Connections eMagazine November 2024 Edition

Enjoy the holidays with recipes from around the world. Authors and Readers join together to share their favorite festive recipes.

Exclusive interviews with critically acclaimed authors J.M. Shaw, Tricia Copeland, Tong Ge, and Chindia-Ilonka

Connections eMagazine

Message from the Editor

The Purpose of this eMagazine is to connect readers and bloggers with authors. This is a FREE eMagazine that is produced quarterly. It’s hard to believe another year is nearly behind us. Our final issue of the year ushers in cold weather, cozy fires, and good books. In this edition discover delicious recipes, in-depth interviews, short stories, and so much more. I hope you’ll take the time to look around.

"Books serve to show a man that those original thoughts of his aren’t very new after all.”

– Abraham Lincoln

While you’re here, don’t forget to subscribe. You’ll receive an automatic email with a link to each new edition. Just click the box below and fill out the form. Be sure to include all required information. Don’t worry, your information will never be shared or sold.

Holiday Recipes…

Authors and Readers join together to share their favorite holiday recipes from around the world. (Page 6)

Author Interviews

In this issue exclusive interviews with critically acclaimed authors J.M. Shaw (Page 24), Tricia Copeland (Page 68), Chindia-Llonka (Page 102), and Tong Ge (Page 126).

“Reading should not be presented to children as a chore or a duty. It should be offered as a gift.”

- Kate DiCamillo

A Picture is Worth 1000

Words — Multiple Authors

Book Reviews

Author Tips and Tricks

Blogs | Articles

• Old Glory by Pearl Oliver

• First Chapters by Rebecca Bryn

• Diversity Doodles by Briony Kay

• Writing Fiction - What is Research? By Lyssa Medana

• Jack & the Alien by Helaman

• 77 1/2 Herbs — Agrimonia by Ronesa Aveela

• The Mouse Family That Live by the Brambles by Gez Robinson

• One Man, Two Missions by Tom Benson

• Growing Bookworms — by Robbie Cheadle

• Illustrated Idioms by Susan Faw

Editorial Team

EDITOR –IN– CHIEF

Melanie P. Smith

https://melaniepsmith.com/

CONTENT EDITOR

Sylva Fae

https://www.facebook.com/SylvaFae

COPY EDITOR

LaPriel Dye

https://dyenamicsediting.com

SOCIAL MEDIA COORDINATOR

Emalee Jensen REVIEWS..

Author Anthony Avina's Blog https://authoranthonyavinablog.com

PUBLISHER..

MPSmith Publishing

PARTNERS

Creative Edge Publicity

https://www.creative-edge.services

C & J Promotions and Marketing Agency

Royal Flush Publishing www.cjpromomkt.com

MPSmith Publishing and Connections eMagazine does not endorse any information contained in the articles or advertisements throughout this magazine. All content is Copyright © by the individual authors and used with their permission. All rights reserved. This is an International publication. Language is based on submission region.

♦ Aspire Book Covers

♦ Dye-Namics Editing

♦ Jenna Greene

♦ Val Tobin

♦ Melanie P. Smith

♦ Kaye Lynn Booth

♦ Sylva Fae

♦ Breakfield and Burkey

♦ Michael Sanchez

♦ CC Robinson

♦ DC Gomez

♦ Arthur Slade

♦ Mark Leslie

♦ Keith Anthony Baird & Beverley Lee

From Around the World

The holidays bring joy, lights, peace and family fun. Our location and traditions may be vastly different but Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, New Years, and various other cultural gatherings bring billions of people together worldwide. As these festivities light up every corner of the world, they all have one thing in common — great food.

The magic of this time of year takes on countless forms with cherished moments, traditional games, baking scrumptious desserts, or preparing that secret family recipe that has been passed down through generations.

This year, we asked authors and readers to send in their favorite holiday recipes from around the globe. From Bulgarian cuisine, to piping hot entrees, to holiday sweets we have something for everyone.

No matter what holiday traditions you practice, it is always a fun time to share special moments and great food. We hope these delicious recipes help you celebrate the season with family and friends

Our amazing authors have included a little information about themselves and their books at the end of their recipes. Be sure to check them out. Just follow the links where you can purchase their books or connect with them through their websites or social media platforms.

Homemade Chili

By Melanie P. Smith

INGREDIENTS

♦ 3 cups dry pinto beans

♦ 1 lb ground beef

♦ 1 lb spicy Italian ground sausage

♦ 1 Qt. home bottled tomatoes or 28 oz canned whole peeled tomatoes

♦ 2 cans (14 oz) diced tomato - or - 3 to 4 chopped fresh tomatoes

♦ 1 can tomato paste

♦ 1 each yellow onion, chopped

♦ 1 can beef broth (increase as needed for desired thickness)

♦ 1medium jalapeno pepper—chopped (extra peppers can be added to make hotter)

♦ 1 tsp garlic powder

♦ 1 tbsp cumin

♦ 2 tbsp paprika

♦ 3 tbsp chili powder

♦ 1/2 cup brown sugar

Boil beans in just enough water to keep them covered. Boil approximately 30 minutes, or until semi-soft. (Keep bean broth). Braise ground beef in frying pan and add to beans and broth. Braise sausage and add to mixture. Add remaining ingredients. Cover and simmer on low heat or slow cooker for approximately 6 hours.

By Melanie P. Smith

INGREDIENTS

1. Combine and cook over moderate heat to 245° F on candy thermometer

♦ 2 Cups Sugar

♦ 2 Cups white corn syrup

♦ 1/4 Cup frozen orange juice concentrate, thawed

♦ 1/2 Cup heavy cream

♦ Pinch of salt

Frozen orange juice gives this candy its deliciously different flavor and color. Easy, fun and failure-proof.

2. Add gradually so mixture does not stop boiling

♦ 1/2 Cup butter, melted

♦ 1 Cup heavy cream

3. Cook over high heat to return to 245° F on candy thermometer.

4. Pour into buttered 9 x 9-inch cake pan

5. Cool, invert pan, cut and wrap individual caramels

Test: Drop syrup into very cold water. Caramel is ready when it forms a firm ball which does not flatten on removal from water.

YIELD 34 Caramels

♦ 1 Can Grapefruit

♦ 1 Lemon (Juiced)

♦ 1 Cup Sugar

♦ 1 Cup Water

♦ Open grapefruit and blend until broken

♦ Add Water

♦ Add sugar, mix well

♦ Squeeze lemon and place in blender

♦ Blend until sugar is dissolved and ingredients are well mixed.

♦ Place in glass bowl or ice cube tray and freeze.

Cut into cubes and top with ginger ale

Holiday stories of love and healing. Three great stories for one great price. Meet the Hunters and the people that stole their hearts.

This box set includes:

• A Country Christmas

• Christmas Surprise

• A Cowboy Christmas

Long before she delved into the world of fantasy and suspense, Melanie P. Smith served nearly three decades in the Special Operations Division at her local sheriff’s office working with SWAT, Search & Rescue, K9, the Motor Unit, Investigations and the Child Abduction Response Team. She now uses that training and knowledge to create stories that are action-packed, gripping, and realistic.

Tikvenik by Ronesa Aveela

Banitsa is the queen of Bulgarian cuisine. The most popular version uses a filling of white cheese (feta cheese) and eggs. If you travel to Bulgaria, you can try variations of this dish with different fillings: pumpkin and sugar (tikvenik), cabbage (zelnik pie), onion, spinach, and rice (klin) (from the Rhodope Mountains), meat, and others. Another type of banitsa uses milk, eggs, and vanilla, and is served as a dessert. The popular dessert baklava is a type of sweet banitsa made with filo dough.

INGREDIENTS

• 1 1/2 lbs (680 g) pumpkin or butternut squash

• 1 cup sugar (or brown sugar)

• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

• 2 oz (55 g) chopped walnuts

• Honey

• 1/2 lb butter (2 sticks), melted (optional)

• 1 lb (500 g) filo dough

• 2 – 3 Tablespoons powdered sugar (for sprinkling on top)

Variation: If you don’t like pumpkin or squash, use apples instead. Make sure to drain some of the juice from the apples, but not all of it. Before you bake it, sprinkle grated apple and nuts over each piece to add a little bit of a twist.

STEPS

Preheat oven to 350˚F (190˚C).

Make Filling

• Mix together the sugar, cinnamon, and walnuts in a small bowl.

• Cut the pumpkin or squash into large chunks and grate it.

• Add the walnut mixture to the grated pumpkin/squash.

• Add a few drops of honey.

• pour the melted butter over the pumpkin/ squash mixture.

Prepare Dough

• Open the package of filo dough and spread it out.

• Cut it horizontally and vertically into 4 equal pieces.

• Remove 2 sheets from one pile and place the filo with a point facing you.

• Sprinkle vegetable oil or melted butter over it (not more than a teaspoon).

• Spread 2 – 3 Tablespoons of the pumpkin/ squash mixture evenly over the filo (so it slightly covers the surface).

• Sprinkle some of the leftover sugar on top of that.

• Fold the corner facing you over the filling, then fold the two sides over that.

• Roll the filo toward the remaining point so it is shaped like a log.

• Place the log on a greased baking dish, with the open end down.

• Repeat the process until all the filling is used.

• Sprinkle vegetable oil over the top, coating the filo so it doesn’t become dry.

Final Steps: Bake for about 20 – 30 min. until the filo is crispy and golden on top. Remove from the pan immediately after baking and let it cool. Sprinkle lightly with powdered sugar.

The tikvenik recipe found earlier in this eMagazine is one found in Light Love Rituals: Bulgarian Myths, Legends, and Folklore. The book describes traditions that are a collection of ceremonies practiced throughout the country, rather than a representation of any one region. Today, some, like fire-dancing, are performed mainly as tourist attractions; others are a compilation of traditions found in various parts of the country.

Suspend your beliefs and imagine you live among people who once believed, or perhaps still do, that spirits, vampires, and ancient gods existed. A fictional Bulgarian family will help you immerse yourself in these rituals as the family celebrates seasonal holidays. Join the matriarch, Baba, as she captivates the children with tales and legends of long ago. Tag along with the mother, Maria, in the heart of the kitchen, while she kneads special traditional bread. Join the father, Georgi, as he selects the perfect tree for the Christmas Eve log or pronounces blessings on his vineyard. Sing and dance with the daughter, Rada, as she participates in dragon-protection ceremonies. Feast along with the young son, Niki, as he celebrates his name day.

Don’t forget to join in other community activities. You can stand in awe as you witness the captivating Kukeri ceremony, where masked figures banish evil spirits with rhythmic dances. In a remote village, you’ll feel the heat beneath the feet of Nestinari, the fire dancers, fervently praying for favorable weather and bountiful harvests.

You won’t come away empty-handed. You can craft amulets that invoke prosperity, love, and protection. You can color Easter eggs the traditional way. And you can create a “magical wand” to bestow blessings on your friends and family. As a rewarding finale, delve into the secrets of Bulgarian cuisine, learning to cook authentic dishes that will give you a taste of Bulgaria.

This book is a sensory celebration, transporting you to the heart of Bulgaria’s cultural richness and timeless rituals. We hope you relish the information and we encourage you to engage in the rituals, whether it’s creating amulets for health and prosperity or trying your hand at baking traditional meals. Visit our website to discover all the ways you can discover the book. https://ronesaaveela.com/ronesa-aveelas-books/light-love-rituals/

Christmas No-Cook Appetisers

There’s always so much to make, cook and do at Christmas, so for fun appetisers I like to keep it simple. Armed with a few festive-shaped cutters, it’s easy to create colourful Christmassy starters out of everyday ingredients. Whether it’s a salad wreath, a charcuterie Christmas tree, or a strawberry Santa, these are quick and easy to make and add some festive spirit to the Christmas table. Being simple, these are also fun to make with children.

Ingredients: Whatever you have in your salad drawer, fruit bowl or fridge.

Equipment: Knife, grater, festiveshaped cutters.

Methods:

Christmas Tree – stick a skewer in half a tomato for the base, layer up your chosen ingredients, and top with a star-shaped piece of cheese/ fruit. Add grapes or olives for the baubles.

Santas – Slice off the top third of a large strawberry, dollop on some whipped cream, stick on the strawberry hat, with a little cream blob on the top. Use raisins or sweets for eyes.

Wreath – create the shape out of lettuce, add on whatever salad items you have, using cherry tomatoes, grapes and olives for baubles. You can recreate this using fruit.

From the whispering willow to the mighty oak, trees have captured our imaginations and sparked our curiosity, inspiring tales of magic, bravery, and adventure. This book, shares new fables, folklore, and myths inspired by the old, based loosely on the legends and stories that have been passed down through the ages. Take a wander through the woods, and discover the magic that lies within the heart of the forest.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0CYCS463Z

Tall Tree Tales

Grittibänz

By Emma Jane Hookey – Switzerland

https://www.facebook.com/growhouseforestschool

These are sweet bread treats made and eaten at Christmas time in Switzerland. They traditionally hold a clay pipe, but in shops they are now more likely to be holding a chocolate bar. They are also found decorated with pearl sugar, but as that isn’t easily available over here in the UK, so I don’t do this but.

Ingredients

• 600 g white bread flour

• 110 g caster sugar (you can use ordinary sugar too, or Stevia - whatever you have is fine)

• 1 teaspoon fine salt

• 4 teaspoons instant dried yeast

• 375 ml milk, warmed

• 4 tablespoons butter, softened

• Small handful of raisins, currants or dried blueberries for eyes and nose.

• 1 egg lightly beaten with a splash of milk (for an egg wash to make them lovely and golden)

Method

1. Measure the dry ingredients into the bowl of an electric mixer.

2. Lightly mix the ingredients together using the dough hook.

3. Warm the milk in a microwave for about a minute.

4. Slowly pour in the warm milk, and continue mixing until everything comes together into a rough dough.

5. Add the butter, one tablespoon at a time. Once the butter is fully mixed into the dough, add the next tablespoon of butter.

6. Once all of the butter has been added, continue kneading the dough on medium speed for about 15 minutes.

7. The dough is ready when it is soft and smooth, and also slightly elastic in texture when you try to stretch it. If you poke the dough softly, it should bounce back right away.

8. Cover the dough with a clean tea towel.

9. Leave the dough somewhere warm for an hour or until the dough has roughly doubled in size.

10. Gently deflate the dough and knead.

11. Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees C.

How to shape your Grittibänz figure

To make the figure

1. Firstly, roll the dough into a long sausage shape and divide into 10 portions.

2. With one portion, roll into a ball and into a sausage shape.

3. Form a skittle sort of shape, then make a slit either side and in the centre at the bottom.

4. Roll the arms and legs between your fingers to make them less angular.

5. Add raisins for the eyes.

6. You can use any led over dough to create buttons, a hat, scarf etc.

7. Using the egg wash and a pastry brush, gently brush over the figure before putting in the oven.

8. Put into the oven for 20 minutes until golden brown.

Vanillekipferl Biscuits

By Jon Cape - Austria

Vanillekipferl (German Vanilla Crescent Cookies) are traditional Austrian / German Christmas Cookies made with ground nuts and dusted with vanilla sugar!

Ingredients

• 180 g butter

• 50 g icing sugar

• 70 g shelled and ground almonds

• 2 tsp vanilla sugar

• Method

1. Quickly mix all the ingredients into a short-crust dough and leave it in a cool place for 30 minutes

2. Roll out the dough to a thickness of about 1 cm before cutting it into small pieces and forming crescent-shaped biscuits.

3. Place the biscuits on an ungreased baking tray and bake them at a moderate temperature (200°C / 392°F) for around 10 minutes or until they turn slightly brown.

4. Mix icing and vanilla sugar, then toss the hot cookies in the mix.

Fried Venison Backstrap

By Scott Guillote - Texas, USA

This is something simple that has become a holiday favorite - fried venison backstrap or back loin. Set out as pre-meal snack along with dips and veggie trays.

Care of game meat is critical for a tasty dish! Usually use both straps from one animal. One side of the meat will have a white membrane (silver skin) that will need to be filleted off as well as any extra non- meat part. There should be very little cleanup after the silver skin removal.

Ingredients

• Venison

• Salt and pepper

• One cup milk (or buttermilk) and one egg to make an egg wash (whisking)

• Couple cups of flour or as much as needed

Method

1. Cut venison crosswise into 1/2" rounds.

2. Add a light salting and a good amount of pepper

3. Lightly tenderize with a mallet.

4. Dip the "rounds" in the egg wash, then into the flour pressing gently for a good coating. Flour can be varied and I have used acorn flour with great results!

5. Heat oil to 375 deg - can be pan or deep fried

6. Cook until just past golden to a light brown color. This will be between med rare and medium, and enough moisture will be cooked out to help keep a crunchy coating.

