?” my answer is, “How could I not?”

There’s a problem, though. Being a white writer, I have to be very careful not to be misunderstood when I write about women of different races. That became even more obvious as I wrote about Rosemary Taylor, the vodou (or voodoo) Creole priestess grandmother of Sarita, who finally makes an in-person appearance in Book III of this trilogy. Those who read Books I and II will spot her, mentioned by other characters in both books, but we only get to meet her at last in Book III.

How a vodou priestess ends up on the Queen Mary in Long Beach to help exorcise a demon that’s lodged itself aboard is pure imagination on my part. But her essence, her being, is all inspired by more women I’ve met. In the case of the character Rosemary, I asked for and got help from women who have lived more of what my character has lived. I won’t say I got their “permission” to write about her, but I will say I checked with them on a regular basis to be sure I was writing with clarity, respect, and as much truth in fiction as possible. I wouldn’t be able to do that — write characters with such depth — if I hadn’t put myself out there to meet women who the world tells me are different than I am. Sure, in some ways, we are.

But in the ways that are most important, we’re not.

So, what do you think—want to broaden your horizons without having to travel extensively? Want to help end the hatred and fear of other human beings who seem so different from oneself? Smile at a stranger. Say hello. Start up a chat on a bus, or the underground, or while waiting on the checkout line at the market. Just try it. I can’t tell you how much richer my life is because I’ve done that, because I have talked to women and they have talked to me. When we discovered our commonalities, when we shared our experiences, our wishes and fears, that’s when we — collectively — became different: bolder, braver, and more daring, with our true friends to cheer us on.

Book One: Cooking For Ghosts

Do hearts broken long ago forever leave a tangible trace?

A Vegas cocktail waitress. An Indian herbalist. A British chemistry professor. An Italian-American widow. Four unique women with one thing in common: each is haunted by a tragedy from her past.

Cynthia, Rohini, Jane, and Angela meet on a food blogging site and bond over recipes. They decide on impulse to open The Secret Spice, an elegant café on the magnificent ocean liner, the RMS Queen Mary, currently a floating hotel in Long Beach, California. Rich in history and tales of supernatural occurrences, the ship hides her own dark secrets.

The women are surrounded by ghosts long before they step aboard, but once they do, nothing is quite what it seems. Not the people they meet, not their brooding chef’s mystic recipes, and not the Queen Mary herself. Yet the spirits they encounter help them discover that there’s always a chance to live, as long as one is alive.

An Official Pulpwood Queens Book Club Selection, and read by Ann Marie Gideon, COOKING FOR GHOSTS is an unforgettable tale of love, redemption, and divine female power.

Book Two: Spells and Oregano

A mother desperate to save her twin sons, a war veteran in torment, a beautiful young psychic with a terrible secret, a powerful magician with a shattered soul, and a Queen steeped in history and glory. These extraordinary beings cross paths and set off a remarkable chain of events in Spells and Oregano: Book II in The Secret Spice Cafe Trilogy.

Overcome by despair after a trauma when she was sixteen, Sarita Taylor has spent the past ten years isolated and lonely aboard her beloved RMS Queen Mary. Fearful of outsiders, she dedicates her time to managing The Secret Spice Café, now an award-winning restaurant. Until Luca Miceli, a man with a dark past, steps on board.

Patricia V. Davis deftly spins past and present, mystery and magic, into a potent story of passionate longing and family tragedy all at once. Spells and Oregano is a compelling tale of atonement, devotion, and undying love, set aboard one of the world’s most magnificent, haunted ships.

Don’t miss Cooking for Ghosts: Book I in The Secret Spice Cafe Trilogy. The Secret Spice Trilogy is an Official Pulpwood Queens Book Club Selection

Book Three: Demons: Well Seasoned

Dare to Believe in Your Power…
A long-lost grandmother. A stay-at-home mom. A comic book fan. A five-year-old girl with a star-shaped birthmark. And nine more.

The cast is bigger, the stakes are higher. When Sarita’s grandmother, a Vodou priestess, foresees a terrible evil, Cynthia, Jane, Angela, and Rohini reunite on a heart-rending mission to save all that’s precious to them, including the iconic ship, the RMS Queen Mary. They cannot do it alone–the priestess tells them there must be thirteen on the night of the thirteenth moon. in this life-or-death pursuit. Yet, can she be trusted?

Spiced with history and the supernatural, Demons, Well-Seasoned takes us from 1930s Glasgow, to New Orleans and Harlem in the 1950s, to present day southern California, and back again, on a metaphysical voyage that is both exhilarating and poignant. But before you embark upon this final sail with the denizens of The Secret Spice, be warned: expect to lose sleep, and keep tissues at hand. These valiant characters might just stay with you long after their story comes to a close.

Don’t miss Cooking for Ghosts, and Spells & Oregano, Books I and II in The Secret Spice Café Trilogy. The Secret Spice Cafe Trilogy is an Official Pulpwood Queens Book Club Selection

Enjoy an Excerpt from Cooking for Ghosts

Unconcerned with what her business partners were up to, Rohini was giggling with excitement. Hugging herself, she whirled in circles, then flung her arms up over her head and collapsed back in dizzy elation onto the enormous bed in the glorious stateroom. Everything was glorious. She was here. This was her room. The Secret Spice was, in part, her restaurant.

Hers.

And when she’d first seen the Queen from the back seat of Cynthia’s preposterous little car, she knew she was headed to exactly where she should be. She couldn’t stop smiling, until, abruptly, a lump formed in her throat and her eyes misted with tears.

“I made it, Zahir,” she whispered. “I made it.”

She sobered as she thought of him, of all he’d done for her, and all that she might still need to do on her own.

But that wasn’t for today. Today was for celebration and thankfulness. Getting up from the bed, she opened her case, pulled out all the little plastic sacks of spices and herbs she’d packed, and sighed with relief. Not a one had opened or torn. Even so, she could smell their pungent bouquet right through the protective wrappings. Rauvolfia, Serpentina, Jaiphal, Javitri, Khus Khus, Ashwagandha and more — why did cinnamon always smell the strongest? There were dozens of varieties that she’d stuffed inside shirt sleeves and trouser legs and white cotton gym socks, just like a drug dealer might hide a stash. The TSA had missed them completely. They’d even affixed a sticker to the top of her bag: “Checked by Homeland Security.”

About the Author:PATRICIA V. DAVIS’s debut novel series, THE SECRET SPICE CAFE, is comprised of three books: COOKING FOR GHOSTS (2016) SPELLS AND OREGANO (2017) and DEMONS, WELL-SEASONED. (2019) The audio books will be released in 2020 by Tantor Media, and narrated by Ann Marie Gideon. Patricia lives with her husband, who is both a poker player and a rice farmer, so she divides her time between southern Nevada and northern California. Say hello to Patricia at her author website.

Website | Instagram | Facebook | TikTok | Wikipedia

Buy the series at Amazon.

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Top Ten Tuesday: Opening Lines Revisited

Hosted by That Artsy Reader Girl

Welcome to Top Ten Tuesday!  This week is very special because Top Ten Tuesday turns ten!

There were a couple of options for this week’s topic.  I chose the option of picking a past Top Ten Tuesday topic that I didn’t get to do.  A couple of week’s ago my fellow reviewer, Astilbe, compiled a list for the topic Opening Lines.  I had so much fun reading her list as well as others, that I decided to make my own.  I made my list by browsing my bookshelf and opening some of my favorites.  Since this topic is a rather recent one, I also tried to avoid books that were frequently featured in the posts I visited.  Here’s my list in no particular order!

“I knew I was in trouble as soon as I saw the obituary.  The fact that it had my name on it was sort of a clue.” Touch the Dark (Cassandra Palmer #1) by Karen Chance

“I didn’t realize he was a werewolf at first.  My nose isn’t at its best when surrounded by axle grease and burnt oil.” Moon Called (Mercy Thompson #1) by Patricia Briggs

“No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have supposed her born to be a heroine.” Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

“My name is Uhtred.” The Last Kingdom (The Saxon Stories #1) by Bernard Cornwell

“I wanted darkness.  There was a half-moon that summer night and it kept sliding from behind the clouds to make me nervous.  I wanted darkness” Lords of the North (The Saxon Stories #3) by Bernard Cornwell

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“His letter came just at the point when I though death was my only option.” Claire’s Last Secret (Claire Clairmont #1) by Marty Ambrose

“It hardly seems possible that one’s entire existence can be completely upended in the blink of an eye, but it happened to me, so I know it to be true.” A Shadowed Fate (Claire Clairmont #2) by Marty Ambrose

“I see…”‘ said the vampire thoughtfully, and slowly he walked across the room towards the window.”  Interview with the Vampire (The Vampire Chronicles #1) by Anne Rice

“Mrs. Bridge did not like bugs. Perched high up on the stool, she peered distastefully into the kitchen light.” The Fog Ladies by Susan McCormick

“The day I died started out bad and got worse in a hurry.” Undead and Unwed (Undead #1) by Mary Janice Davidson.

“I’d been waiting for the vampire for years when he walked into the bar.” Dead Until Dark (Sookie Stackhouse #1) by Charlaine Harris

Which line/lines do you like most?  If you haven’t read these, do the opening lines make you curious enough to pick them up?

I’d Know You Anywhere, My Love by Nancy Tillman


I’d Know You Anywhere, My Love by Nancy Tillman
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends
Genre: Childrens, Paranormal, Contemporary
Length: Short Story (34 pages)
Age Recommendation: 3+
Rating: 5 Stars
Reviewed by Astilbe

There are things about you quite unlike any other.
Things always known by your father or mother.
So if you decide to be different one day,
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Every child is special and unique, but every child also loves to dream of being something different. In I’d Know You Anywhere, My Love, bestselling author and artist Nancy Tillman has created another heartfelt masterpiece celebrating the joys of imagination, and the comfort of always knowing that “you are loved.”

Everyone needs unconditional love.

Most picture books are written for children in a specific age group for totally understandable reasons. What made this one unique was how widely and successfully it cast its net. Yes, a patient three-year-old could enjoy it, but that child’s older sibling, parent, or grandparent could also find plenty of stuff that spoke to them at their stages of life as well.

There was so much love packed into every single scene. The narrator appeared to be having a conversation with a young child whose precise words weren’t recorded. What the audience received instead were the parent’s responses about how they’d react if their child suddenly transformed into any number of creatures, from a camel to a white snowy owl. It was like listening in on a delightful conversation.

Sometimes the storytelling flirted with some light otherworldly influences in ways that made me grin. They weren’t strong or clear enough for me to tack on a fantasy or science fiction genre label since they could have easily been explained away by discussing all of the imaginative things children come up with on their own without any prompting. Still, I thought it was best to mention this since some parts of the conversation did involve things that aren’t strictly possible in our non-magical world. I loved the way this straddled the line between something clearly set in the here and now and something that required the existence of magic.

I’d Know You Anywhere, My Love was a heartwarming tale I’d wholeheartedly recommend to readers of all ages.