7. Add salt and pepper to taste and you’re ready!

This has been a family favorite, even to those squeamish about wild game. I usually don't point that out until the compliments start.

PS: Pork loin can be used as well but lacks the time, effort and love that's put into this dish.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/108660859795726

By Stuart Weyman – Isle of Wight

Ingredients:

• 2 large onions - roughly diced

• 4 cloves garlic - crushed

• 2 large potatoes - chopped into chunks.

• 450 g (1 lb) Meat of choice - beef shin, venison, pork belly

• 225 g (0.5 lb) bacon - optional but necessary and chopped roughly.

• ½ cabbage - or other vegetables like carrot or any root veg chopped or grated

• 500 ml (2.11 cups) beer - Dark beer works best

• 500 ml (2.11 cups) water/meat or vegetable stock.

Cooking time around 5 hours in a casserole dish, or if cooking in a Dutch oven over a campfire, about 2hours.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup Warm Milk ( 100-110F)

• 1 Tbsp. Yeast

• 2 Tbsp. Sugar

• 1 tsp. Salt

• 3 Tbsp. Butter, softened

• 1 Egg

• 3 Cups Flour

Filling:

• ½ Cup Butter, softened

• 1 Cup Brown Sugar

• 2 Tbsp. Cinnamon

Fluffy Cinnamon Rolls

Katharine E. Hamilton

Icing:

• 4 oz. Cream Cheese, softened

• ¼ cup Butter, softened

• 1 to 1 ½ Cups Powdered Sugar

• 1 tsp. Vanilla

Method

1. In mixer, combine milk, yeast, and 2 Tbsp. sugar, the salt, butter, and egg. Add flour and use dough hook and turn on low speed.

2. Dough should be tacky, not sticky. Add flour by feel. You can also mix by hand and knead by hand for 15 minutes or until dough is desired consistency.

3. Move dough to greased mixing bowl. Cover and let rise for 1 hour.

4. Prepare a greased 9x13 baking dish. Punch down dough and roll out on floured surface to a rectangle about 12 in. x 18 in.

5. Spread softened butter over dough and then sprinkle with brown sugar and cinnamon mixture. Roll tightly into log, starting on long side. Cut into 1 -1 ½ inch slices.

6. Place in greased pan. Cover and let rise for 45 minutes to an hour.

7. Bake at 325F degrees, approximately 25 minutes. Check at 14 minutes, to turn pan if necessary.

8. When golden brown, take out of oven. Spread icing over warm rolls. Serve.

Preorder now… Available December 15th

The first Christmas without her mother, Joy Porter finds her trip home for the holidays to be full of grief, sadness, and putting on a brave face for her father and brother. What she doesn't expect is bumping into an old friend, who not only shares her burden, but brings a cheerful heart to light up the holidays.

Having been a neighbor and friend to the Porter family since he was a boy, Luke Stanson finds himself drawn to the house across the street more and more as he visits with his old friend, Joy. Making it his personal responsibility to help Joy with the holiday festivities, Luke finds his heart longing for more than just a neighborly friendship.

Can Luke help Joy embrace the holidays in the midst of loss? And can Joy find that love, even in the hardest of times, is worth the risk?

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0DNM2Z3MS

Katharine graduated from Texas A&M University with a bachelor’s degree in History. She lives on a ranch in south Texas with her husband, Brad, and three year old son, Everett. She is a member of Women Fiction Writers of America, Texas Authors, IASD, and the American Christian Fiction Writers. She loves everything to do with writing and loves that she is able to continue sharing heartwarming stories to a wide array of readers.

J.M. Shaw lives in Airdrie, Alberta, with her husband and two young children. She and her family embarked upon a journey of understanding, acceptance, and life-long learning when they discovered their shared diagnosis of autism and ADHD. Writing is her passion and, with experience and interests in healthcare, psychology, martial arts, and personal training, she pours her unique insights and knowledge into all her creative fictions.

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

While I have been writing for most of my life, I was never brave enough to share any of my stories. After discovering that I had autism and ADHD in 2019, I wondered if writing was my special interest. My diagnosis gave me the courage to send my rough manuscript for The Ascension to an editor, keeping in mind that the worst they could say was “it sucked ”. To my relief, my editor said that my story was not garbage and encouraged me to publish. While my neurodivergence is not without its difficulties, I have decided to view it as a gift rather than a disability. After all, my unique brain is what allows me to the see the world from outside the box.

Website: www.jmshawauthor.com

Interview by Melanie P. Smith

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? How did you decide what types of books you would write?

Basically, any genre that allows me to write ample action and adventure into my stories is alright by me. Before I began my Callum Walker series, I never intended to write in the fantasy genre, it just sort of happened. While I plan to complete this series, I would eventually like to tackle some new projects that may branch into other genres.

Do you have a favorite, or is one type of book easier for you to write than others, and why?

I appreciate the creative freedom that the fantasy genre permits, but I’m also partial to sci-fi and anything with supernatural or paranormal influences. Even thriller, suspense, and horror spark creative intrigue, although I have to be in the proper frame of mind to write in such genres and must leave the lights on while I write at the risk of suffering nightmares.

When did you start writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

I have been an avid writer for more than thirty years. Exercising my creative muscles is more than a hobby, it is a passion that, at times, borders on obsession. As a plus, it is decidedly cheaper than therapy. In 2019 I was diagnosed with autism and ADHD. This was undoubtedly a shock, but rather than viewing my neurodiversity as a hinderance, I have come to appreciate how my condition provides me a unique perspective on the world and adds distinctiveness to my creative works. Over the years, I have penned several hard drives worth of poems, short stories, and full-length novels, and there are countless ideas still rattling around in my head waiting to be unleashed.

How / where do you find the plots you write about?

As an introvert, I enjoy my alone time and have spent a lot of it observing the world around me, pondering life and exploring “what if” scenarios. In fact, my Callum Walker series was prompted after asking myself “What if fairy tales were more than stories, and the monsters were flesh and blood?”

Once I have my stories premise, I will develop an all -encompassing meaning or message and carefully sow those seeds into my protagonist’s journey. Case in point, the overall undertone of my fantasy adventure related to our shared desire to find acceptance and belonging, as expressed through Callum’s longing for friendship, family connections, and a place to call home.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I am not a big planner. I start with an overarching concept such as good versus evil or overcoming adversity, and gradually formulate a vague storyline from this idea. By the time I sit down to write, I have a clear idea of where to start, where to end, and approximately what needs to happen in the middle to shift the action toward a resolution. The rest I leave undecided to allow myself creational freedom. I feel that this process allows me the freedom to let my creative juices flow, and, at times, the story seems to write itself while I’m just along for the ride. These moments of “in the zone” writing have often create scenes for which I receive the most compliments

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

The over lying theme in my series is acceptance and belonging. As my protagonist advances his abilities, he slowly gains confidence in himself and learns to trust in those friends he finds along the way. His self -journey is a lesson we can all embrace, realizing that family and friends are of utmost importance and should be cherished.

Tell

The past couple of years have been both exhausting and inspiring. I started last January (2023) with my novels in one Indigo store front location in southern Alberta and, as of now, the first three books in my series are now available in 10 Indigo and Chapters locations across Alberta. They are also available on Amazon (kindle and print), kobo, Barnes and Noble (ebook), and Lulu.com.

I have received several amazing reviews from my readers that have been increasingly encouraging, giving me the confidence to not only continue writing, but to carry on sharing my creative works with the world. I only hope that my ambition and hard work can motivate other young aspiring authors to follow in my footsteps.

Stepping out of my comfort zone, I challenged myself in 2024 to attended thirty book signings, to date I have competed 27 such events with 11 more scheduled over the next few months. In 2025, I not only plan to continue further book signings, but also to attend some of the conventions and expos that are hosted across western Canada. I am looking into performing my first author talk as well as exploring the possibility of becoming a mentor to other aspiring authors.

How much of the book is realistic?

While fantasy is invariably a realm of fiction, that does not mean that there need not be some aspects of reality. Consequently, my experiences in parenting, healthcare, and interests in psychology have added to my understanding of emotional and mental intricacies, allowing me to mold distinctiveness and depth into my characters' personalities and adding realism to their reactions. And, though my mythical creatures are decidedly imaginary, their temperaments, politics, and belief systems are modelled after real historical figures as well as pre -existent and modern-day societies.

Do you have a mentor that helped or encouraged you to follow your dream of writing?

My mom was a big inspiration, but not in the way one would expect. She was an English major, and I counted on her to proofread my school essays and other assignments during my formative years. That said, she was ruthless with her critique and firmly claimed that “I couldn’t write to save my life”. Rather than accepting defeat, however, I continued writing stories in secret, flexing my creative muscles and learning through experience, determined to prove her wrong. Now, many years later, my mother has finally admitted that my writing has profoundly improved, and she has become one of my biggest fans.

What

are your current projects?

I am currently completing my fourth novel in my Callum Walker Series, with a fifth one in the works, and I am toying with the idea of creating a standalone novel independent of this series.

Can you share a sample of your current work with us?

What books have influenced your life the most?

I grew up reading Stephen King, Margaret Atwood, and Micheal Crichton, and enjoyed every one of their novels that I could find. I believe it was the variability in their stories that interested me. Every one of these authors seems to possess the same wild imagination as I do and are unafraid to see the world as it could be, rather than what it is.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B09MC92QJL

Pick one of your characters and share some of their backstory that didn’t make it into the novel.

There is only so much history I can present in each novel. Obviously, as the protagonist, Callum’s backstory is far more developed than everyone else, but that does not mean that I have neglected my other character’s life story. The past is vitally important to the development of our present. For example, while I narrated Queen Esme’s desire to prove herself in the first and second novels, I could only hint at her motivations. I mentioned that her father was an over-bearing king, desiring a son in place of a daughter. While I touched on the harsh treatment Esme received from her father, there was no opportunity to discuss her mother, whose death broke the king’s heart and kept him from remarrying. This would have explained why Esme remained an only child, which set her up to become the first queen to inherit the throne upon her father’s death.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Perseverance, especially in the face of criticism, is a necessary requirement for a great author. It is impossible to please everyone, and there will always be those who despise your work. Writing is a passion, and each creation is an individual expression. It is important to cling to your reason for writing, otherwise you will be lost trying to meet the needs and expectations of everyone else, and your art will become stale and emotionless. Thusly, every time I sit down to write, I take a moment to remind myself that whatever story I create must come from my heart.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Storytelling and writing are two different things and, while many can master the mechanics of writing, not everyone can be an author. To become a true wordsmith, one needs more than just the basics. They need to possess a wild imagination, have an eye for observation, and be willing to accept that they, along with most creative writers, are a bit quirky and embrace those qualities within themselves.

Is there one person past or present you would like to meet and why?

I would love to have a chat with William Shakespeare. Having read much of his work, I have a feeling he was a philosopher at heart and shared my desire to think outside the box. Rather than meeting him in his time, however, I think it would be interesting to have him brought into our era, so as to hear his thoughts and opinions on how much has changed over the past 450 odd years.

Other than writing do you have any hobbies?

I love hiking, biking, and exploring nature. As the oldest of five kids, and the only girl, I was more a bit of a tomboy growing up and enjoyed many of the same activities as my brothers, such as karate, airsoft, and video games. While I still appreciate these past times, I am also an avid puzzler, love running, play piano, and would love to master horseback riding.

Can you share something personal with your readers? Do you have any holiday traditions? What kind of music do you enjoy? What kind of movies do you prefer? Do you have a favorite author?

I wanted to be a teacher when I was a kid. I even went to college for my Bachelor of Education. After attending my observation practicum in the days prior to a teachers’ strike, I was strongly advised to choose another career path. I then thought it might be cool to be a counsellor and considered changing my degree so that I could major in psychology, but jobs in that field were hard to find. After much thought, I shifted my focus and became a Medical Radiological Technologist, otherwise known as an Xray Tech.

If money was no issue would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

I would prefer a rustic cabin somewhere deep in the woods, far away from the bustle of the big cities. While everyone rushes through life, we miss so many pretty details planted along our path. If we eliminate all the distracting noise, technology, and harried schedules, not only will we reduce our stress, but we will be free to see the natural beauty all around us that patiently waits to be noticed. I’m fortunate to have grown up in and around the Rocky Mountains, surrounded by forests and fresh air. I played among the trees, counting squirrels, chasing rabbits, and weaving crowns of daisies into my hair. Somewhere along the way, I learned to appreciate nature, in all its glory, and I cannot imagine a more peaceful existence.

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress?

Website: www.jmshawauthor.com

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jmshaw_author/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jmshawauthor

Email: jmshawauthor1@gmail.com

re interested, my books are available on Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Noble, and Lulu.com. You can find the links to my novels on my website.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0DF6657YM

Despite warnings from family and friends, Scona Tinay enrolls in Silencers Academy.

To escape a life of poverty and hardship and ensure a stable future, Scona sets her sights on the Silencers, where the students earn a wage. She soon learns her fellow students are cutthroat and the training regimen brutal.

As Scona heads deeper into her training, she begins to question the role of Silencers, as well as the "madness" she is supposed to destroy. Each question she asks brings her under suspicion. Discovering the only person she can trust is herself, Scona must sacrifice all she knows to ensure a future for those she loves.

Unable to change the culture of her world, where all mental ailments are deemed dangerous, she must embrace all manner of skill and courage to protect her own father Someone she is being trained to kill.

Scona must choose. Protect her father, or embrace the darkness she’s been trained to destroy…

A Young Dystopian novel by AwardWinning author Jenna Greene

Jenna Greene is a YA/ Children's writer. She is also a teacher ... as well as a clumsy dancer, enthusiastic dragon boat paddler, and a semi-professional napper.

https://jennagreene.ca/

https://aspirebookcovers.com/

Aspire Book Covers is a website that offers inspirational book covers and formatting services at affordable prices. The website, located at aspirebookcovers.com, is run by Sharon Brownlie, who warmly welcomes authors to her site. Whether you have finished your book or are in the final stages, Aspire Book Covers provides customized covers to meet your specific requirements. Prices for pre-made covers are listed on the website, and keep a lookout because occasionally, some covers may be on sale!

For custom book covers, Sharon Brownlie will work closely with you to ensure that your book's cover design reflects your vision accurately. She will collaborate with you closely, engaging in discussions about your book description and understanding your requirements.

Old Glory

Old Glory still flies

At the top of the pole

A symbol of freedom

For the young and the old

Some burnt their draft cards

And spit on our flag

Demonstrating in the streets

You could hear them brag

Freedom didn’t come easy

It had to be won

Fighting in the cold

Or the blistering sun

By Pearl Oliver

Many lives have been lost

And there will still be more

If we keep our freedom

It is worth fighting for

Don’t misuse your freedom

It was bought with a price

Many young men have given their lives

Their supreme sacrifice

About the author in her own words:

I was born April 22, 1920, the third child in seven of Arthur S. and Florence M. Jones. They homestead some land in Colorado. Cut trees from the land and built a log cabin. Dad worked for some farmers for $1.00 a day and his dinner. We cleared land a little at a time to farm, no machinery, just two horses and a walking plow. We attended a one-room country school. One teacher taught first - eighth grades.

I wrote a few poems when I was in my teens but was afraid I would be made fun of so I wouldn’t show them to anyone, and later destroyed them.

Pearl Jones Oliver 1920 - 2005

TOUCHING THE WIRE

by Rebecca Bryn

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B00MX5TRPY

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that goodmen do nothing.

Edmund Burke 1729-1797

PART ONE

In the Shadow of the Wolf

Chapter One

Walt slid his chisel into its slot at the back of his bench and sipped the tea he’d let go cold. He eased a sepia photograph from his wallet. For thirty-four years, he’d carried Miriam’s likeness, faded and tattered around the edges: she’d left footprints in his heart trodden deep and clear. Her voice echoed still, and his heartbeat quickened, the memory of the tramp of feet, marching from the spring of 1944, jarring the brick floor beneath him into hard-packed grey earth. Left, right, left, right…

Yet again, he marched with them: dust scoured his eyes and throat and gritted the sweat on his back. The kommando of haeftling, their striped berets and coats creating an army of Colorado beetles, kept time with the SS guards. Despair choreographed their

movements; controlled by an evil puppeteer, they stared straight ahead, their arms hanging limp, their wasted faces blank while, behind them, ambulances rattled to a stop

The thud of boots and clogs faded beneath the hiss of steam and the clatter of couplings as the rumble of iron on iron ground to a halt. A line of cattle wagons, each bearing the insignia of their country of origin and some with a painted yellow star, snaked into the Stygian distance. Smoke and steam mingled with the sickly sweet pall that hung over the camp day and night, and flakes of ash from the chimneys danced with smuts of smoke and floated to the ground with the grace of angels. Already the day was hot. Inside the wagons, it would be suffocating.

‘Wagen öffnen!’