If You Must Know by Jamie Beck – Q&A and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Jamie Beck who is visiting with us to celebrate today’s release of If You Must Know. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win a $50 Amazon/BN GC plus a copy of the book.

How do you describe your newest novel If You Must Know?

This book is a “beach book” in the best sense. It’s not angsty, yet it has a page-turning plot and a bunch of interesting, relatable characters. I think it’s entertaining and heartfelt at the same time, which is exactly what many enjoy reading while on vacation.

What inspired the novel?

The external plot came to me as a result of the influence of two people in my life. My dear friend’s husband is a forensic accountant, so some of his stories about how people hide money and flee their families provided one point of inspiration. The second is my mother’s best friend who, in her seventies, sold her house and bought a boat, which she and her husband live on full-time. The impetus for the oil-and-water sisters was to provide myself an opportunity to explore the sibling-rivalry dynamic.

Tell us about the two main characters in the story—sisters Amanda and Erin.

Amanda is the middle child. She’s diligent, earnest, hard-working, and generous. She wants the people she loves to be happy and feel her love. Her weakness is a deep-seated insecurity—a sense that she is not interesting enough to be lovable. This leads her to overlook when she is being taken for granted because her need to be pleasing is omnipresent.

Erin is the baby of the family and her late-father’s pet. She is outgoing, fun-loving, and views her average intelligence as a blessing (rather than lamenting that her siblings are smarter). She is willful and has her own way of moving through the world. The big weakness she has is her impulsiveness, whether with jobs or relationships. As she approaches her 30th birthday, she’s looking to mature and create a more stable life for herself.

What kind of relationship do the sisters have?

I think they share a typical relationship insofar as their differences cause many misunderstandings and instill in each a sense of being judged by the other, and yet they do care about and love each other, too. They simply do not know how to be true friends and trust the other—at least not at the outset of this tale.

This book focused on the main female characters growing and learning about themselves. What prompted this ‘women’s fiction’ approach to the story?

Partly market forces and partly my own need to stretch. At 53, it was becoming more difficult to write a 20-something woman facing the challenges of dating. The shift to women’s fiction allows me to write late-30 and early 40-something characters, which comes more naturally to me. I also enjoy exploring family and friendship dynamics, and absolutely love having endless options for story arcs (as opposed to having to follow a traditional romance arc).

What does your new Potomac Point series have in common with your previous books?

All my books to date have focused on critical relationships and some type of redemption theme. I find damaged people to be very interesting and believe that there is good in most everyone, so I prefer to populate my stories with flawed people who must confront their inner demons in order to be happy. My new books will also focus on relationships and redemption, but the non-romantic relationships (or even the relationship with one’s self) will be more central.

Sisters Amanda Foster and Erin Turner have little in common except the childhood bedroom they once shared and the certainty each feels that her way of life is best. Amanda follows the rules—at the school where she works; in her community; and as a picture-perfect daughter, wife, and mother-to-be. Erin follows her heart—in love and otherwise—living a bohemian lifestyle on a shoestring budget and honoring her late father’s memory with a passion for music and her fledgling bath-products business.

The sisters are content leading separate but happy lives in their hometown of Potomac Point until everything is upended by lies that force them to confront unsettling truths about their family, themselves, and each other. For sisters as different as these two, building trust doesn’t come easily—especially with one secret still between them—but it may be the only way to save their family.

Enjoy an Excerpt

I rolled onto my side with a groan, coming face-to-face with one of my favorite family photos. We’d taken our annual family summer trip to Hilton Head—the one real splurge my dad had made sure we enjoyed every year. We had a tradition of having lunch at a little open-air cabana bar and restaurant called Coco’s on the Beach.

Between the deck and the volleyball court in the sand stood a tall pole with colorful arrow-shaped signs pointing in different directions. Each one was painted with the name of a different city somewhere on the globe, along with the mileage to get there. We’d dream about all the places we might go, and after high school I’d had the chance to see many. In this picture, our whole family is standing around that sign, smiling at the camera. My dad has his hand on my shoulder, and if you look closely, you can see Amanda holding my hand. I must’ve been only five or six—young enough that she hadn’t given up trying to be my second mother. At the time, I’d felt smothered by her attention, but looking back, I’d also felt loved.

I grabbed my phone and called my sister, but it went to voice mail. A heaviness pressed on me, but I couldn’t tell if it was from looking at that picture of our family that would never again be whole or from the fact that I’d disappointed my mom and sister today.

They loved me in their way even if they couldn’t love and accept me as I am. My dad had, though, and to honor his memory and wishes for our family, I couldn’t continue to drift out of their lives as I’d been doing.

After the beep, I said, “Hey, it’s moi. Surprise! My plans have changed and I’ve got a little time. If you get this message, let me know where you are and I’ll try to catch up.”

I hit “End,” my feet restlessly kicking the foot of my bed. The small bedroom seemed claustrophobic, but I didn’t want to talk to Max. Not that I could avoid him in here, either, where his dirty laundry, sandals, and other items lay about. Rather than take a match to it all, I decided to organize some of his things to help with his packing. Hauling myself off the bed, I then went to the armoire to get to the vintage albums my dad had left me in his will.

Some were fairly valuable, like the Beatles collection box set from 1982, valued at roughly a thousand bucks. Or the Led Zeppelin first pressing with the turquoise label, which should net around eight hundred or so dollars. U2’s Joshua Tree collection box set from 1987—maybe worth six or seven hundred. Then there were others worth less than one hundred dollars. But each one had infinite sentimental value.