Wagon doors rolled back with squeals and grinding crashes, drowning the swing tune belted out by the camp orchestra. Eyes stark with bewilderment blinked against the light.

‘Aussteigen.’ An SS officer waved his pistol. ‘Schnell! Schnell!’

Men tumbled onto the ramp. Women clutched babies to their breasts and gathered children to their skirts, their eyes searching the surrounding faces.

One woman cupped her hands in supplication. ‘Viz.’ A yellow star emblazoned her coat. Hungarian. Jewish. They’d been arriving by the wagon-load. ‘Viz… kérem.’

The words for water, bread, and help were burned into his memory in every European language. The woman begged for water, but he could offer no drop of water, no morsel of bread, or shred of hope.

‘Viz. Wasser… Bitte.’ A stooped, grey-bearded figure held up four fingers. The journey from Hungary had taken four days: four days without food or water.

The crowd swelled across the ramp as the wagons vomited more souls than they could possibly contain, bringing with them the stench of excrement. A guard hustled the men and older boys from the women and children, forming them into two ragged lines along the tracks, and a detachment of haeftling quick-stepped forward to heave bodies from the wagons and lay them in rows upon the aching ground. The old, the little children: their bodies weren’t heavy even for those barely fleshed themselves.

A young woman bent to retrieve her possessions, but an SS officer strode past. ‘Leave. Luggage afterwards.’

She stood, wide-eyed like a startled deer, one arm cradling a baby. Beside her, an elderly woman clutched a battered suitcase. The girl’s eyes darted from soldier to painted signboard and back. ‘What are we doing here, Grandmother? Why have they brought us here?’ The wind teased at her cheerful red shawl, revealing and lifting long black hair. She straightened and attempted a smile. ‘It’ll be all right, Grandmother. God has protected us on our journey.’

‘Where’s your father?’ The elderly lady adjusted her shawl, covering shock-white hair. ‘Miriam, I can’t see my Jani.’

‘Father will be helping Efah and Mother with the children.’

‘And where are our precious things?’

‘They’re here, Grandmother.’

Voices rasped, whips cracked, and dogs barked. He waited, trying to be inconspicuous, for orders that didn’t come. The men and boys were marched away, craning necks for a glimpse of wives, mothers, sisters, and children. At a signal, the remaining haeftling searched the wagons and carried bundles and suitcases to waiting lorries. Miriam’s grandmother’s case fell open: a beetle snapped it shut and scurried it away. Something had fallen out: in the bustle, no one saw him pick up the small wallet of photographs and tuck it inside his shirt.

More orders followed: more cracking whips and snarling dogs. The line of women and children stumbled forward across the railway sleepers, leaving behind tumbled heaps of abandoned lives.

The march through the camp took forever, yet it was over too soon. At the junction, guards ordered the women to a halt. Smoke from the chimneys obliterated the sky: a wind from the west blew the stench across their path.

‘Zwillinge, vortreten!’ He, the hated hauptsturmführer,stood before them, dark hair smoothed back and his Iron Cross worn with casual pride. His eyes pierced the crowd, and his gloved hand held a cane with which he directed bewildered women to the left or the right.

He shuddered, knowing what the man sought.

An SS officer pushed towards a woman of about fifty. ‘How old?’ She didn’t respond, so the officer shouted the question.

He edged closer. As a doctor, he held a privileged position, but he’d also discovered a gift for languages. He translated German to stilted Hungarian, adding in a low voice, ‘Say you’re under forty-five. Say you are well. Stand here with the younger women.’ He moved from woman to woman intercepting those he could. ‘Say you are well. Tell them your daughter’s sixteen. Say she’s well. Say you can work or have a skill. Tell them you’re not pregnant.’

The hauptsturmführer waved his cane. ‘You, to the right. No, the children to the left.’

A woman clutched her children’s hands. ‘I can’t leave my babies.’

He froze, fearing for them all. The thunder of another train grew closer, and the SS officer gestured her to the left with her children. He breathed again, ashamed at feeling relief, and hurried to intercept the next group.

The girl with the red shawl was there in front of him: the old lady had called her Miriam. He touched her arm. ‘Say you’re well, Miriam. Say you can work and are not pregnant. Give the baby to your grandmother, and tell her she must stand to the left with the children. You must stand to the right.’

‘My grandmother isn’t well. I’m a nurse. I can look after her and little Mary.’

A guard strode past. ‘Together afterwards.’

He nodded, compounding the conspiracy of silence. ‘Together afterwards.’

The old lady held out her arms for the baby. ‘Go, Miriam. God be with you.’

Miriam’s eyes glistened. ‘May He rescue us from the hand of every foe.’ She touched her grandmother’s cheek, a gentle, lingering movement, and placed a tender kiss on her baby’s forehead.

She moved where he pointed to stand with a group of about thirty young women: only thirty? Her eyes followed her grandmother and daughter as they were swallowed into the thousands who straggled towards the anonymous buildings beneath the smoke.

Ambulances passed, carrying those who were unable to walk; a truck bearing a red cross followed behind. She watched until they disappeared from sight and then searched the faces of the women that remained.

Miriam’s eyes met his. He had no way to tell her he had given her life: no right to tell her to abandon hope. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

The doorknob rattled, jolting Walt back to the workshop at the end of the garden: Kettering, England, 1978. He slipped the photograph away and covered his work, heart thudding. He turned the doorknob. ‘Charlotte – did you want me, little one?’

‘You promised us a story, Grandpa.’

He shooed Charlotte ahead of him and turned the key in the lock. He clipped the key to a chain, alongside a smaller brass one, and put both keys in his pocket.

‘Grandpa…’ Charlotte plucked his sleeve.

Lucy, her mirror-image, mimicked Granny’s best exasperated sigh. ‘The little girls, Grandpa. Tell us about the little girls.’

Machines, clattering from open windows in the shoe factory behind the workshop, settled into a rhythm steadier than his heart. He ruffled Charlotte’s blonde curls absently and sank into his deckchair, but already, he stood outside the snow-wrapped building many miles

and years from the garden of the backstreet terrace. A wolf stalked the edges of his mind, and long-dead faces pleaded for help he couldn’t give. He found a smile. ‘A woodcutter lived deep in the forests of Günsburg with his wife, two small daughters, and some chickens. They were happy and free except for the wolf.’

Blue eyes widened. ‘A wolf?’

He nodded. ‘The woodcutter was afraid to let his daughters into the forest alone, so he decided to slay the wolf. He put on his green jacket and his hat with a feather and went outside to kill a chicken.’

Charlotte sobered. ‘Why?’

‘His daughters’ lives were more important to him than the chicken’s. He put poison inside the chicken, set off to find the wolf’s lair, and dropped the chicken onto the ground. Then he climbed a tree to watch.’ He pushed away memories of guard towers, electrified barbed wire, hunger, thirst, and relentless cold. ‘The wolf crept from his lair. Sniff, sniff, sniff. I smell chicken. He dragged the chicken inside.’

Charlotte tilted her head to one side. ‘Did the wolf die, Grandpa?’

He brushed a stray curl from her face. ‘The woodcutter thought he was dead, but he was only sleeping a long, long sleep.’

Lucy screwed up her face. ‘So he might still eat the little girls?’

He sought for a prettier tale to distract her, but he’d been only three when the mud of the Somme had sucked the life from his father. His mother’s struggle to raise him and his sister alone hadn’t included fairy tales.

Charlotte slashed at an imaginary foe. ‘Grandpa won’t let the wolf eat us, Lucy. Grandpa will kill him, dead, like this.’

She had the courage he’d lacked. Would it have made a difference? ‘It’s not good to kill, Charlotte. No one has the right to take another’s life.’

‘But if he’s going to eat me!’

Why had he got into a moral debate with five-year-olds? They always found holes in his logic big enough to fall through.

Lucy picked at a scab. ‘Granny says eating people is a sin.’

‘She did?’

‘She says it’s a comment from God.’

‘A commandment. Eating people is a sin, but people believe all sorts of different things, Lucy. A long time ago, people believed in lots of gods.’

‘When we were little?’

‘Longer ago than that. Long before even I was born.’ Charlotte’s mouth made a circle round enough to fit a whole plum. He smiled. ‘They thought the sun was a god and the moon was a goddess.’ It made more sense than the Catholic dogma he’d absorbed from his mother. Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Her plea had struck terror into his young heart. Take me from the dark. Hear me now, O Lord. Her God hadn’t heard him in his darkest hours; He hadn’t heard her when the aerial bombardment razed her home to the ground, burying her and his sister when the Second World War was all but over.

Jane arrived with drinks and biscuits and drove both wolf and God from the twins’ minds with an ease he envied.

‘I’ll take my tea in the workshop, love, and do more work to Dobbin. Come and see what you think.’ Dust motes danced in the beam of sunlight that shone through the workshop window and onto the rocking horse that stood on the bricks, awaiting a coat of primer: it was a present for the twins’ fifth birthday. Arturas and Peti had been five.

Jane put the mug on the bench among shapes hidden beneath dustsheets. ‘The twins will love him.’ Dimples chased the wrinkles from the corners of her mouth. ‘Don’t let your tea go cold again, Walt.’

His gaze lingered on his wife’s plump form, measuring the too rapid drip of time they had left together as she retreated down the path towards the kitchen. Breathing in the scents of roses, lavender, and leather, he locked the door behind him and removed the shroud from his other, secret, more pressing task.

He brushed back a strand of grey hair. He took no pleasure from the work, for each stroke of mallet on chisel laid his soul bare, and yet he found a release of sorts as if he were at last keeping a promise too long unkept. With a surgeon’s precision, he gouged his nightmares into the tortured shapes, sanded truth into each curve, and wrote in them his guilt, but even now, he wasn’t keeping his promise. Even now, he procrastinated, but he had to do something.

Part of him desperately wanted to be confronted, to have the unspeakable truth he hid each day torn from him, to share his burden and his pain, the discovery of his past left to capricious fate as so much of his life had been. He should never have survived – there were others more worthy who’d perished. He sighed. He couldn’t blight his family’s lives, but he ached to have his truth known while still protecting them.

It had been instinctive for him to turn to his woodworking tools for a solution to ease the restlessness in his soul, and he’d toiled at five carvings. Four were living flames in burr elm. The fifth, carved from straighter-grained lime-wood, depicted a wolf leaping through flames. Two short burr-elm cylinders, shaped like lighted candles, echoed the theme of fire

and completed the work. While thoughts of mortality had urged him to take up his chisels, he was desperately afraid of what would happen if he reawakened the wolf too soon.

But no one would ever guess his ridiculous puzzle, would they? Not even the twins who loved his treasure hunts and games. He went through the fail-safes he’d put in place to protect Jane, Jennie, and the girls – his truth would be known, but not while they lived. He’d made a promise before God though he and God had long since reached a mutual understanding: neither believed in the other. Nor would he be a party to his mother’s Hail-Mary forgiveness – at least the Greek goddesses spoke to him of a price to pay. Anyway, a promise was a promise, however long it took to keep it, and he owed his dead their truth.

A shadow fell across the window above the bench, fighting the naked bulb that hung from twisted flex, darkening the workshop’s interior, and making his heart thud.

Only Jennie.

He covered his work and the rocking horse and opened the door. Charlotte ran into his open arms. A lump formed in his throat as he hugged her. Lucy stood in the doorway, the sun gifting her bleached-straw hair with the touch of Midas and lighting her delicate features.

‘Don’t get in Grandpa’s way, you two. Send them in if they’re a nuisance, Dad.’ Jennie took a deep breath. ‘I love this place. The smells, the junk. Nothing changes.’

He rubbed the back muscle he’d pulled digging: bending to catch Charlotte had tweaked it. ‘We can’t hold back time, love.’

‘Or turn it back.’

‘If you want to talk…’

‘Since Vince’s accident – It’s as if I’m walking out of step.’

‘Charlotte, Lucy, ask Granny how long tea will be.’

‘Okay, Grandpa.’

Jennie nodded her thanks.

He held her close. ‘You’re doing well, love. It takes time to find a way through grief. I had an aunt who repeated a mantra. God grant me the strength to bear what can’t be changed, the courage to change what can be changed, and the wisdom to know the difference.’

She caught a breath. ‘Maybe it’s wisdom I need.’

‘She’d put each problem in its own mental box, solve those she could, and close the lid on those she couldn’t. You’ll find the strength to move on.’

‘How could I lie beside someone at night and not think of Vince?’

She couldn’t as he knew too well. ‘You mustn’t think like that. A candle doesn’t burn dimmer because you light another one.’

‘You sound as if’ – Jennie’s eyes searched his – ‘Dad?’

What part of his soul had she read?

‘Who was she?’

‘Just a girl.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘The war happened – to both of us.’ He pursed his lips: subject closed. ‘Sweetheart, don’t build a prison out of grief. Vince would want you to be happy.’

Lucy ran up the path. ‘Granny says five minutes.’

Jennie caught Charlotte at the door and shepherded her outside. ‘Come on, you two. We’ll help Granny.’

The kitchen door closed behind them, and he felt for the wallet in his back pocket. He drew out the sepia photograph again. ‘Just a girl…’

http://author.to/RebeccaBryn https://rebeccabrynblog.wordpress.com/

Rebecca lives near Britain's smallest city, St Davids, in the far west of Wales. Surrounded by stunning coastal and moorland scenery, she also loves to paint. She inherited her love of stories from her grandfather, who told stories with his hands: stories with colourful characters and unexpected endings. Her fascination with what makes people who they are, and the belief that life is many shades of grey, informs her writing. A Native American Indian proverb reads, 'Don't judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins.' Rebecca has based her life on this tenet: it is certainly core to her writing. 'We may not condone what a person does, but sometimes we can understand and maybe come to forgive.'

We had some great entries for our last challenge. If you didn’t get a chance to read them, you should take a minute to check them out. Congratulations to Val Tobin for getting the most reader votes for the second time this year. You can read the winning story as well as the other entries here…

https://view.publitas.com/mpsmith-publishing/connections-emagazine-3rd-quarter-2024/page/22

1st Place Lonely at the Top Val Tobin

2nd Place Dangerous Secrets Melanie P. Smith

3rd Place The Trilogy Sylva Fae

Everyone has heard the saying A Picture is Worth 1000 Words. Well, this is where we put that saying to the test. In each edition we post an image and ask authors to tell a story in approximately 1000 words. Each story is unique, compelling and interesting. It just goes to show, while the picture might be worth a thousand words those words can be as diverse as the authors writing them

Be sure to visit our Facebook page to vote for your favorite. https://www.facebook.com/ConnectionsEMagazine

By Val Tobin

https://valtobin.com/wp

A gray humanoid form appeared a car-length in front of Jack’s vehicle, which gave him no time to stop on the snow-covered forest road. He pressed on the brakes, because that’s what you do when it looks like you’re going to hit someone, and swerved. Something thudded under the wheels.

The car sideswiped a snowbank, and Jack steered into the skid, righted the car, and stopped in the middle of the road. After throwing it into park, he leaped out.

He raced around the vehicle, a four-door mid-size Mazda, but saw nothing on the road. He walked backward about ten feet, his vehicle’s headlights illuminating him. His breath puffed a cloud into the icy air. Jack stuck his chilled hands in his trench coat, which wasn ’t warm enough for standing outside on a lonely stretch of road in the middle of nowhere. With a gulp, he crept closer to the front bumper. Cold sweat trickled down his back. At least the car showed no blood, no dents. Holding his breath, he crouched and peered underneath.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he hadn’t hit anything. Anyone.

Then what the hell was that thud?

His feet were freezing despite the lined hiking boots he wore, but he couldn’t return to the warmth of his vehicle until he verified that he truly hadn’t run something someone down.

Jack rose again and strolled around the car, hard-packed snow crunching beneath his feet. He’d completed a full three-sixty-degree survey without spotting anything. He stopped walking when he reached the hood of the car again and, for the first time, scanned his surroundings.

What if whatever he’d hit had run into the woods, disoriented and injured? That possibility got the sweat trickling down his back again despite the frosty air.

Jack walked around the car again, more slowly, his gaze riveted on the snow. Again, he found nothing.

Had he imagined it? He closed his eyes and tried to visualize what he’d seen. It’d flashed before his gaze in a gray blur, but it’d looked human. Humanish. It had looked somehow wrong. Not an animal, but not a person.

Jack shuddered. What the hell was out here with him?

Action followed thought, and he rushed to the car and jumped inside without registering what he was doing. By the time his brain caught up to his body, he’d buckled his seatbelt and threw the car into drive. He tapped the gas.

The car stalled.

Cursing, he placed his foot on the brake pedal and pressed the starter button. The engine sputtered and coughed.

“Come on!” He patted the dashboard as if he could lovingly coax it to life. Further attempts to start the car failed.

He pulled his cell phone out. Dead. Not a spark of life in it not even enough to call Emergency. As he considered what to do next, his headlights went out.