Every song resurrected a specific memory of time spent with my father playing cards, washing cars, grilling hot dogs … anything. Whatever he’d wanted to do, I’d done with him, and he’d always chosen the perfect background soundtrack for every activity. Those stolen moments had also been a great way to escape my mom’s endless lectures and demands. She’d never yelled at me for skipping out on chores or being messy when I’d been spending that time with him. Probably because he wouldn’t let her.

At present, my restlessness matched the mood of a typical Bob Seger song, so I grabbed Beautiful Loser and slipped the record from its sleeve, resisting the urge to hug it as if it were my dad. I set it on the old turntable he’d also left me. As the few first drumbeats clangored, my heart kicked an extra beat or two—partly happy, partly sad. I glanced toward the bedroom door, picturing Max on the sofa, and then got to work.

It didn’t matter where life led me next. I had faith because my own personal angel was looking out for me now.

Que será, será.

About the Author:Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Jamie Beck’s realistic and heartwarming stories have sold more than two million copies. She is a two-time Booksellers’ Best Award finalist and a National Readers’ Choice Award winner, and critics at Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, and Booklist have respectively called her work “smart,” “uplifting,” and “entertaining.” In addition to writing novels, she enjoys hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah and dancing around the kitchen while cooking. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family. Fans can get exclusive excerpts, inside scoops, and be eligible for birthday gift drawings by subscribing to her newsletter

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Diary of a Lost Witch Blog by Reut Barak – New Blog Introduction and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will award a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly dawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.


Visit http://reutbarak.com/diary-of-a-lost-witch-april-10/ to begin the story featured on Reut Barak’s new blog

Molly is in trouble. Running away from home to escape the dangers of her coven, she ends up in Edinburgh at a time of Corona. Homeless and running for her life, she must find a new coven and get the help she needs to protect herself, or she is not going to make it back.

Read a Blog Entry:

April 10

The streets were empty today, which was expected, considering the circumstances. I guess that worked well in my case. I still have to figure out where I would be spending the night.

I had to pack light. To not seem immediately like a traveler. Only the best of my things. My jeans, which I liked to wear with everything, my favourite sweater, which I was hoping would be warm enough for the weather here, some essentials and the blank diary my moms gave me for the road.

Sally, my birth mom, from whom I’d inherited my powers, always said that writing was my gift. Joe was the one to push me to study something else in college, to have a variety, so I majored in journalism. She waited so anxiously for my graduation. My whole family was going to be there, including my grandpa, George, who would travel to us all the way from New York when I was a child and we lived in Florida, to give me lessons on how to use my powers. But, like a few strong witches before me, that was both a strength and a weakness.

I never made it to graduation. I had to take off in the middle of the night, the night before, because of May’s coven. A group that I used to be part of and that I now wish I had never met.

That was two weeks ago.

So far I’ve been hitching rides and staying away from any main cities.

I managed to talk my way into a private flight to Scotland, I still have no idea how. They must have really needed a stewardess. Two of them were sick. It was funny, serving a rich Asian family, dressed in a uniform that almost fit me.

But I made it. Edinburgh. There would be strong witches here. A few covens. I’d have to be careful. Make sure I get the right support. Eventually May’s coven would figure it out. So I would have to be quick about it too.

Two police officers looked at me suspiciously as I was walking the large street called Princes street.

I needed to find a place to charge my phone so I could look for somewhere to spend the night. And groceries. My stomach was telling me I’d need something better than the bits and pieces I’d been munching on in the past few days on the road, too afraid to use my magic for food. My back was also aching for a normal bed.

The adventurous feeling that I’d first felt, running away from home is now gone. I hope it doesn’t stay tough for long.

Molly Evans

About the Author:Following a short stint in the military, Reut graduated as a trained Opera Singer from the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance, and then worked in Berlin, singing church music by Mozart, Haydn and Bach. While arranging concerts in the city and managing artists, she discovered her passion for business. She joined fellow entrepreneurs in the 2013-2014 class at the University of Oxford, with a scholarship to study business (MBA), where she founds that creativity goes far beyond art. She later had a taste of corporate life, seeing the inside workings of some of the world’s largest finance, energy and manufacturing companies, and wrote for National Geographic. Leaving the world of corporate drama behind, she now pursues her dreams of becoming a fiction novelist, a self-published vegan author, blogger and youtuber. She first arrived in Scotland as a hiker, eager to explore the mysterious highlands, where she got her inspiration for her books and blogs.

Well, no not really… The true story is:

Once upon a time…

Reut was born in Camelot in the year 1201, following the famous explosion of the northern dragon tower. She has a degree in fantasy and science fiction from the University of Atlantis and this record can be found in the central library, now twenty thousand leagues under the sea. She likes phoenix riding, dragon fighting and painting the roses red. And Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

Website: Website | Diary of a Lost Witch Blog |
Start reading from the beginning of the diary | Instagram |
Facebook | Twitter

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What I want your followers to know about La Paloma, my new novel

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Willard Thompson will be awarding a $15 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the rest of the stops.

What I want your followers to know about La Paloma, my new novel
La Paloma is not a crime-heavy cartel story with lots of murders and bloody events. It is a story about Teresa Diaz facing the question of who she is, a daughter of Mexico’s proud history or a Latina trying to fit into the American Culture?

When the story opens, she is an AB540 scholarship student at UCLA, working for a degree in communications and dating a Caucasian boy. Her father is deported in an ICE raid and Teri must go into Mexico to bring him home. She doesn’t have documentation, so it is a risk, but her family is falling apart, and she feels compelled to go. Her journey into Mexico is like falling down a rabbit hole of mysterious events, but it also becomes a journey of self-realization that included a romance with the son of a cartel boss. In the end, many of her questions are answered, and some are left ambiguous and unanswered.