Jack strained to listen, his eyes bulging as he stared into the surrounding darkness. His skin prickled, and he suddenly felt as if he were being watched.

Paranoia. No one’s out there. I checked. But he’d checked only the area around the car. He hadn’t wandered off the road and he certainly hadn’t gone into the forest. He squinted, trying to penetrate the thick army of trees on either side of him.

There. A flash of movement. Had he seen it, or was it branches swaying in the wind? Or his overstimulated imagination?

Why had he chosen this route? The easy answer was that it cut his travel time by twenty minutes not much if you’re driving less than an hour, but significant if you had three hours ahead of you. The GPS had promised substantial savings on this route. Jack had jumped at it.

Now he couldn’t even consult the map that’d led him here.

He cursed again. When something thudded on the car’s trunk, he screamed high pitched, very girly, but he barely noticed and jumped.

At the last moment, he pressed the lock to manually lock the doors.

Bright, artificial light blazed into his car from above.

Jack shielded his eyes with a hand on his forehead and tried to pierce the whiteness blanketing everything in his sight.

The car began to rock.

The squad car pulled up behind the seemingly empty vehicle stopped in the middle of the road. Sunlight glinted off the windows, making Officer Marion Smith squint. She used her onboard computer to check the license plate. The vehicle was registered to a Jack Temple, and it hadn ’t been reported stolen.

She radioed her station, located in the nearby Ontario town. This section of the road fell under their jurisdiction.

“Found a stopped vehicle on Devastation Road. Over,” she said when dispatch responded.

“Driver? Over.”

“Don’t see one. I’m checking now. Over.” She concluded the conversation and stepped out of the car.

The air was cold and still. The closer she got to the car, the more convinced Marion was that it was empty.

She pressed her face to the driver’s window and saw no one. A tour of the other windows showed the same.

Marion circled the abandoned car, her path leading her in increasingly larger circles. No footprints led to Jack Temple, but she found him nevertheless.

Just inside the forest, she spotted him, curled up under a tree.

She raced to his side, using her cell phone to call for an ambulance.

Jack’s eyes opened the second she touched his shoulder. As though her touch had activated his autonomic nervous system, he shivered and shook, his teeth chattering loudly.

“No, run. Run.”

“You’ll be okay. The ambulance is on its way.” Someone must’ve assaulted the poor guy. He pointed skyward, chilling her heart. “They’re still here.” He sobbed. “I’m bait.”

The ground trembled. A brilliant light blazed down on the two humans.

Marion screamed.

Insult to Injury is a gripping tale of passion, betrayal, and the fight for survival in the glittering yet perilous world of Hollywood.

Romantic suspense novel Injury now has a sequel, and it’ll hit retailers in June 2025. It’s currently available for preorder on Amazon. Insult to Injury, by Val Tobin, focuses on a new couple as they meet, fall for each other, and struggle to make it work. The story follows actor Liz Logan, Dani Grayson’s friend from Injury. Liz has landed a plum role in the new Injury television series, and sparks fly when she meets the male lead.

www.books2read.com/insulttoinjury

When rising star Liz Logan lands the role of a lifetime in the new television series Injury, she never imagines it will come with a deadly price. As she navigates the treacherous waters of Hollywood fame, Liz finds herself the target of a relentless stalker who will stop at nothing to see her fail.

Amidst the chaos, Liz's budding romance with her costar, Blake Bennett, offers a glimmer of hope and love. But as the threats escalate, trust is shattered, and secrets from the past resurface, putting their relationship to the ultimate test.

With danger lurking around every corner, Liz and Blake must confront their deepest fears and insecurities to survive. Will their love withstand the storm, or will the stalker succeed in tearing them apart forever?

Insult to Injury is currently available for preorder in e-book format on Amazon only, though more retailers will soon have it available. It will also release in paperback in June 2025.

Excerpt from Insult to Injur y

To whet your appetite, here’s an excerpt from Insult to Injury. Liz and Blake act out a kissing scene during their chemistry test an audition that evaluates how well the two characters come across together on film. They act out a kissing scene that proves to everyone there that Liz and Blake have that certain spark:

In all honesty, Liz wasn’t averse to making out with the gorgeous hunk of man standing before her all in the line of duty, of course. It could be one way to get him out of her system and allow her to keep business and pleasure separate.

“Begin whenever you’re ready,” Marci said.

Liz closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. As she slowly breathed out, she opened her eyes again and nodded to Blake.

The wry grin on his face vanished, replaced with a frown of concern. He hurled himself at her and yanked her against him, pressing her close. His breath fluttered in her hair.

“Felicity. Jesus. What have you done?”

She pressed her flushed face against his chest and sobbed. “I had to. They wanted to kill you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“You could have died.”

“I didn’t care.” She tilted her face up, stared into his eyes. Brown eyes. Deep and passionate. She parted her lips slightly as if ready to take him in, ready to taste him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, a tiny one on her nose. He murmured endearments, gave comfort. “No, don’t ever risk yourself for me. I’m not worth it. Not after what I’ve put you through.”

“That’s the past. We’re a team, Patrick. Always.”

The tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips, and she allowed her body to swoon against him.

He cupped the back of her head in his hand and dipped his face to hers, pressed his lips to hers.

Her arms slid around him, and she feasted hungrily on his mouth. Oblivious to everyone else in the room, she reveled in his passion, in his spicy male scent. When his tongue slid into her mouth, she reciprocated, though no one expected the actors to go that distance. He was first to pull away, but he extended the intimate moment by covering her face with kisses and slowly moving down to indulge in her neck.

“Cut.”

The word held no meaning for either of them, and Blake returned to her mouth. She welcomed him with parted lips.

“Uh, guys. We’ve seen enough,” Marci said, her voice loud and firm

When Oscar-winning actress Daniella Grayson wakes up to a nightmare, her world is turned upside down. Her mother is arrested for the murder of Dani's father, a crime committed twenty years ago. As the media frenzy spirals out of control, Dani's carefully constructed life begins to crumble.

With her career on the line and her personal life in shambles, Dani must navigate the treacherous waters of Hollywood's elite, fend off a dangerous ex-boyfriend, and uncover the truth about her father's death. Amidst the chaos, she finds solace in the arms of Robert "Cope" Copeland, her loyal chauffeur turned bodyguard. But as secrets unravel and danger looms, Dani must confront her past to protect her future.

Injury is a gripping tale of love, betrayal, and the relentless pursuit of truth. Will Dani find the strength to overcome her darkest fears, or will the shadows of her past consume her?

Trigger Warning// SA; Kidnapping and abduction; alcohol abuse.

Winner of Connections eMagazine's 2017 Readers Choice awards for Romance (Gold) and Overall (Silver).

If you missed reading the award-winning first novel in the Injured Love series, you can find Injury at a variety of retailers in paperback and e-book. It now sports a new cover and refreshed blurb, though not all retailers have updated their stores yet, so you might see the old cover or blurb in some places. But don’t worry, it’s still the same exciting story.

www.books2read.com/injury

By Melanie P. Smith

https://melaniepsmith.com

Det. Kirby stood in the center of the road and studied his surroundings. It was a cold night. So cold, he could see his own breath and every time he inhaled, the fine hairs inside his nose froze then slowly thawed only to freeze again with his next breath. He pushed it aside, irritated at the distraction. He jerked his head to the right when he heard a slight sound in the distance. Maybe Blu wasn’t full of shit this time.

Kirby took a step forward and waited, hoping to hear the noise again. Instead, he heard the distinct sound of a car approaching. He ignored it, knowing it was his partner. Once she parked her car, she’d join him armed with a dozen complaints.

Detective Macord Mac to her colleagues shoved open the door, grabbed her tepid mug of coffee and climbed from her vehicle. The road was solid ice, dusted with a thin layer of snow that crunched beneath her boots as she walked. “You know,” she greeted, “if I wanted to hang out in the snow, I would have stayed in Utah.”

Kirby ignored her.

“What are we doing here?” Mac demanded.

“I got a call from Blu.”

Mac groaned. “Not another wild goose chase. Honestly, you need to cut that guy loose. His tips are innocuous at best. He’s annoying and ambiguous. He’s never reliable. Plus, every time he gives you a lead, you drag me along with you. I need coffee.” She plucked the lid off her now cold coffee, flung the liquid into a snowbank, crumpled the cup, and shoved it into her pocket.

“Have I ever mentioned you talk too much?” Kirby glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“Not in the last five minutes,” Mac grinned. “What was it this time? Injured squirrel? Did the little guy gorge himself on nuts and fall out of a tree?”

“I think the last thing you need right now is more coffee,” Kirby observed. “Listen.”

Mac opened her mouth to harass her partner further then stopped when she heard something, off to the right. “What is that?”

“Blu’s clue?” Kirby smirked.

“Ha,” Mac punched his shoulder. “You know, I’m slightly concerned that you’re watching a clever blue dog created for preschoolers.”

Kirby shrugged. “My nephew wants to grow up to be just like me. It’s a good start.”

Mac turned in surprise when they heard another louder noise to the right, but it sounded closer this time. “Was that a whimper?”

“It sounded human,” Kirby agreed. “Let’s go.”

They left the road and paved their own trail through the snow and thick pines all cop now, and on the hunt. Several yards from the road, the terrain morphed into a gradual incline. They were both winded by the time they reached the top.

Kirby scanned the area, determined to solve the puzzle. Blu was a little annoying and his tips rarely amounted to more than a petty theft or trivial crime of passion. Still ”

“Over there,” Mac pointed to the edge of a tree line on the other side of the clearing. “It looks human.”

“Ambush or victim?” Kirby wondered.

“I think victim, but we need a plan in case I’m wrong,” Mac suggested.

“I’ll approach head on,” Kirby decided.

“No, I will,” Mac interrupted. “You head left, approach from the shadows just inside the trees. Don’t worry, old man, I’ll be careful.”

Kirby frowned, then nodded. “Give me five to get into position, then head down. Take a direct route, act casual so you appear oblivious and eager to help.”

“I’ve got this,” Mac glared at him..

Kirby grinned. Mac hated his protective side what she deemed fatherly, but he couldn’t help it. He turned, descended the ridgeline and cautiously made his way to the left of their target. Then, he darted over the embankment, crossed the edge of the meadow and slipped into the shadows. Moments later, he was standing behind a large pine tree a few feet away from a woman. She was young and she wasn’t moving. He took another tentative step forward and waited. Mac rushed forward but stopped a few feet away. They were both ready to react if this was a trick. “Hey, you okay?” Mac called. The woman didn’t move. “I’m Detective Macord, do you need help?”

The girl tried to push her body upwards with shaky arms, then tumbled back to the ground. “Help, please.”

“What’s going on?” Mac crouched to get a better look, still out of harm’s way in case the woman was faking for some reason.

“He’s going to kill them,” she choked out. “They’re in the cave,” she raised her hand a couple inches from the ground, then dropped it just as quickly.

Mac glanced up when Kirby emerged. “Are you familiar with this area?”

“I am,” Kirby approached the woman. “Who’s going to kill them and who are they?”

The woman shrunk into herself and began to shake from the cold, but also in fear.

“He won’t hurt you,” Mac assured her. “He’s with me. We’re cops and we’d like to help. Do you know the man?”

“Bobby Dickson,” she whispered. “He has two other girls, in the cave. They’re prisoners, like I was, but I escaped. He’s coming for me, then he’ll kill all of us.”

“Bobby Dickson?” Mac locked eyes with Kirby. “Judge Dickson’s oldest son?”

“Yes,” the woman was crying, enormous tears streamed down her face. “You don’t believe me, do you? He said you wouldn’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” Kirby crouched. “Is the cave near the water? The river that runs just east of here.”

“Yes,” her entire body sagged in relief. “You need to hurry.”

“We need to get her back to my vehicle,” Mac decided. “We’ll secure her, call for help, then go after the others.”

Kirby hesitated, glanced away, then nodded.

It took longer than either of them liked, but they finally got the woman secured inside the car.

“What’s your name?” Mac flipped on the heater then reached for her police radio.

“Amelia White,” she wrapped her arms around herself and enjoyed the heat.

Mac called for backup and informed dispatch they were leaving their victim locked inside her vehicle while they searched for their suspect and two additional victims.

“Car Delta 15,” Clay Anderson called over the air. “I just passed Pauma Valley, ETA two minutes.”

“Copy that,” Mac smiled. Anders would handle the victim better than anyone she knew. He was a good cop and had a way with people. Mac slammed the door and approached Kirby. “Ready?” Kirby spotted the headlights, waited a few additional seconds to make sure it was a patrol car, then nodded.

They silently made their way through the woods. Suddenly, Kirby motioned upwards, and Mac spotted the mouth of a large cave.

“You go left, I’ll go right?” she suggested.

“Wait for my signal,” Kirby warned. “The cave veers left. You go first, I’ll have your six.” They entered, veered to the left and silently made their way through a narrow tunnel. Before long, the tunnel fanned out to create a tiny alcove. Mac spotted two women immediately but there was no sign of Bobby.

“It’s clear on the right, but watch your left, he could be hiding,” Kirby warned. “I’ve got you.”

Mac took a half step forward, hesitated, peered around the edge of the opening, then rushed forward in relief. She had a clear shot to the girls.

The group emerged from the cave and immediately spotted Bobby. He was stomping toward the cave, cussing with his head down, oblivious to their presence.

Kirby shoved the women toward Mac and bolted. He slammed into Bobby before the guy even realized they were there. Within seconds, Bobby was handcuffed and screaming.

“Hey,” Mac crowded Bobby’s personal space. “You have the right to remain silent. Do us all a favor and shut up.”

“I’ll have your badge, you whore,” Bobby screamed.

“Doubtful,” Mac motioned to the women. “Come on, we need to get both of you to the hospital. You can give your statements after your checked out by a doctor.”

“Keep your mouth shut,” Bobby warned.

“Good advice,” Kirby shoved Bobby. “You should take it.”

An hour later, Kirby and Mac stood outside the sliding doors of the hospital. Kirby raised his head, stared into the darkness and inhaled a deep cleansing breath. “Another one closed.”

“I guess you should keep the annoying Blu around,” Mac smirked. “He grates on my last nerve, but he just tossed you a big fish. One the brass will notice. One that could get you that promotion. Sgt. Kirby has a nice ring to it.”

“Bite your tongue,” Kirby grinned. “Karma might be listening, and she tends to hate my guts.”

Melanie is a Multi-Genre author of Paranormal, Criminal Suspense, Police Procedural and Romance novels, photographer and biker

If you are looking for a story that you can't put down, one that will keep you guessing as you embark on a rollercoaster journey of discovery, then Melanie P. Smith is the author for you.

She works hard to make her stories exciting, action packed and gripping. All of her characters are classy, memorable and strong-willed. Take a look, you might find something you like.

This suspenseful installment in the THIN BLUE LINE SERIES will have you on the edge of your seat until the very end. If you enjoy romantic suspense and small-town charm, you’ll love this thrilling read. And don’t forget to check out the other books in the series for more heart-pounding suspense.

TALES FROM

Tales From the Hanging Tree: Imprints of Tragedy

Edited by Kaye Lynne Booth

Stories by Kaye Lynne Booth, Paul Kane, DL Mullan, C.R. Johannson, Joseph Carrabis, Sylva Fae, and Matt Usher.

Blurb

There exists a tree that is timeless, spanning across all dimensions, which absorbs every life as those who are hanged as they die... and it remembers every one. The stories within are a select few of the Tales From the Hanging Tree.

Kaye Lynne Booth

For Kaye Lynne Booth, writing is a passion. Kaye Lynne is an author with published short fiction and poetry, both online and in print, including her short story collection, Last Call and Other Short Fiction; and her paranormal mystery novella, Hidden Secrets; Books 1 & 2 of her Women in the West adventure series, Delilah and Sarah, and her Time-Travel Adventure novel, The Rock Star & The Outlaw, and her kid’s book series, My Backyard Friends. Kaye holds a dual M.F.A. degree in Creative Writing with emphasis in genre fiction and screenwriting, and an M.A. in publishing. Kaye Lynne is the founder of WordCrafter Quality Writing & Author Services and WordCrafter Press. She also maintains an authors’ blog and website, Writing to be Read, where she publishes content of interest in the literary world. https://writingtoberead.com/ Purchase your copy today: https://books2read.com/Hanging-Tree

By Sylva Fae

facebook.com/SylvaFae

He awoke, disorientated and confused. Where am I? How did I get here?

Still Time

Dense, dark woodland stretched as far as he could see on either side, and up ahead, an eerie, red glow hung between the trees. He tried walking a couple of steps towards it, but his legs ached. Each torturous step was an effort, like wading through thick mud. He glanced down, no it wasn’t mud, he was on a road. The sluggish feeling was within him. He tried another step but it took all his willpower to move forward.

Where do I go?

He peered into the silent woods for answers. No, it wasn’t silent, he registered as the fog started to clear from his mind. He could hear the shushing of the breeze, and something else...rustling, footsteps through dry leaves. He spun around to see what was behind him, but an empty road stretched on, disappearing into the gloom. There was nothing here but trees, and the ominous glow up ahead.

The glow? What is that? Am I supposed to go towards it, or was I trying to get away from it?

He turned back to look at the red haze, but a haunting cry echoed overhead, startling him. He stumbled, then breathed out a heavy sigh of relief, as he rationalised it was an owl. His breath billowed out white clouds that drifted towards the red glow. He watched as they slowly dissipated in the chilly night air, then resumed his stumbling steps.

His assumption was confirmed as the owl suddenly dropped from a high bough, and glided silently down the road. Its dark silhouette lit up red momentarily, then disappeared into the glow.

The rustling footsteps started again. Something unseen was mirroring his staggering pace towards the glow. He stopped, heart thumping, needing to know but not daring to look. Fear tingled through him and added to the desperate need to know why he was here. He couldn ’t distinguish whether it was fear of what he would encounter up ahead, or the thing in the woods. The icy chill of dread flooded his mind, making it hard to think straight.

It’s probably just an animal... but what if it isn ’t?

A gust of wind rushed through the trees sending a flurry of leaves across his path. They drifted through the plumes of white as he let out another long breath. He shuddered and took another few steps forward, the leaves crunching underfoot. The thing in the woods echoed his steps. He stopped to listen. Silence. Just the whispers of breeze through the last few autumn leaves clinging to the dark branches.

Am I imagining it?

“Still time. Still time...” the whispered breeze seemed to say. He shook his head to clear the wind’s words from his mind. Another few steps. The rustling footsteps following. Louder. Closer. No, that wasn’t my imagination. A bigger gust of wind roared through the woods, rattling the branches that hung overhead. He covered his face against the leaves and small twigs that pelted down on him, and waited for the wind’s fury to subside.

The footsteps quickened, boughs creaking, branches snapping. Not stopping, he turned his head, catching glimpses of dark shadows shifting between the blackened tree trunks. He picked up his pace, away from what stalked in the dark, and towards the glow. It drew him on, yet filled him with dread of what he would find there. He couldn’t shake off the irrational feeling of foreboding, but to go back, back into the gloom with its sinister shadows and following footsteps, seemed more terrifying than what lay ahead.

“There’s still time...” the wind whispered, and its words stirred the disquiet that had settled in his mind.

“Still time?” he asked timidly into the void. His words swirled out new plumes of white against the dark sky.

“Still time to choose.” The shadows shifted as if waiting for a response. “Come with us and we’ll lead you through the darkness... it’s peaceful beyond the darkness...or go forward to go back.”

Go forward to go back? What kind of a riddle is this?

“You must choose, but time is slipping away. Come with us, or go forward …” The whispers blended with the breeze, slowly receding until an ominous silence blanketed the woods.

Keep going. Keep going forward. The thoughts pounded in his head. He summoned up the energy to move...towards the red glow...towards the unknown. Just a few more steps. Time is running out. Keep moving. Must go back. The thoughts drummed urgently, and his steps matched their pace.

A dark form materialised out of rosy haze. It felt familiar, bringing a rush of relief...then peace. The calm suddenly shattered, a cacophony of noise, movement and pictures crashed through his mind. The jumble of jagged fragments spiralled and flew together to complete the picture that had eluded him. Then silence.

The words, ‘go forward to go back’ finally made sense. He made his choice and took the final step into the red light.

“We have an adult male. Unconscious. Lacerations to the face and chest. Legs are pinned beneath the steering wheel. Jones, get those branches cleared off the road so we can get the ambulance closer.”

“On it.”

“The driver’s door is jammed. I can’t get through. I’m going in through the passenger door. ‘Hello, can you hear me? Don’t try to move. We’ll get you out.’ Damnit! There’s no response. I can’t get a pulse...he’s gone.”

“Must have died on impact. Poor guy. Probably didn’t even see what hit him. I’ll radio in to get this tree cleared off the road. Any ID on him?”

“Wait! I have a pulse. He’s still alive!”

Sylva Fae is a married mum of three from Lancashire, England. She has spent twenty years teaching literacy to adults with learning difficulties and disabilities, and now works from home as a children’s writer and illustrator.

Connect with Sylva on her Facebook author page or in her Mindful Monsters and Friends Group https://www.facebook.com/groups/mindfulmonstersandfriends

A Short Story Collection

A diverse and entertaining collection of short stories that has it all: humor, wonder, loyal friends, and a bit of mischief. Fae will delight her readers with these tales of self-discovery, wit, and wonder. It’s a journey you won’t want to miss.

Melanie P. Smith, Author

https://mybook.to/NoFairytaleEbook https://mybook.to/NoFairytalePaperback

This is a very random collection of short stories, some of which have appeared previously in online publications (including Connections eMagazine) and anthologies. I started out as a children ’s author, and I love creating children’s books, but I always relish the opportunity to write adult stories. Short stories fulfil my need to break out of the children’s author mould, and dabble in a variety of genres. In this collection, you will find everything from simple feel-good tales, to supernatural, crime, fantasy, sci-fi, comedy, adventure, suspense, and horror.

I love to read novels, but occasionally, the time constraints enforced by a busy family life mean that a quick short story has to satisfy my need to read. With this in mind, the stories are grouped into three categories: long shorts, short shorts and flash fiction. I’ve added the average read times to the index in the paperback to help you choose a story to fit the time you have available.

All good fiction starts with a basis in truth. Writers have a habit of people-watching, observing life as inspiration for their next book. I am guilty of this, and as such, most of the characters and scenarios come from my own experiences, or those I’ve observed. Can you spot the real places and characters in the book?

No Fairytale is a collection of short stories by author Sylva Fae. Tales of magic and mystery with a hint of life lessons mixed in. With more than thirty short and flash fiction stories, this collection is a worthy read. Too many stories to review individually, but I’ll offer up here my favorites.

“The Magic Box of Apples” – A tale about the magic of kindness. This one touched my heart.

Granny Apple has a magic box that is always filled with what she needs. But is it really magic?

Peter Aspen learns the secret as this short tale unfolds.

“Hollin Hey” – I’m a bird lover, so it is only natural that I would fall in love with this story about an animal sanctuary and a recued crow. The touching ending makes it all worth it.

“No Fairytale” – The book’s namesake story is one of cheating and revenge. No Fairytale indeed! When this girl says it’s over, she means it.

“The Witch in the Woods” – A short ditty about a self-perpetrated deception. But this witch has good reason and good intention.

“Dwelling in the Shadows” – I love this story because of the somber tone and poetic language that could make one believe they have stepped into a fairytale. The story of a secret pact told so eloquently I had to read on to the end.

The collection, as a whole, is delightful; a mixture of short and flash fiction which has a little something for everyone. The characters in these stories are easy to relate to because we’ve all been there. Sylva Fae takes the ordinary and finds the magic in it.

Review by Kaye Lynne Booth

Cover created by Sharon Brownlie of Aspire Book Covers: https://aspirebookcovers.com/

Sylva Fae

The Blurb

This multi-genre collection of 36 tales comprises 18 short stories and 18 flash fiction stories, from crime in a quaint village to woodland horror. Go on a timetravelling mystery, or imagine the horror of encountering a real earworm. Discover magic and mayhem, mystery and adventure, and delight in tales of karma and vengeance. No Fairytale is an eclectic assortment of stories to entertain a wide audience.

By Tom Benson

http://www.tombensonauthor.com

Conrad

Scottish Highlands

“Are we nearly there?” Conrad asked.

Paddy glanced at him in the rearview and laughed. “You sound like a kid.”

“I don’t mind taking a leak in the woods, but I’d rather not.”

The other two men in the car laughed.

Paddy said, “Control yourself.” He laughed and winked at Razor in the front passenger seat.

An hour earlier, the forestry had become more dense when the car had left the main route to use minor roads. The Irishman had taken turns and climbed steep gradients, seemingly having no need for a map. On a cold winter night, they were far from civilisation in an inhospitable region.

“Nah, I’ll need you to stop,” Conrad said. “If I don’t, you’ll have a damp seat.”

“Be quick.” Paddy stopped the car. “Anybody else who can’t wait?”

“Yeah,” Bull said, glancing at the man beside him. “I’m feeling uncomfortable too.”

Conrad stepped away from the car, faced the trees, and unbuttoned his overcoat but nothing else. When Bull stepped up close to him, it was obvious that the big man had left the car as an insurance measure. It confirmed for Conrad that his cover was blown.

“A stag,” Conrad said, pointing into the dark, dense forestry. “Where?”

While Bull was briefly distracted, Conrad lashed out with a vicious chop to the throat. He heard a gasping breath before he bolted into the darkness. He ran, stumbling through the foliage and undergrowth, being slashed by branches and pine needles. He moved as fast as he could for a few minutes and finally stopped to control his breathing. The moon was breaking through the clouds intermittently, but it didn’t take much to highlight a person’s breath in the wintry atmosphere.

Conrad stood with his back against a broad tree and raised his coat lapels to breathe inside the heavy garment. It took several minutes to calm his breathing, but his heartbeat and thoughts raced as he considered his next move.

Six months earlier, Detective Constable Colin Moore had successfully infiltrated the organised crime syndicate in Glasgow. The thirty-year-old had called himself Conrad Kelly, and a suitable arrest record was created as his cover. His lack of prison time had at first been a double-edged sword. In the criminal circles he’d joined, there were those who felt his lack of detention was suspicious. Other men, higher up in the ranks, were impressed by his apparent skill at avoiding a custodial sentence.

Conrad had passed on valuable information to his handler for weeks but was aware that he was under suspicion by his crime boss, Crazy Joe Taggart. The covert officer ’s suspicions were confirmed when Taggart told him to go with three other men into the Highlands to prepare for a special task.

There was no time to get word to anyone, nor was there a way to escape. Conrad had acted confidently as he’d climbed into the Range Rover with Razor, Bull, and Paddy. The two Scotsmen were revered as hard men of the old school, and the Irishman had been a terrorist hitman for several years. Killing for him was second nature and enjoyable.

Prior to joining the police, Conrad had served ten years with the Parachute Regiment. Recognising danger and dealing with fear was more important than being carefree and fearless. In Afghanistan and Iraq, he’d witnessed horrific scenes in modern warfare. He’d come to terms with his mortality and, on return to the UK, channelled his post-traumatic stress disorder into delivering justice.

His breathing and heart rate calmed, and Conrad looked around with a plan in mind. Two dark shapes stumbled through the forest. Bull was angry, cursing, breathing with difficulty, and holding a gun. Razor, a more slight figure, was appropriately wielding a sword. The Samurai blade glinted in the occasional shaft of moonlight. Razor was about fifty metres abreast of Bull. Conrad unbuckled his belt and waited. As Bull passed the tree, Conrad dropped his looped belt over the man’s bald head. The covert officer simultaneously pulled hard on the belt and wrestled the gun from the big man’s hand. Instinct caused the big man to try to remove the ligature. When he fell to his knees, breathless, the belt was kept around his neck until he passed out. Three minutes later, shoes discarded, Bull had a sock in his mouth, and his wrists were tied behind him with his laces.

There was no sign of Paddy, so he would no doubt be armed and remain near the car. It was said that he didn’t feel properly dressed unless he was carrying a gun. The Irishman had survived so long because he was nobody’s fool. He’d sent the other two into the forest.

It took Conrad fifteen minutes, moving with stealth, before approaching Razor from behind. He could have simply shot him using Bull’s loaded Glock 19, but he needed the element of surprise to tackle Paddy afterwards.

Razor,” Conrad whispered. When the man turned wide-eyed, he was dropped with a pistol grip blow to his skull. He would regain consciousness a few minutes later, freezing and in the same immobile condition as Bull.

When Conrad reached the road, he saw that the car had moved forward a short distance, and the brake lights were glowing. He wondered if Paddy was in the driver’s seat with his foot on the pedal and then remembered how devious the man could be. Conrad moved forward slowly.

Close to the car, the Irishman stepped out from the trees, aiming his pistol. He raised the tailgate of the vehicle. “Drop the gun and climb in … copper … the boss will want a chat before you die.”

Conrad dropped the Glock from his left hand, holding his arms out and downward as he advanced.

Paddy lowered his gun, grinning and nodding with satisfaction.

Conrad flicked his right wrist, bringing Razor’s Samurai sword from behind his arm. An upward swing removed the hand holding the gun before the blade was thrust through the Irishman ’s heart.

Tom Benson is a creative writer who has published novels, novellas, short story anthologies and a series of five poetry anthologies. He started his writing career in 2007, but in his words, “By then, I had learned enough about people and life to make my writing credible.”

http://www.tombensonauthor.com

By Lyssa Medana

https://alwaysanotherchapter.co.uk/

Cold Road

The car’s engine finally died and rolled to a stop. Dean swore. He’d spent his life happily rooted in Liverpool, snow free and urban. While his men took their women to Ibiza or Crete, he’d stayed and taken care of business, always business. He’d fought his way to control the Docks and the port, never losing sight of his targets and priorities. But here he was, with a dead car, snow all around and no clue to his location. He got out of the car and looked around, his feet crunching in the unfamiliar landscape and his breath huffing out in a plume in the cold winter air. He wasn’t sure he was in the real world anymore. He wished he back at the club, away from all this strangeness, checking over the shipment due in tonight. Uncut, untraceable diamonds were a surprisingly lucrative sideline and a great addition to the drugs that slid unobtrusively into Merseyside under his watchful gaze. Instead he was here in this unknown, unforgiving lane. He turned at the sound of footsteps crunching behind him.

It was a wolf. Dean could have perhaps kidded himself that it was a big husky or one of those weird German Shepherd crosses that were all over the internet, but he didn’t bother trying. It was huge, the furry head reaching at least chest height on Dean and the cold predator shining in those amber eyes was more malevolently intelligent than any dog that had crossed Dean ’s path. “I transferred the money,” Dean said.

The wolf paused, panting gently, its breath steaming like Dean’s in the unnatural chill. Then its skin rippled, the bones shifted and, after a stomach churning moment, a naked man stood in its place, seemingly unaffected by the cold. “We have the money.” Those amber eyes had a flicker of interest. “Your reputation doesn’t lie. You are a competent businessman.”

“I’m very effective,” Dean said. “But my business skills are limited in this…” Could this wolf smell fear? It wasn’t usually a problem but he had just watched a wolf turn into a man in front of him and all bets were off. “I’m not used to this kind of game.”

“It’s not a game,” the man said. “But then, neither are your deals.” He paced slowly forward. “I’ve heard a lot about you over the last week.” He paused a few yards from Dean. “All of it good – or, at least, comforting to hear in these circumstances. But no-one knew that you had a sister.”

“Angela’s a good girl,” Dean said, keeping his tone even with an effort. “She did well at school. She didn’t mess around with boys, but she kept herself to herself and studied. She ’ll be starting her nursing course soon. I never wanted her to get caught up in my world. She’s better than that. I had to take steps to keep it quiet about her and keep her away, to keep her safe. I would have killed anyone who hurt her.”

“Until she was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the man said.

“I didn’t believe in vampires,” Dean said. “And I didn’t believe in you.” He lifted his chin. “You’ve got my money and we had an agreement. Where’s Angela?”

“We retrieved Angela,” the man said. “However we were a little delayed and there were unfortunate consequences that we couldn’t control. She’s not quite the sister that you remember.”

Dean turned at the sound of a car door opening behind him. Angela stood, poised, at the passenger side of his car. Her jeans were ripped, her sweater was dirty, and her long, soft hair had been cropped to just above her shoulders. He swallowed. More than her hair had changed. She no longer hunched down, shyly hiding behind her hair. She wasn’t pulling her sleeves down to cover her hands or twisting nervously as she stood. Instead she stood tall, perfectly balanced and controlled, and her soft brown eyes now had a darker glow. Dean felt sick as she smiled, a hint of fang showing as she slipped gracefully into the car. “Those consequences look more than unfortunate.”

“She’s back with you and still has her own free will,” the man said behind him. “It could have been a lot worse.” There was a long pause, the falling snowflakes sounding loud in the tension. “It’s been good doing business with you,” the man said eventually. “You’ve impressed more than me. I’ll give you some time to get used to your sisters new… situation, then we’ll be in touch. I think we could help each other. Until then.” There was a pause. “Your car will work now. Reverse until you pass the broken oak and then turn in the passing place. Stay on the road until you can no longer see snow. Good fortune.”