My interest, as it is in all my novels, is how a situation effects the people involved in it. In this case a 20-year-old Latina named Teresa Diaz. She is a young woman who has been brought up in many of the traditions of Mexico, living in a southern California community that is heavily Latino, trying to be an American girl. How can that possibly be good for her self-image?

I love Mexico. I’ve been there more than a dozen times, several on business. I know first-hand the beauty of the states of Michoacan and Guanajuato, and the country’s history. I spent 4 days working with the US Border Patrol intercepting Mexican smugglers wading across the Rio Grande River from Juarez to El Paso. These were not dangerous men. They were middle age men trying to make a living to support their families. I interviewed several of the smugglers we apprehended (that is a story for a different time because it was a cops and robbers comedy it you ever saw one) and one of them told me in Spanish, pointing at his running shoes, that his daughters didn’t want to wear cheap shoes like he had on to school. They wanted Nikes and Adidas. That tells you a lot about the Mexican economy.

I did that trip with the Border Patrol as a journalist, to gather input, but it gave me all the input I needed for my novel. This is not a gritty cartel crime story. In reality it’s a coming of age story in which Teri must wrestle with and decide who she wants to be as an adult. In the next to last chapter she tells a new friend, “I just want to be proud of who I am.” The ending is ambiguous. Hopefully asking readers to think about what Teri will do; and maybe asking themselves what they would do.

Some years back I became familiar with the fact that UCLA was giving free scholarships to undocumented aliens under a state law AB540. It led me to start thinking about the situation of a young Latina with no documentation trying to get an education in order to blend into the American culture.

More recently, our government has struggled with what to do about the DREAMers. The situation has been compounded by Congressional battle over immigration and building walls (we used to call then fences), and ICE raids that deport undocumented Mexicans, breaking up families. Finally, the situation with drug and crime cartels has come strongly into public awareness. So, all of this is great grist for a novelist.

When Teresa Diaz’s father is arrested in an ICE raid in a Los Angeles area city and deported back to Mexico, her family begins to come apart. She is a student at UCLA on a scholarship for undocumented aliens (Dreamers) looking to have a life in the U.S. in communications. Her brother in High school and her elementary school sister begin having serious troubles without a father in the household.

At work in a fast-food drive-through, Teri, as she wants to be known is approached by a Mexican gangbanger who offers to take you to her father. Doubting the guy wants more than picking her up, she resists, but day by day, as her sister is sent home from school and her brother is brought home dunk by the police, she gives in and goes across the border with him. Against her wishes, he takes her to a beach house in Tijuana and leaves her. She learns that illegal activities are going on in the house but without transportation, and without a birth certificate –either Mexican or American– she can’t cross the border alone.

After several days, virtually a prisoner, the owner of the house, a fat woman known as Mama Gorda arranges to get her across the border with a young Mexican man who rides a fast motorcycle. On the way, he takes her to lunch and there offers to talk her deeper into Mexico to find her father. She agrees, travels in his private plane and begins a romance while searching for her father in Michoacan state. The more she becomes involved, the more she is involved in activities she doesn’t understand but suspects they’re illegal.

Returning to Monte Vista, her LA area home, still without her father, she finds she can no longer return to UCLA, seeks a job, connects with a Latina who bullied her he school. When her brother is arrested for jobbery, Teri returns to Mexico seeking help from the people she suspects to belong to a cartel.

Ultimately, she is sponsored by the people in Mexico to participate in the Miss Mexico contest, not realizing it is the Cartel that is promoting her. In the end, she will face a life-changing decision whether to continue her romance with the son of the cartel’s head or try to stand on her own. And whether to remain in Mexico or return to LA.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Stepping off the bus from Westwood in Monte Vista is like stepping into an alternate reality for me. Two white-haired Mexicans wearing droopy mustaches and ostrich boots are sitting like statues on the bus stop bench. As I start off toward home, they talk to each other in short, machine-gun-like, bursts of Spanish. One looks up as I pass. “Hola, Señorita,” he says, smiling so I can see his tobacco-stained teeth, “Often I see you at this time. From where are you coming?”

I have no idea who he is, but I return his smile. “From UCLA,” I tell him.

He nods. “Ah, Trojans,” and lapses back into silence.

“No. Bruins,” I tell him, and keep going, smiling to myself. It must have been the tenth time the old man had asked me the same question.

The air is heavy with the aroma of simmering pork from a taqueria I pass, but it morphs into the smell of warm bolillos at the panadería next door. Farther along, three middle-aged women in drab house dresses, stockings rolled down to mid-calf, stand at a table of Norteño CDs. They’re listening to Ramon Ayala’s voice coming from inside the store and chatting back and forth.

Hurrying home, I pass two big-bellied teenage girls pushing baby carriages. They stop to look up at the marque of our movie theater showing “Sicario: Day of the Soldado” and then admire the riot of red, white, and green piñatas hanging in the doorway of a shop spilling all sorts of imported merchandise onto the street.

When Connie, my little sister, was a toddler, she used to be dazzled by the sights and smells of the stores along Peck Road. Even now, a curious fourth grader, she loves to linger over the assortment of trinkets when papa takes her window shopping.

I never liked these shops the way Connie does. For me, Monte Vista is my nightmare, haunting me with the memory of little Antonio. It isn’t my world. The bus to Westwood each morning is my escape, three buses actually, and two hours each way.

“This is your culture, Paloma. Your people,” my papa used to tell me, holding my hand, walking together up Peck Road to Mass on Sundays. “Embrace it,” he would say. “Es lo que somos.”

“I hate it, Papa,” I told him. “I want to be an American girl.”

Two shaved-headed gangbangers in baggy clothes, begin following me down the street, trash-talking to my back.

“Did ya see the nice tits on her?” one of them says loud enough for everyone on the sidewalk to hear. “They were peeking out at me on the bus. How soft they would feel in my hand.”

I cringe and quicken my pace. I want to turn around and tell them to leave me alone, but I know to keep my mouth shut. There are enough people on the street that I feel safe.

“But her legs, man,” the other one responds. “Think how those long legs would feel wrapped around your neck.”

I do my best to shut out their words. I speed up, but they keep pace. Men and women on the sidewalk give them a wide birth.

At Garvey Avenue, they turn left after shouting obscene good-byes that describe what they would do to me if they ever got me alone. When they disappear down the street, I feel the tension release from my shoulders.

Only neighborhood people are sitting about on their porches when I reach Magnolia, my street of small, pinched, two-story stucco houses, with iron-barred windows and doors, secure behind chain-link fences. Our little house, two in from the corner, is my father’s pride. Even though it’s rented, he always has the best-looking lawn and garden on the block. At Christmas, our house is a riot of blinking colored lights, competing with the neighbors’ over-the-top decorations for the gaudiest display award.

A boy in a navy watch cap straddles his bike on the corner, chatting up three girls. They are twelve- or thirteen-year-olds, heavy with makeup and budding breasts, competing with each other for the boy’s attention.

Across the street, an older couple sits in folding chairs by their front door. Protected by their chain-link fence, they watch the teenagers while tending a small hibachi on their front stoop.

“Hello, Mama,” I call out in the direction of the kitchen, heading for the staircase. “You home? I smell dinner.”

“Teresa Maria, come back here.”

My mama hurries into the hall. Wiping her hands on her apron, she comes to the bottom of the stairs. “Your papa not home yet.”

“Probably stopped for a beer with the men, Mama. I’m late for work.”

“You eat with us when he gets home,” she scolds.

I continue to the top of the stairs. “I have a test tomorrow, Mama. No time to eat anyway. Hey, you,” I call out as I go past my brother’s room. I get a grunt in return. I stop and backtrack to his doorway.

“How was practice?”

“I did good, Teri. Coach says some guys from the junior college will be lookin’ at me during the season.”

“You, the man,” I say. Then give him a more serious look. “How was the math test?”

“Not so hot.”

“I can help.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” It’s Rico’s standard response.

Connie and I share a room. Busy with scissors and paste on a school project, she looks up and greets me with an ear-to-ear smile, showing missing front teeth.

“How was school?”

“I’m making a hand puppet, Teresa,” she squeals with glee, sweeping her dark bangs out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “We’re having a puppet show in class tomorrow. Do you like my wolf?”

“Cool,” I tell her. “He looks big and bad.”

I change into my uniform, throwing my hair into a ponytail and fastening the red and gold baseball cap around it. Before leaving the room, I kneel by the side of the bed, facing the icon of the Virgin on my night table. I whisper a prayer for Antonio. Connie stays respectfully quiet. When I finish, I hurry back downstairs. Opening the front door, I call over my shoulder, “I’ll eat at work, Mama. Tell papa hello.”

“No good for you,” I hear from the kitchen. I start back up the street.

I get off work at eleven. Dreading two hours of cramming still ahead, I hurry home. I keep throwing quick looks over my shoulder, thinking about the gangbangers. Turning the corner onto Magnolia, I’m startled to see my house ablaze with light. I stop for a moment and stare. The house should be dark, with everyone in bed. I run. The front door is open. Silhouetted just inside the living room, Mama sits hunched over on the edge of the couch. Coming closer, I can see she’s crying.

“Mama…” I run the last few steps to embrace her. “What’s the matter?”

“He don’t come home, Teresa Maria.” A sob escapes her throat.

I start to feel apprehensive. My father doesn’t hang out drinking with other men “Did you call around, Mama? That’s not like him.”

“No one see him.” She starts crying again. I put my arms around her, holding her until she stops crying. We talk about what to do.

“Don’t call the police,” she warns me.

She agrees to let me call County Hospital. I ask the woman who answers if José Diaz has been admitted to the Emergency Room. She is impatient, telling me there are four Diazs in her computer just now, and it would take her several minutes to pull up each one to see if any are in Emergency. “I’ll wait,” I tell her, adding a little attitude to my voice. “This is important.”

Papa was not there.

About the Author: La Paloma is Willard Thompson’s new suspense / adventure / romance novel inspired by current headlines. It’s set in present day Los Angeles, California, and various cities in Mexico.
The Girl from the Lighthouse published last year is Thompson’s Award-winning historical romance set in California and Paris, France in the 1870s.

He is the gold medal-winning author of Dream Helper, the first in The Chronicles of California series of three historical novels set in the early days of the Golden State. He and his wife live in Santa Barbara, California.

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

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How Important Are Critique Groups? by Barbara Bettis — guest post and giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Barbara Bettis will be awarding $25 Amazon/BN to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

How Important Are Critique Groups?
Some variation of that question gets asked a lot. And the answer is simple: very.

But the reasons may not be so simple. For a beginning writer, critique groups are important because those critique partners help us learn and polish a broad spectrum of things—point of view, character arcs, plot development, and the essential things none of us wants to admit are essential—sentence structure and grammar. Basically, the reasons those last two things are essential are because they help the reader understand what we want to get across. But that’s another story.