Dean sensed a movement behind him, then the sound of paws trotting away in the snow. He didn’t like this place, but a deal was a deal and things could have gone worse. He strode back to the car and slid behind the wheel, breathing a sigh of relief as the car started at the first turn of the ignition. He looked over at his sister. She looked almost the same and yet so different. He had always loved his sister and always wanted something better for her. Now, perhaps, he didn ’t have to hide her. And having family at your back was always good for business, whatever shape that business took.

Tricia Copeland

Tricia Copeland believes in finding magic. She thinks magic infuses every aspect of our lives, whether it is the magic of falling in love, discovering a new passion, a beautiful sunset, or a book that transports us to another world. An avid runner and Georgia native, Tricia now lives with her family and four-legged friends in Colorado.

Find all her titles from contemporary romance, fantasy, to dystopian fiction on her website.

Interviewed by

Melanie P. Smith

Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ TriciaCopelandAuthor/ Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/ authortriciacopeland/ YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/ @triciacopelandauthor

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I believe in magic. I believe many of the everyday things we encounter from a sunrise, flower blooming, meeting a new person, or the spark of a new idea are magical. Some of my most magical moments are my daily runs, mountain top hikes, walk with my dog, time with family and friends, and the click-clacking of my computer keys. I aim to write books infused with characters that show what we can do when we tap into our own brand of magic.

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? How did you decide what types of book you would write?

I am a multi-genre author. Because I love reading in multiple genres, I also like writing them. My first series is a women’s fiction/coming of age series based on my experience with anorexia. It was important for me to show hope and recovery for those dealing with eating disorders, mental illnesses, and addiction. Once I sparked my writing bug, I knew I wanted to write a vampire series, and nine fantasy books later, I can ’t stop writing about these characters.

The last of her line, a faerie princess prepares to take the throne. But multiple forces plot against her, some trusted friends…

If you write in multiple genres, do you have a favorite, or is one type of book easier for you to write than others, and why?

Right now, my favorite genres to write and read are fantasy and romance. In my fantasy books I must put my characters through some harrowing situations, and it can be very taxing to my psyche. So, I tend to write a fantasy and then write a fun, light, happily -ever-after romance to balance out my emotional state.

When did you start writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

I began writing in 2008 after my then young children were tucked in their beds. At the time I didn ’t intend to publish my script-like story of a character, who, like me, spiraled into anorexia and depression. With almost two -hundred thousand words, I tentatively let my sister-in-law and editor friend read the manuscript. After goading from both, the manuscript became the first two books in my Being Me series, Is This Me? and If I Could Fly.

How / where do you find the plots you write about?

I find my plots and ideas from many different sources. For my YA witchy vampire series, I knew I wanted to write about vampires and created a character who is half vampire-half witch, Alena, is challenged with integrating into a human school, figuring out who her father is, and deciphering who her mother is searching for. The books, the Kingdom Journals series, became more focused on witches than vampires, with a trinity of witches, or half-witches, destined to end a curse on the witch lines. The prequel, Kingdom of the Damned, tells Alena’s mother’s story and is my true vampire novel. For my two other YA series, Lovelock , a dystopian series, and the Realm Chronicles, YA fae fantasy, my inspiration came when I was challenged to write within a theme for anthologies.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

I embed a theme within each book. Motifs in my books include faith, trust, perseverance, love, sacrifice, forgiveness, and community. These tend to revolve around the challenges my characters face.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a panster? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I would describe my writing process as semiplotting. I always know where I want my books to start and end, and usually a few plot points in the middle. From there I create scenes and incidents that get my characters from the beginning to the end of the book. If I had an outline of each scene that would need to be written in the beginning of my process, I would never sit down and write them. The fun for me is in creating magical moments along the way. For my editor’s sake I did begin creating an outline as I write so we can go back and quickly reference what happens when and details that need to be remembered later. I always research something for a book whether it is a type of fantasy character, what a particular region looks like, a language, or the customs and life of a people such as in my Aztec mythology, Azreya, Aztec Priestess .

Tell us your latest news

I’m super excited about my recent release, To be a Fae Rogue To be a Fae Rogue is the fourth book in the Realm Chronicles series which follows a fae princess in her quest to ensure the happiness and safety of her people. In To be Fae Rogue, Titania continues her efforts to stop an evil archangel from ravaging her realm by working with a group of Upper Earth friends from the Kingdom Journals series.

How

much of the book is

realistic?

To be a Fae Rogue is set in 2019 and 2020 although much of the book’s scenes occur in Middle Earth, a realm below our Earth which mirrors Earth’s landforms. Titania is the queen and sole monarch, the only female monarch in her realm, of a kingdom called Aubren. Her people are fae, winged beings that live simple, technology, and electricity free lives. In Middle Earth they have the same capabilities as humans, but in Upper Earth, the human realm, their strength and capabilities match that of vampires. In addition, they can morph into any form and can hear other beings’ thoughts when in Upper Earth. The witch and vampire characters of Upper Earth in To be a Fae Rogue live separately, for the most part, from human society, with most humans unaware of their existence.

What books have influenced your life the most?

Books that have influenced my life most include Mary Stewart’s The Crystal Cave, Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind, and Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series. The Crystal Cave became my first experience with magic and wizards and intensified my curiosity for all things magical. I love the epic Gone with the Wind saga portraying a tough, independent female character. Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight is a series I read during the time I began to write my first series and her story of being published inspired me to dip my toes into the publishing world.

Do you have a mentor that helped or encouraged you to follow your dream of writing?

One of my best friends is an indie author and she became my introduction to the publishing community. She began to edit my books and introduced me to her author friends. Other supporters are my sisters who cheer me on.

What are your current projects?

Currently, I have two projects that are works in progress. I generally switch back and forth between fantasy and romance writing and have the start of the next romance book in the Perfect series, a closed -door new adult romance series, with books now penned under Maria Jane. On the heels of finishing the fourth book in the Realm Chronicles series, I am focusing on the finale to that series.

Can you share a sample of your current work with us?

Here is the last passage I wrote for To be a Fae, the finale to the Realm Chronicles series. It hasn’t been finessed by my editor, so please don’t judge too harshly. In the passage we find Titania, a fae Queen from Middle Earth, and DJ, a witch-vampire hybrid of Upper Earth, the human realm, taking a much needed break from their tense discussions about six-thousand year old relics and the evil archangel determined to end them.

Leaning against the door, he swings it out onto a patio bathed in light from a fixture on the castle wall. The sea wind whips my hair as we step onto a manicured garden lawn. Crossing the space, we lean against a rock wall and look over. Below, waves crash upon boulders, some over thirty feet high.

“Better than the basement gym, right? ” DJ smiles.

“And fewer people.”

Catching a lock of my hair, I fit it behind my ear.

“Who are you trying to get away from?”

“I just want you all to myself.”

Studying his eyes, my face warms. No. My cheeks cannot flame like a schoolgirl’s. I am basically a widow. I jump into the air, spin head down and stretch my arms out straight, hurling through the air towards the ocean.

“No fair!” DJ yells.

“You can fly now, ” I yell into the salt spray.

Refocusing on my path, I align my neck as my fingers plunge into the ocean, the water, the quiet, the dark enveloping me. I kick down, down, down, until my lungs ache.

Pick one of your characters and share some of their backstory that didn’t make it into the novel.

Sonia, the evil witch turned archangel, that has plagued the Realm Chronicles protagonist throughout the series and lived for over six -thousand years in the human realm, has a very checkered path. Witches are given powers by the Creator, or so the legend goes, to protect the humans from evil lurking the earth. Sonia has made it her mission to rid the human realm of vampires. It is rumored that she bore a witch-vampire hybrid, a being forbidden by both witch and vampire communities, in the twentieth century and this hybrid grew into the man we know as Adolf Hitler. This tidbit is alluded to in the crossover Kingdom Journals series but has not been confirmed by our witch characters in the Realm Chronicles.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

With no formal training in fiction writing, I continually work to improve my writing, taking classes on plot, character development, and scene writing. I also learn about marketing and promotion. I find quality people to help make my covers, edit and proofread, and advise and aid in marketing techniques.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

I like creating characters, crafting stories and writing but also interacting with other readers and talking about books. I love when readers message me about my characters, the story lines, and how they experience my books.

Is there one person past or present you would like to meet and why?

If given the opportunity there would be many authors on my want to meet wish -list including Stephenie Meyer, Margaret Mitchell, and Mary Stewart. But if I had to pick one person, I would love to have met Kahlil Gibran. Kahlil Gibran was a Leanese -American author, poet, artist, and philosopher in the early twentieth century. My favorite of his works is The Prophet. My grandmother gave me a pocket copy of this book as a young adult, and I keep it by my bedside.

What do you want written on your headstone and why?

I would want the following written on my headstone: Beloved Mother, Sister, Daughter, Friend, and Wife. Although I love my career, writing, and publishing pursuits, my family and friends comes first. I hope that I have abundantly and correctly guided, helped, and loved them.

Other than writing do you have any hobbies?

Other than writing I love being outdoors especially hiking and running. I love plants and tending them. I also love being with friends and family.

If money was no issue would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

If money were no issue, I believe I would choose the cozy beach bungalow. I love being able to see a lot of sky and sun, take long walks on the beach, get up early to watch a sunrise, sit in the sun and read, and watch a sunset over the water.

Can you share something personal with your readers? Do you have any holiday traditions? What kind of music do you enjoy? What kind of movies do you prefer? Do you have a favorite author?

If I am doing a chore or in my car, I always have an audiobook playing. From Anne Rice’s and L. J. Smith’s vampire lore, to indie authors Casey L. Bond’s and Rose Garcia’s fantasy, to Emily Henry ’s, Allison Ashley’s, and Robyn Carr’s romance, I love most genres. I don’t enjoy horror or realistic contemporary thrillers. I read to escape, and seemingly real evil people or spirits, and ripped from the headline espionage and terrorism keeps me up at night worrying and gives me nightmares. I want to be a vampire in my next life and have requested everyone wear black on my birthday.

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress?

My website is www.triciacopeland.com. Readers can go there to get free short story intros to my fantasy and romance series by signing up for my newsletter. You can find me on social media with the following links:

Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/TriciaCopelandAuthor/ Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/authortriciacopeland/ YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/@triciacopelandauthor

Out Of Poland, the Award-Winning World War II Epic from the critically acclaimed writing duo of Breakfield and Burkey has just been named a Screenplay Finalist from the 2024 Page Turner Awards

Beneath the storm clouds of a deadly war, three men are poised to unlock the secrets to redeem the world.

The setting is Poland 1939, Germans are marching toward Warsaw running their armor, and devastating swarms of armed soldiers, along with their cavalry. Fighting against the Nazi military machine is a death wish realized all too clearly.

The path of the invaders is paved with death, destructions, pillage, and woman brutalized at the hands of soldiers with no honor. As much as the citizens of Poland pray for a different outcome, everything they have known, loved, and grown up with is devastated.

Three young men are tasked with finding and extracting the German military communications device, Baby, that is kept under heavy guard. Polish patriots die to aid the three in getting the information and then fleeing with the prize. The race is on as the Germans try to match wits with the clever patriots who risk detection at every turn.

The Ambassador Ferdek Watcowski, insists that his son Ferdek along with Wolfgang and Tavius, take their families and flee while there is still time to reach a border. The goal of their journey is to escape with Baby intact.

Poland’s military is so outclassed by Hitler’s forces that survival is key to fighting another day. Facing great peril and odds against their survival, the men resolve to make a difference so that those who died helping them would not have sacrificed in vain. They vow to undertake a lifetime of fighting tyranny.

Successful survivors must look ahead.

https://www.enigmabookseries.com/product/ out-of-poland-novella/

https://youtu.be/-EOuaOjLKfo

Charles Breakfield is a technology expert in security, networking, voice, and anything digital. He enjoys writing, studying World War II history, travel, and cultural exchanges. Charles is a fan of wine tastings, winemaking, Harley riding, cooking extravaganzas, and woodworking.

Rox Burkey is a technology professional who excels at optimizing technology and business investments. She works with customers all over the world focusing on optimized customer experiences. Rox writes white papers and documentation, but found she has a marked preference for writing fiction.

Welcome to Diversity Doodles!

By Briony Kay

Well, I guess the first question to answer would be 'what is Diversity Doodles?' Diversity Doodles is an ever-growing collection of hand drawn memes that contain important messages about neurodiversity. They were born out of desperation, as my primary school aged son struggled endlessly at school and eventually received his diagnosis of both autism and ADHD a year ago. Although my misplaced belief was that this diagnosis would be the key to unlocking the understanding, support and accommodations he so urgently needed, this was not the case. And despite thriving with support outside of school, at home, social gatherings and clubs he attends, the firm belief held by those overseeing his education were that he would just learn to fit in to mainstream education, without any further assistance on their part. My seemingly endless attempts at explanations as to why this wasn't working was falling on deaf ears and so, out of sheer desperation, I attempted to draw what I was clearly failing to describe in words. Diversity Doodles became the result.

So, here we are, now putting out these doodles on the internet and hoping that the messages they contain help as many people as possible to both give and receive information about what it is like to be neurodiverse and the challenges that are faced in our daily lives.

My son's diagnosis gave rise to the realization that I too am neurodiverse, and so these doodles are given from the perspective of someone who has faced such situations in my own life and now recognizes them in the lives of others. My only wish is that they play a small part in bridging the gap in understanding, acceptance and support for neurodiverse people in a neurotypical world.

In this article I would like to introduce some of my doodles surrounding what is often the most easily identifiable 'neurodivergent behaviours' in the form of meltdowns and shut downs.

Although not all neurodivergent people experience meltdowns (for some shutdowns are more common), they are a common issue. We can witness them in other people but what do they feel like from the inside?

They are NOT temper tantrums. They are NOT about getting your own way. They are an UNCONTROLLABLE reaction to being overwhelmed.

Post meltdowns bring the neurodiverse person great guilt, shame and negative feelings towards themselves, which they cannot help any more than the meltdown itself. This is why compassion, understanding and support, both during and after, are vital.

This doodle was made in response to someone asking me for help understanding their daughter’s feelings and behaviours when experiencing a meltdown. I really enjoyed making it because it is something I would like other people to understand about my own meltdown experience, and I am glad that I can help bring that same understanding to someone trying to gain better insight into their child's feelings and behaviours too.

Diversity Doodles also has an Etsy shop: diversitydoodleprint.etsy.com

Shutdown is another term you may have heard, but what does it actually mean?

A shutdown is an uncontrollable nervous system response to a perceived threat, to it becoming overwhelmed by stimuli, demands and/or emotions, and a need to keep itself safe. As a response the ability to function in a situation is lost. To some a shutdown may be all consuming anxiety, a sense of intense panic, an impending sense of doom, the overwhelming need to flee the situation. It may present like depersonalisation, derealization, or a form of dissociation.

During a shutdown a person may find they suddenly cannot speak (mutism), cannot process instructions, engage in a conversation or understand anything verbally. They can lose the ability to function in an interaction that they are usually perfectly capable of. This is why it is so vital to understand exactly what 'CAN'T' means in these situations, because the person in the shutdown will likely not even be able to tell you they can't, let alone explain why. This analogy can go some way to understanding the PDA thought processes, in as much as the person may be unable to respond to that demand in a way a neurotypical individual would. They are NOT being defiant, they are NOT being confrontational, they are NOT saying 'I won't'. The uncontrollable nervous system response to that demand is perceived as a threat to their autonomy, and therefore ability to function. It's not 'I won't. It is simply 'I am not safe and 'I CAN'T!'

Feeling stupid, helpless, frustrated, guilty, embarrassed. These are a few of the things that people experiencing shutdowns can feel. So please, PLEASE, help me to explain to others why those in shutdown don't deserve to feel those things. They deserve understanding, support, compassion and accommodation.

It is a misunderstanding to see these behavioural presentations of a neurodivergent through the lens of neurotypical reasoning. So that we often hear 'but we all do that sometimes'.

Neurodivergent behavioural presentations are human behaviours, so of course externally they can look exactly like something everyone does at some point. Because we are all human. The difference is understanding what gives rise to those presentations, and this is the key to a deeper understanding of neuro divergence, being able to understand why that presentation arises, not what it looks like when observed. And this is difficult because the internal function of the brain is not on display. HOW that brain function led to that presentation is hidden from view. But we can understand that other external 'end results' can be arrived at in very differently processed ways and produce the same thing, so this is my attempt at an analogy to help explain that.

So, of course there will be many similarities between NT and ND behaviours and external presentations. But it is not a reason to dismiss that behaviour or presentation as 'some thing we all do' simply because that what is observed. It's NOT better. It's NOT worse. It's just DIFFERENT.

So, what would I really like the takeaway of these doodles to be?

That meltdowns and shutdowns are NOT an inevitable result of autism. They are NOT an integral part of being autistic. They are NOT just an autistic presentation! Let me explain.