Crit groups are also important in helping us beginners gain confidence in our work. Usually, it can take a while to learn and refine the basics of our craft. (Yes, there are those folks who sit down at a computer, never having written a piece of fiction in their lives, and turn out bestselling first books in one shot. Those people are exceptions to the rule that make the rest of us feel we’re failures if our first draft isn’t snapped up immediately in an agent bidding war.  ) Do not compare yourself to them. That’s why they’re called…exceptions.

Critique groups, whether online or in person, can help us in our budding stages. It is important to find a group that’s the right fit. Critiquers are people. Like in anything else, not everyone makes a good working colleague, even if you’re friends. It’s okay to look for another group if you find the one you’re in isn’t quite fulfilling your needs.

Surprisingly to many people (who are not writers) experienced—successful—authors also often use critique groups or crit partners. When writers are concentrating on telling their stories, little things often slip in. We can be so familiar with our characters and plots, we don’t realize that a particular point isn’t explained clearly enough for the reader. Or the way we unpack a scene may be absolutely clear in our minds, but the words we choose to describe events may not hold the same meaning for others. For example, I like subtleties of language that aren’t always interpreted the way I mean them. My crit group points those out so I can make the meaning clearer.

I am honored to be part of a crit network for some wonderfully talented authors whose works grace the shelves of bookstores or have gained major standings through online publishing. They rely on their crit partners and beta readers to pick up on anything they might have missed—before they submit it to their agents or editors.

Authors who have a few books to our credit still can omit a point we’ve established so clearly in our minds we think we’ve put it in writing, but haven’t. Sometimes the phrases we use are completely familiar to us, and we don’t realize others may not know what they mean. In a recent story, I used a word I grew up hearing my grandmother and great-grandmother use. A crit partner asked for clarification. Hmmm. It hadn’t occurred to me that other people wouldn’t recognize that word which was, it turns out, a very old regionalism. Thank goodness it worked for the historical. But having a trusted eye catch something like that is essential—or when a gremlin slips into my office at night and inserts awkward sentence structures (must be the gremlins because as a retired English professor, I couldn’t possible have made that mistake! Could I? LOL.)

So yes, critique groups / partners are essential at every stage of writing. Find a group or another couple of people whose opinions you trust, and dig in. You won’t regret it.

He’ll do anything for land, even marry her; she’ll do anything for her people, except marry him. If only either had a choice. It’s a marriage only love can save.

Sir Roark will do anything to gain land, even beguile an unwilling lady into marriage. He knows she’s much better off with a man to take control of her besieged castle, to say nothing of her desirable person. But it isn’t long before he discovers that, although her eyes sparkle like sunlight on sea waves, her stubbornness alone could have defeated Saladin.

Lady Alyss is determined to hold her family’s castle, protect her people, and preserve her freedom— until her brother’s dying wish binds her to a stranger. Still, she’ll allow no rugged, over-confident, appealing knight to usurp her authority, even if she must wed him. Especially since he thinks a lady’s duties begin and end with directing servants. Alyss has a few surprises for her new all-too-tempting lord.

But when a common enemy threatens everything, Roark and Alyss face a startling revelation. Without love, neither land nor freedom matters.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Pardon?” Alyss’s voice came in a whisper, but he seemed to hear well enough.

“I said your brother wished us to wed.”

The sound of a million crickets chirruped in her ears. His lips continued to move, but she heard nothing. Of a sudden, her bottom hit stone as she collapsed onto a step, but her eyes saw only him.

He loomed over her, hands propped on hips, dark hair brushing those broad shoulders. She raised her brows in a level gaze—and inhaled sharply. Hazel eyes, sprinkled with green and gold chips, gleamed back. With effort, she recalled his recent words and her thoughts focused.

She shot to her feet. “You must be mad. I have no intention of wedding a stranger who appears at my gate with some imaginary story of my brother’s last commands. I remind you, sir, you are a guest. In fact, I must ask you to leave. Your behavior is intolerable.”

His big hands closed around her shoulders. They were warm. Firm but gentle. She shook them off. He leaned in.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my lady,” he murmured.

About the Author: Award-winning author Barbara Bettis has always loved history and English. As a college freshman, she considered becoming an archeologist until she realized there likely would be bugs and snakes involved. And math. Through careers as a newspaper reporter and editor, then a college journalism and English professor, she’s retained her fascination with history. Give her a research book and a pot of tea, and she’s happy for hours. But what really makes her smile is working on a new story. Now retired, she lives in Missouri where she edits for others and spins her own tales of heroines to die for—and heroes to live for.

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The Nightjar by Barbara Casey – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Barbara Casey will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

THE NIGHTJAR
By
Barbara Casey
Dara Roux, abandoned when she was 7 years old by her mother. Exceptionally gifted in foreign languages. Orphan.

Mackenzie Yarborough, no record of her parents or where she was born. Exceptionally gifted in math and problem-solving. Orphan.

Jennifer Torres, both parents killed in an automobile accident when she was 16. Exceptionally gifted in music and art. Orphan.

One of the things I enjoyed the most in doing my research for THE F.I.G. MYSTERIES was learning about gypsy folklore and customs. In particular, I was able to find old gypsy medicine books which detailed the benefits of herbs used for various ailments. Many of these practices continue today among the different gypsy tribes scattered throughout the world.