A certain percentage of a population are asthmatic. It is an immune system response to a trigger, which being asthmatic makes them sensitive to. Their asthma can be triggered by a wide variety of sensitivities: pollen, animal hair, dust mites...but also stress, over exertion, and many, many others. Having an asthma attack is not an inevitable part of being asthmatic, the goal is to provide what an asthmatic requires in order to prevent their immune system reacting in such a way that they do have one. Is this always possible? No. Do asthma attacks happen? Yes. But if you repeatedly forced an asthmatic into a dust filled, pollen ridden, feather pillowed bed it would be unfair to simply shrug and state 'your asthma attack is an inevitable result of being asthmatic, it's not that bad, it doesn't affect me so what's the problem?' or expect them to simply prevent the attack by 'dealing with it better'.

Now apply that same logic to neurodivergence.

And are all neurodivergent triggers the same? No. But then I have an allergy to penicillin. One wrong antibiotic could end me. My friend has a peanut allergy. One stray nut could finish them off. But I do not have the right to dismiss their allergy simply because I can munch on a Snickers without incident.

Neurodivergent individuals who are expected to simply deal with a situation because others can, and ignore their own distress to it is no different to someone expecting me just to not react to amoxicillin. Or someone just to think their way out of a nut allergy. It's simply not possible.

The stress of living in a world where ND needs are not met is the cause of a shutdown or meltdown. Holding the opinion of a shutdown or meltdown being a feature of neurodivergence and then judging that is massively unfair.

And PLEASE don't shame the parents either. Understanding, compassion and accommodation can make the world of difference to everyone.

Briony is a single mum to a neurodiverse seven year old, whose experiences and struggles within the school system gave rise to her creation of Diversity Doodles. What began as a form of creative therapy and messages intended to help her son's school's understanding of both autism and ADHD, has now become messages of hope, information and inspiration to help bridge the gap between the acceptance, understanding, and support of neurodiversity in a neurotypical world. She is in the process of creating both a book and resources that can be used in a broad range of settings to help achieve a better world for those struggling in it.

You can connect with Briony through Facebook https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61557677262825

Postscript by Barbara Avon

The Blurb

James squeezed her waist to prove to himself that she was real, and when he spoke, the words matched the love that spilled from his heart; words that would haunt her for all of eternity. “I'm not afraid anymore.”

In the Fall of 1985, Jameson Brooks spends his days working for Frank's Moving. At night, he attempts to fill the void of an empty heart with one-night stands, fueled by alcoholic binges. Lina is a dancer, and a lonely spirit. She isn't interested in the advances of the handsome, yet rough bachelor that lives above her. Her demons still follow her. Her abusive husband's ghost lingers, along with that of a very shady newspaper editor. When Lina disappears, love fuels James' drive to discover the truth by using the clue hidden in the note he finds underneath his door. "Postscript" is a ghost story, a love story, and a story that will make you believe. It includes horror elements and flashbacks to the early 1900s in Prohibition Canada.

Review by Author Eric Lahti

For more reviews and entertaining blog posts by Eric Lahti, check out his blog:

https://ericlahti.wordpress.com/

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B09XQBPY11

"If you don’t like to read, you haven’t found the right book."

The Review

There’s this theory out there that states that love knows no boundaries. Distance, time, acceleration, mass so dense not even light can escape, whatever. No boundaries for love. Or, at the very least, love chooses to ignore those boundaries in favor of its desires. At this point, you might be thinking, “Hey, quantum physics! I love quantum physics!” and maybe you’d be right.

Avon’s Postscript is a tough book to review because it comes with a twist that takes it from the standard “Boy and girl meet and fall in love and then some stuff happens but it all works out in the end and they wind up having crazy monkey sex on the swing set in the park” and turns it into something more magical. Not magic as in pulling rabbits out of hats, more like magical in the way things are not always as they seem but really they are it’s just that you’ve been seeing them wrong.

Anyway, I won’t give away the twist. Not that the book would be any worse if you knew the twist, it’s just that the twist is like icing on the cake. Or crazy monkey sex in swing sets if that’s more your thing. No judgment here.

So, you’ve got a couple of people – both broken in different ways – but trying hard to fix themselves. Piece their lives and psyches back together after stumbling through that trauma-inducing thing we call life. They’re not bad people, not in the sense of the truly vile, they’re just hurt and rough around the edges. And a little prickly. But, frankly, we all get prickly sometimes and being prickly can just mean that little poke on the finger that calmly says, “hands off for now, bub”.

The characters are fleshed out enough to make them interesting and compelling and you generally feel for them, but the real star of the story is the story itself. Avon unfolds things gently with the deft fingers of an origami master. Little hints here and there. Whispers in the back of your head that make you think there’s no way that could happen. But not only does it happen, it happens in a way you don’t even see coming.

It’s part romance and part ghost story and overall a lot of fun with an absolutely perfect ending.

Reviews of Lesley Hayes ’ Books

Reviews by — Author Sylva Fae

https://www.facebook.com/SylvaFae

Lesley Hayes was the first person to reach out to me as a new writer when I joined the world of social media. It was Lesley’s support and guidance that gave me the confidence to go from being a secret writer to publishing my books, and for that I am truly grateful. The Drowned Phoenician Sailor was the first of Lesley’s books that I read, and I instantly fell in love with her writing style. Lesley’s stories cover many genres, but they are linked by her incredible ability to bring the characters alive, intriguing and intricate plots, and her beautifully crafted prose. Her characters linger on in your mind, long after you finish the book.

The

Way Through the Woods

by Lesley Hayes

The Blurb

Are the woods behind the house dangerous, or a place of enchantment? As a child Phoebe has witnessed magic there, and at heart remains the girl with rainbows in her eyes skipping lightly on bare feet through the nineteen-seventies. In the years since she has navigated the foibles of youth and older age, facing life’s transitions and the invisible ties of love and family,

"The man who does not read good books is no better than the man who can’t."

discovering that what you believe is never set in stone. Recently persuaded by her daughter to uproot from her beloved Cornwall and live in Oxford, she now finds herself unexpectedly alone, forced to reinvent her routines and reflect on the path that has led her to this point. The last thing she expects is the stranger who arrives on her doorstep and changes everything. What lessons are left for her still to learn in a life already rich with memories of passion, grief and loss? Peopled with unforgettable characters, The Way Through the

Woods reminds us to enjoy the journey and despite whatever causes sadness to hold fast to hope.

For readers of The Drowned Phoenician Sailor this will comes as a welcome sequel, and an insight into one of its favourite characters. For those meeting Phoebe for the first time curiosity will be piqued about the previous book, a haunting saga of love, life, death, and what lies beyond.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B07N8MGQ7B

The Review

Eight years ago, I was enchanted by Lesley Hayes’ The Drowned Phoenician Sailor, and was drawn to the enigmatic character of Phoebe – she’s one of those characters who stays with you long after the book has finished, whispering they have more tales to tell. The Way Through the Woods is Phoebe’s story, and was a delightful surprise sequel to my favourite book. I loved how Phoebe’s story flicked back and forth, building the suspense in Phoebe’s current adventures, to charting her growth from troubled childhood, through the carefree days of motherhood, her loves, trials and her unique perspective on life. Phoebe is a gentle soul, often perplexed by life, but strangely well-balanced and incredibly astute in her own quirky way. Lesley Hayes writes as Phoebe’s daughter, in The Drowned Phoenician Sailor, “When I think of my mother, I imagine her daily drifting on her own secret tides...”, and this very neatly sums up Phoebe’s character.

Some books are quick reads, but books by authors like Lesley Hayes are kept and cherished, to be read at special times. This is one of those books, and it joins The Drowned Phoenician Sailor on my favourite books list, not just for the story, but for the beautifully crafted writing. I now feel compelled to reread the first book. While The Way Through the Woods is a sequel, revisiting characters from The Drowned Phoenician Sailor, both books work perfectly as standalone novels.

The Drowned Phoenician

Sailor by Lesley Hayes

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B07N8MGQ7B

The Blurb

Fynn is resolutely unromantic, a bit of a loner, and sceptical about life before death, never mind after it. And yet since she was fifteen her dead sister has been visiting her on a regular basis. Fynn doesn’t believe in ghosts so is she crazy? Three years after starting psychotherapy with Paul, she arrives for a session and finds him lying dead on the couch. But this is just the beginning... The same night she gatecrashes Paul’s funeral he turns up in his newly disembodied form and her dilemma takes a different turn... And when she meets the enigmatic Jack, washed up like driftwood on a beach in Cornwall, she begins to revise her jaded beliefs and expectations, discovering that life, and death, is far more mysterious and intricate than she imagined.

The Review

I am always careful not to read too much about a book before I start as I enjoy the thrill of discovering the story for myself. This book was definitely a thrill to read, sometimes rushing through in excitement, other times pausing to contemplate the deeper meanings but each chapter built a new layer of discovery. It is a story that expertly flows between several genres, psychological thriller, gentle supernatural and with a subtle heart-warming romance interwoven. Written with a humorous style, it tackles difficult family relationships, bereavement and the ghosts that linger on, but it is so much more. It remains a fun and uplifting read despite the serious themes and there is something in this magical story to satisfy every intelligent reader.

This wasn't so much like reading a story though, as living the life of Fynn the fabulous main character. As I became immersed in her world, the characters became my friends and family and I even acquired a pet cat for a short while!

All the characters were highly believable, the loveable quirky Phoebe, the intense but loyal Lisa and the mysterious Jack. Of course, Morphius the cat deserves a special mention and cat lovers will no doubt appreciate the antics of this obstinate little character. And then there are Fynn's ghosts, whether they are really there or just a figment of her imagination is for you to decide. It really doesn't matter, the story works well whichever reality you choose to believe.

I raced to the end of the book desperate to know the ending, it certainly didn't disappoint but I won't spoil it for you. Initially, I was sad to have completed it and was left wanting more but now I feel comforted that I'll carry a little piece of Fynn with me. This is one book I will probably read several times over and gain something new from each read. I now look forward to reading more by the talented Lesley Hayes.

"One

A Story About Pizza by Erica D ’ Arcangelo

The Review

This was such a profound and moving read. The author did an incredible job of eloquently bringing her family legacy to life, perfectly balancing the story of her grandfather’s life and experiences with the family’s passion for food, particularly pizza. The use of fictional storytelling to bring the author’s

family history to life and the author’s passion for this legacy could be felt in every passage of this book.

The author’s use of family recipes for specific dishes and the examination of the cultural impact that this food has on the Italian community, as well as the exploration of the Italian American story of immigration and the hardships so many families endured, made this novel so engaging. The way each chapter has its recipe and how this “fiction” version of Pietro and the author’s family represent the many stories of Italian American immigration story will keep readers invested as the story progresses.

The Verdict

Food is a passion for many people, and pizza in this story represents the memories, love, and family that brought so many people together. Erica D’Arcangelo’s “A Story About Pizza” is a must-read story. The relatability and honesty of the author’s writing style and the emotional connection readers will make with the “characters” in this narrative will stay with the audience long after the final pages. if you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!

Rating: 10/10

Review by Author Anthony Avina's Blog https://authoranthonyavinablog.com

Lyssa Medana

Hi, I’m Lyssa Medana and this is a series of articles with my thoughts on research and the fiction author. I hope that you can use them as a starting point for your own writing journey.

Whether you are a biochemist, pushing the limits on healthcare, or an expert on Ancient Greek literature, research is putting in the hours in the lab and the library, chasing every detail and unearthing every fragment of information. If you are an author and writing fiction, it’s a little hazier. A fiction author can be writing about anything. And that is potentially a lot of research.

Research for fiction isn’t like researching a paper for school or college. There isn’t a teacher at the end telling you where you went right or wrong. You don’t get a grade to know that you pass. Half the time, you’re not even sure about what you should be looking for. What is worse is when you get it right, the reader won’t even notice. If you get it wrong, at the worst case, it will be a meme all over the internet and you will never live it down. It’s not easy.

When I think of research, my first thought is of laboratories and libraries and the internet. I imagine scenes like that of Gandalf in the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring, with tomes stacked around him and papers scattered with abandon. It may work like that if you are researching a factual and academic paper on, for example, the history of washing machines. It isn’t quite the same when you are writing fiction.

Let’s take an example. You are writing an idyllic romance. The heroine is strolling along a beach at sunset with a sea breeze in her hair. You need some seriously solid description here to set the scene. This is a critical point in the story. You need to get it right. Where do you start with research? Do you need any at all? Or will the detail you put in be vital to make the scene come to life?

Let’s be honest you do not need to research the molecular makeup of the sand, average ocean temperatures at that latitude and the percentage of stores that sell ice cream over a ten mile radius. You need to stop and think. When were you last on a beach? How did the sand feel under your feet? What were the sounds? What were the scents on the air? How about the sunsets that you have seen? What did they look like? Which of them fit the story the best? For an author writing fiction, a lot of research is keeping your eyes and ears open and paying attention to the world around you. You can stack up memories like books on a shelf or files in a computer, all stashed away until you need to call on them. You may not even be aware of what you have noticed until you start writing.

Of course, if, like me, you get a little excessive with research, you can do more, especially if the beach is either a real location or based on one. It’s useful to know where the sun is setting, so knowing if the beach faces east (with the setting sun behind the heroine as she stares far into the horizon) or west (with the sun slipping down behind the horizon) is helpful. It helps keep things consistent. If the sun sets into the sea in Chapter One, it really shouldn’t set behind the hills in Chapter Five. Going further, you can find out things like sunset and sunrise times, depending on date and latitude, which again can keep you consistent. If the heroine first meets the handsome

hero at sunset, just before dinner at 5pm, she shouldn’t meet him at sunset at 9pm three days later. Perhaps we can put the glamorous heroine in Whitby, UK. Is the meeting in the heat of summer with our delightful heroine in a floaty maxi dress and soft wrap (July 10th, sunset time at Whitby is 9:34pm)? Or perhaps the nights are drawing in and our darling heroine is snuggly wrapped in a jacket and scarf (November 10th, sunset time at Whitby is 4:09pm).

For a fiction writer, research is complicated. It’s more than just dusty books and hours at the library. It’s keeping your eyes open and being curious about the world. You never know when taking an interest will pay off. Suddenly, you remember the school lesson, the quiz, the documentary or the magazine article and you will have a small detail that helps your story shine. And if it’s remembering that walk on the beach, it’s a great incentive to have fun.

Lyssa Medana is a fifty something author living in West Yorkshire, UK. Her works include Out of the London Mist, Under the Bright Saharan Sun, King’s Silver, The Forgotten Village, Digging up the Past, and Dinner at Dark among others.

Lyssa also regularly publishes poems, articles and short stories on her blog, Always Another Chapter https:// alwaysanotherchapter.co.uk/ along with all the latest news.

Lyssa is fascinated by the odd, the quirky and the unusual and enjoys dipping into old folklore and English social history, which she uses shamelessly for her writing. Her hobbies include knitting, reading and heckling history documentaries.

Helaman (Age 9)

to work with him. Jack even got to go to space. Earth looked small from space.

They landed on Mars and Jack saw something glowing purple on the ground. He stepped on it and fell right through. There were strange buildings everywhere. It kind of looked like a city and had weird creatures that were blue and green.

While Jack was watching the creatures, an alien saw him. It was small and nice and said “Hi.” Jack did too, but very quietly. They became friends but promised to never tell anyone. They played alien games like space tag and some human games like hide and seek.

Finally, Jack had to go home. He asked what the aliens name was.

He said, “In your language it’s Tom. In mine, Yaflapan.

“Goodbye, Tom.”

“Goodbye, Jack.”

77 ½ Magical Healing Herbs

By Ronesa Aveela

Common Agrimony

Venture into the magical, healing world of herbs and embrace the power of nature. This article is taken from the book 77 ½ Magical Healing Herbs, which is an introduction to herbs found in a special Midsummer’s wreath. This is an especially enchanting time of year. Among the Bulgarians, the day is called Eniovden. You may think herbs are only for spicing up food and healing the body and mind, but they have other uses, as well. This unique herbal book is an essential guide for tapping into the power of herbs. It highlights centuries of lore and historical facts about healing and magical uses of herbs from Slavic and other traditions.

Please see the medical and magical disclaimers before you try any of the recipes from the book.

eupatoria

Common agrimony

Description: This plant reaches a height of 3 to 5 feet (1 to 1.5 meters). Soft hairs cover its dark-green erect stem. Oblong, feathery leaves are divided into five- to nine- pairs of

Agrimonia

leaflets. The ones closer to the ground are 7 to 8 inches (18 to 20 cm) long, but get progressively shorter with fewer leaflets as they ascend the stem, being around 3 inches (8 cm) at the top. More hairs cover the bottom of the leaves and give them a silver or grayish appearance, while the tops are dark green. Numerous yellow flowers with five petals grow along a spike that juts up from the root. When the flowers whither, they form a spherical fruit with several burr-like hooks and contain one or two seeds. The rhizome is long, black, and woody.