In this series, however, there is one gypsy woman in particular that I write about who becomes involved in the lives of the three teenage orphan F.I.G.s (Females of Intellectual Genius, as they call themselves) and the young woman who has been hired to mentor them. The gypsy woman is Lyuba, a choovihni or wisewoman within the Kaulo Camio tribe, and it is Lyuba who first warns Carolina to watch for the nightjar:

Carolina fixed a cup of hot tea and carried it into her small living room where she sat and stared at her phone. Part of her was trying to say there was nothing wrong—that Jennifer just wanted to see her friends before Thanksgiving. But the other part told Carolina that there was a darkness surrounding Jennifer, and that darkness would destroy her if they couldn’t help her to reach some sort of resolution.

Off in the distance she heard the faint call of a whip-poor-will. She also heard Lyuba—her mother—call the bird by its ancient name—nightjar. Watch for the nightjar. Just as quickly as her mother’s words came, they vanished with the shrill ring of the telephone.

Jennifer Torres, one of the three FIGs (Females of Intellectual Genius) who is a genius in both music and art, is the last to leave the closed rehearsal for her upcoming performance over Thanksgiving break at Carnegie Hall when she hears something in the darkened Hall. Recognizing the tilt of the woman’s head and the slight limp of the man as they hurry out an exit door, she realizes it is her parents who were supposedly killed in a terrible car accident when she was 15 years old.

Devastated and feeling betrayed, she sends a text to Carolina and the other two FIGs—THURGOOD. It is the code word they all agreed to use if ever one of them got into trouble or something happened that was too difficult to handle. They would all meet back at Carolina’s bungalow at Wood Rose Orphanage and Academy for Young Women to figure it out.

As soon as they receive the text, because of their genius, Dara starts thinking of words in ancient Hebrew, German, and Yiddish, while Mackenzie’s visions of unique math formulae keep bringing up the date October 11, 1943. That is the date during World War II when the Nazis—the Kunstschutz—looted the paintings of targeted wealthy Jewish families and hid them away under Hitler’s orders. And as Carolina waits for the FIGs to return to Wood Rose, she hears warnings from Lyuba, her gypsy mother, to watch for the nightjar, the ancient name for the whip-poor-will.

As they search for “The Nightjar’s Promise” and the truth surrounding it, Carolina and the FIGs come face to face with evil that threatens to destroy not only their genius, but their very lives.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Right on time, the guard arrived at the front gate and unlocked it. Once he drove away, Jas slipped unnoticed through the entrance into the cemetery. When he had first been given the assignment, the cemetery bothered him, especially the mausoleum. Unfamiliar sounds and smells, being surrounded by cold stones and even colder death, made his imagination work overtime so that by the end of each day when he left—just before the guard locked the gate—he would be nervous and irritable; at night, unable to sleep. Now, after all this time doing the same thing day in and day out, he was used to it. In fact, he sort of enjoyed it—thinking about the dead and all the different ways their lives might have come to an end. Lately, his imagination had taken a more brutal turn. More violent and macabre.

Ignoring the hundreds of grave sites that stretched in every direction, he quickly made his way toward the mausoleum. Having already been there many times before, he knew exactly where he wanted to go and what he needed to do.

About the Author:Originally from Carrollton, Illinois, author/agent/publisher Barbara Casey attended the University of North Carolina, N.C. State University, and N.C. Wesleyan College where she received a BA degree, summa cum laude, with a double major in English and history. In 1978 she left her position as Director of Public Relations and Vice President of Development at North Carolina Wesleyan College to write full time and develop her own manuscript evaluation and editorial service. In 1995 she established the Barbara Casey Agency and since that time has represented authors from the United States, Great Britain, Canada, and Japan. In 2014, she became a partner with Strategic Media Books, an independent nonfiction publisher of true crime, where she oversees acquisitions, day-to-day operations, and book production.
Ms. Casey has written over a dozen award-winning books of fiction and nonfiction for both young adults and adults. The awards include the National Association of University Women Literary Award, the Sir Walter Raleigh Literary Award, the Independent Publisher Book Award, the Dana Award for Outstanding Novel, the IP Best Book for Regional Fiction, among others. Two of her nonfiction books have been optioned for major films, one of which is under contract.

Her award-winning articles, short stories, and poetry for adults have appeared in both national and international publications including the North Carolina Christian Advocate Magazine, The New East Magazine, the Raleigh (N.C.) News and Observer, the Rocky Mount (N.C.) Sunday Telegram, Dog Fancy, ByLine, The Christian Record, Skirt! Magazine, and True Story. A thirty-minute television special which Ms. Casey wrote and coordinated was broadcast on WRAL, Channel 5, in Raleigh, North Carolina. She also received special recognition for her editorial work on the English translations of Albanian children’s stories. Her award-winning science fiction short stories for adults are featured in The Cosmic Unicorn and CrossTime science fiction anthologies. Ms. Casey’s essays and other works appear in The Chrysalis Reader, the international literary journal of the Swedenborg Foundation, 221 One-Minute Monologues from Literature (Smith and Kraus Publishers), and A Cup of Comfort (Adams Media Corporation).

Ms. Casey is a former director of BookFest of the Palm Beaches, Florida, where she served as guest author and panelist. She has served as judge for the Pathfinder Literary Awards in Palm Beach and Martin Counties, Florida, and was the Florida Regional Advisor for the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators from 1991 through 2003. In 2018 Ms. Casey received the prestigious Albert Nelson Marquis Lifetime Achievement Award and Top Professional Award for her extensive experience and notable accomplishments in the field of publishing and other areas. She makes her home on the top of a mountain in northwest Georgia with her husband and three cats who adopted her, Homer, Reese and Earl Gray, Reese’s best friend.

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