History and Traditions: The genus name comes from the Greek argemone, a term given to plants used to treat eyes. The specific name refers to Mithridates Eupator, a king renowned for creating herbal remedies. Agrimony has been a remedy for many illnesses throughout history, such as curing musket wounds, skin blemishes, warts, snakebites, jaundice, fever, amnesia, tuberculosis, and gout. When treating internal bleeding, the remedy included a mixture of pounded frogs and human blood along with agrimony.

Habitat and Distribution: Native to Europe, especially the Mediterranean area. The plant is also found in southwest Asia, northern Africa, and the Caucasus area, and has been naturalized in North America. It grows in fields and waste places, on the edges of forests, along stream banks, and among shrubs.

Growth: Perennial. The plant flowers from June to September. It prefers dry, well-drained soil with full to partial sun, and it can tolerate dry spells.

Harvesting: Leaves and flowers are used. The leaves can be collected before or during flowering. Cut the stem at about 10 inches (25 cm) up from the base to avoid using the woody, hardened part. Wait until the dew has evaporated, so the plants are not wet. Hang the stems outside to dry in the shade.

Medical Use: Old Bulgarian herbalists call agrimony the herb that cures one hundred diseases, and it’s considered the queen of herbs. The main folk medicine applications, in the past as well as today, are for liver problems and blood diseases. Agrimony is popular as a gargling tonic for laryngitis and sore throats. The herb is nontoxic and considered safe with no side effects for prolonged use (see exceptions in caution box). Additional treatments are for arthritis, diarrhea, skin conditions, eye inflammation, migraine, and more. An ointment or an herbal bath with the infused herb is a remedy for rheumatism and varicose veins, and an external application can be applied when experiencing hair loss.

Rituals and Magical Use: Long considered a magical plant, agrimony was once called “fairy’s wand.” Witches cured unexplained illnesses with the herb, but at the same time, people warded off witchcraft with it. Even today, it has magical applications and is included in protective sachets. Burning the herb is performed in banishing rituals and as a way to cleanse the aura of an area. It is one of Bach’s 38 flowers (see Centaurium erythraea for more about this), all of which are non-poisonous and geared toward restoring balance. Agrimony treats those who hide troubles behind humor. The herb encourages selfacceptance, inner joy, and openness. People balance their emotions and explore their true feelings with the herb. It’s a protective plant, and spells using it build a psychic shield to

protect people from negative energy. The herb is called a “magic mirror,” because it has the ability to reverse harmful spells, sending them back to whomever cast them. Agrimony can also enhance the strength of healing spells from a distance.

Other Use: Agrimony makes a good perennial border. All parts of the plant can produce a yellow dye. Picking it in early September will give you a lighter color; the longer you wait to harvest it, the darker the color will become. The plant has tannin, which makes it useful for tanning leather.

Other Names: Church steeples, sticklewort.

Aromatic: The entire plant, including the root, has a sweet, citrusy scent, and the flowers give off a spicy, apricot aroma. The leaves and flowers retain their fragrant smell even when dried.

CAUTION: Don’t use with other herbs that lower blood pressure or reduce blood clotting, or if taking medication or remedies for constipation. Large doses can irritate the digestive tract and cause vomiting and diarrhea.

Agrimony Tea – Hot or Iced

To make this fragrant herbal tea, infuse 1 teaspoon of dried herbs into 1 cup of boiling water. Strain for 10 to 15 minutes.

If you have a sore throat, drink three to four cups of warmish tea for four or five days. For other respiratory problems, add honey or blackberry syrup to sweeten the tea. Drinking one cup weekly on an empty stomach will help prevent kidney stones, while drinking one cup daily is recommended against liver diseases (Natural Herbs).

Sleep Aid

Agrimony has long been used to ensure a deep, dreamless sleep as shown in this Old English rhyme:

If it be leyd under mann’s heed, He shal sleepyn as he were deed; He shal never drede ne wakyn Till fro under his heed it be takyn.

You can add the herb to your pillow’s stuffing or place it under your pillow if you want to get a good night’s rest (Morningbird).

Herbs are powerful, but they can also be dangerous.

MEDICAL LIABILITY DISCLAIMER: The information in this article, in the book and on our website is not intended to be medical advice, nor does it claim that the herbs listed are safe or effective to use in the manners described. It is not meant to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease. It is merely a brief summary of various herbal folk remedies and how they have been used in the past and may still be used today. With the exception of a few personal recipes, we have not tried any of these remedies and cannot verify their effectiveness or safety.

MAGICAL DISCLAIMER: Magical ingredients and spells are for entertainment only. We have not tried any of these remedies, nor do we make any claims as to their effectiveness or safety.

77 and a Half Herbs?

The wheels in your mind have probably been turning as you think, “77½ herbs is an odd number.” And you’re right. But it’s a special, magical number, referring to herbs gathered on Eniovden, June 24, when Bulgarians celebrate Midsummer’s Day. If you want to find out the secret of the half herb, you’ll have to read the book.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/ronesa-aveela/77-1-2-magical-healing-herbsthe-secret-power-of-herbs

Ronesa Aveela is “the creative power of two.” Two authors that is. The main force behind the work, the creative genius, was born in Bulgaria and moved to the US in the 1990s. She grew up with stories of wild Samodivi, Kikimora, the dragons Zmey and Lamia, Baba Yaga, and much more. Her writing partner was born and raised in the New England area. She has a background in writing and editing, as well as having a love of all things from different cultures. She’s learned so much about Bulgarian culture, folklore, and rituals, and writes to share that knowledge with others.

AUTHORS JOIN THE INTERNATIONAL FIREBIRD BOOK AWARD CIRCLE OF WINNERS

One of the winning entries was from Ohio author C.C. Robinson, whose book titled Divided won in the Young Adult Fiction Category.

Impenetrable walls. Ethnic division. A ruthless dictator https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0D1YNR131

Escape. It’s all eighteen-year-old Marcos Sanchez can think about as he stares at the towering walls of Queenstown in the Federated Republic of America, the ruthless dictator Supreme Commander Martin's stronghold. But with Marcos’s father controlling his life, freedom seems like an impossible dream. That is, until one daring move lands him in a secret labor camp, facing a future worse than death, and he encounters a secret rebel movement – The Underground.

But their rebellion won't come without consequences. Martin and his toadies will stop at nothing to crush the Underground’s uprising, and the stakes are higher than ever. Will Marcos and his diverse group of friends’ determination and bravery be enough to free the camp, or will they too fall victim to Martin’s iron fist?

C.C. Robinson

CC Robinson has over two decades’ experience in crosscultural settings as a medical doctor working in post-civil war nations and as an Associate Pastor at a multi-ethnic congregation led by an African-American man in Cincinnati, the setting for Divided. When she’s not throwing on her superhero cape to save her characters from their dystopian antics, CC enjoys hiking, gardening, dancing, swimming, and driving her jeep through the woods with her husband and three kids.

More information about C.C. can be found at: BOOKS | CCRobinson (ccrobinsonauthor.com)

“Speak Up Talk Radio is a gateway to multiple avenues for creative individuals to promote themselves. We provide various opportunities for authors and podcasters to showcase their work and connect with their audience. This includes book awards, podcast awards, radio interviews, audiobook production, podcasting services, social media and audio marketing, and book editing and formatting services.”

The International Firebird Book Awards run quarterly contests so authors can receive timely recognition. Authors of all genres, mainstream, independent, and selfpublished, are welcome. For additional winning authors, titles, and entry information:

https://www.speakuptalkradio.com

Mondays can be tough!

Why not kick off your week with the right mindset? With so many distractions affecting our days, it can be difficult to follow our dreams. Enjoy these quotes and reflections to help you stay motivated and focused. Sometimes all we need is a little reminder that we are going the right way.

Enjoy: Monday Motivations- inspirational quotes to start your week right!

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0DGW9BSNP

I’m doing a happy dance! After months of studying, analyzing and planning, I did it. I hit the launch button and my first Kickstarter campaign was successful. Monday Motivation is going to market on November 11th and I cannot wait to embrace this and share this project with the world. I can’t believe it. OMG!

Monday Motivation is a beautiful coffee-table book of 52 motivational quotes and reflections (like our Monday Motivations) that you can enjoy anytime and I want to thank everyone who helped contribute to my kickstarter and advocate for this project. There were so many individuals who believed in this project and I thank each and every one of you for the support and contributions from an emotional, mental, and financial aspect.

Finally, I also want to thank my fans and readers for their support of me because without each of you, I would not be here as a successful author or a USA Today Bestseller. Monday Motivation was written and created with all of you in mind and I hope that everyone will not only enjoy it but advocate for it and truly live for the principles within the pages!

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I’m Chindia Ilonka, a transformational coach, visionary leader, and impact entrepreneur, as well as the author of Quantum Rebel. My passion lies in empowering visionary leaders both emerging and established by guiding them to align with their quantum blueprint and soul essence. This alignment allows them to unlock their highest potential and transcend traditional definitions of success, creating deep, meaningful impact in their lives, businesses, and communities.

My personal journey of transformation began during a pivotal period while walking barefoot along the shores of Aruba with my beloved Labrador, Witje. In that expansive, natural space, I experienced a profound reawakening, shedding old layers of conditioning and opening myself up to becoming a pure channel for Source-inspired wisdom. This transformative moment led to my first creative expression, Whisperings of the Wind Soul to Soul, Heart to Heart, in Unison with All, and laid the foundation for what would become Quantum Rebel.

How much of the book is realistic?

All of it.

Are you a multi-genre or single-genre author? How did you decide what types of books you would write?

I consider myself a transformational author, placing me within a single genre. Writing Quantum Rebel wasn’t a decision as much as a calling it emerged from a deep inner knowing that had been stirring within me for years. It’s the result of my personal journey of evolution and alignment with a higher purpose, shaped by the wisdom that flowed through me.

Quantum Rebel is more than just a book; it’s a gateway to a new paradigm of leadership and personal evolution. It invites readers to shift from the traditional "either/or" approach to success, and instead embrace the more expansive "and." It’s no longer about choosing between profit or impact, balance or success, achievement or meaningful purpose it’s about embracing all of these at once. Through this new way of leading and living, deeply rooted in spiritual wisdom and quantum principles, readers are called to align with their soul’s purpose and create lasting, purpose-driven results.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0D9Y243WN

Transcend Traditional Success: Transform Your Life and Leadership with the Power of Inspiration.

Quantum Rebel sets the stage for humanity to elevate to a new vibrational level, moving through transformation into inspiration and finally embracing oneness. It is a call to action for all awakening souls and an intentional nuance to inspire and empower visionary pioneers.

You’ll find yourself:

• Attaining Inner Mastery and becoming a Work-in-Acceleration rather than a Work-in-Progress

• Fulfilling your soul’s deepest calling as you lead and execute at the highest level of inspiration and effectiveness

• Uncovering the true Quantum Rebel you are a bold visionary and trailblazing changemaker of tomorrow, here today!

Ascend to new heights of consciousness and fulfill your destiny as a catalyst for transformative change. Transform your life and contribute to a sustainable world that works for all.

When did you start writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

My writing journey began gradually, through years of personal transformation and deep self-reflection. I came to realize that sharing wisdom can catalyze change not just for myself, but for others as well.

My first book, Whisperings of the Wind: Soul to Soul, Heart to Heart, in Unison with All, was a collection of poems born from an unexpected creative pull to start painting even though I’d never painted before. Friends questioned my choice, but after reading Drawing From Within: Unleashing Your Creative Potential by father-daughter team Nick and Diane Meglin, I understood that art is about the journey, not the end product. That profound insight set me free and catalyzed my journey of deep transformation. It led to my first poems and ultimately set the stage for Quantum Rebel to emerge. I had no idea I could write with such depth of wisdom, but I trusted the process, and it changed my life.

What books have influenced your life the most?

I’m drawn to books that foster growth in mindset, behavior, and emotional well-being, inspiring deep personal evolution and insight. My sister once teased me that I had amassed so much personal development literature, I could start my own library!

Other than writing, do you have any hobbies?

Do you have anything specific you want to say to your readers?

I love connecting with readers personally. If you’re not already part of the Quantum Rebel community, find me on LinkedIn, Facebook, and Instagram. I interact directly with my audience this is not something I delegate.

How / where do you find the plots you write about?

I draw from a combination of personal experience and what I call Source-inspired “downloads.” These are moments of deep insight and inspiration that come through me during times of stillness, reflection, or connection with the universe. In this state, the insights simply flow through me, rather than being consciously constructed.

I love being in pristine nature, especially the ocean, away from the hustle and bustle of modern living. I also love music I play the guitar and sing. Drama and painting, especially watercolors, are other creative outlets I enjoy. I also love practicing Qi-gong, dancing and meditating.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a panster? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I definitely start as a panster, letting inspiration flow naturally and following where the energy takes me. But I’m also an avid plotter when the time comes. As quantum science has shed light on how our quantum nature influences our biology and who we are as humans, I’ve delved deeply into understanding the science behind personal growth and awakening. For the more research-driven parts of my writing, I fully embrace the role of plotter, ensuring that everything is structured and aligned with the overarching message, whether it’s in a book or other form of work.

Can you share something personal with your readers? Do you have any holiday traditions?

I wasn’t always the brave soul I am now. As I entered the schooling system, I realized how different I was and silently went on a mission to conform and be like the rest of the world. Over time, I found my true essence again, embracing my uniqueness and learning to honor the path that was meant for me.

In terms of holiday traditions, I was blessed to be born and raised in a multicultural society where we celebrated each other’s diverse traditions. Additionally, the influence of my mother’s country of birth enriched my upbringing, as we lived and grew up experiencing the diversity of both worlds. Together, these experiences allowed me to embrace traditions from Christian, Hindu, African, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, and Native American customs

Tell us your latest news.

I’m excited to announce the release of my book Quantum Rebel! To celebrate, we’re offering a selection of exclusive, soul-inspired gifts designed to empower readers on their journey of unlocking new dimensions of awareness, leadership, and personal transformation. With the purchase of the book, readers gain access to the Quantum Rebel Community a vibrant, high-frequency space where both emerging and accomplished visionary leaders, pioneers, entrepreneurs, and changemakers gather.

Within the community, members enjoy exclusive monthly Book Circle sessions, led by me, where we explore the transformative themes of the book. More than just a book club, these sessions are immersive experiences designed to align with your unique quantum journey. Each new member of the Quantum Rebel community will also receive a personal welcome from either me or a trusted team member, setting the tone for their transformative journey ahead. Additionally, as part of the Quantum Rebel Community, members gain access to the 7-Day Multi-Dimensional Mastering Life Assessment a personalized blueprint designed to help you thrive in every dimension of your life.

Is there a message in your book you want readers to grasp?

Absolutely. You are here on this planet for a purpose, not by accident. Quantum Rebel invites you to heed the call of your soul and start living your most expansive life now. By aligning with your authentic voice and purpose, you can become a catalyst for growth and impact in the world.

Do you have a mentor that encouraged you to follow your dream of writing?

While I didn’t have a traditional mentor, my secret guide was my beloved four-legged companion, Witje. Her soul energy stayed with me through three lifetimes of dogs, nurturing me with unconditional love. She helped me find the courage and clarity to follow my dream of writing both Whisperings of the Wind and Quantum Rebel.

What do you want written on your headstone and why?

She was a free-spirited soul, roaming wild and free like the wild horses on the plains, untamed by the structures of the old world. I want these words on my headstone because they capture the essence of who I am a soul that sought to live in alignment with my deepest calling, free from the constraints of what the world expected. Much like the wild horses, I was never meant to be tamed or controlled, only guided by the pure force of my inner knowing.

Can you share a sample of your current work with us?

I’m currently focused on empowering individuals to fully experience the Quantum Toolset introduced in Quantum Rebel. This is done through the Quantum Expansion journey, an immersive experience that transforms the toolset from a purely intellectual concept into a practical, lived experience. It guides participants to not only understand these principles but to fully embody them in their personal and professional lives.

The Quantum Toolset: The 7 Shifts of Transformation and the 7 Shifts of Inspiration serves as a powerful framework to help heart-centered leaders unlock their full potential. It integrates ancient wisdom with modern science to support holistic growth. Participants move from inner mastery to high-vibrational living, ultimately aligning with their soul’s purpose, which allows them to thrive at their next level of greatness and impact.

Is there one person past or present you would like to meet and why?

The historic Mahatma Gandhi. I write about him in my book. Not just any visionary, Mahatma Gandhi proudly referred to himself as a practical idealist, blending lofty ideals with pragmatic action to manifest profound change.

His influence inspired movements for civil rights and freedom worldwide. As the father of nonviolent civil disobedience, Mahatma Gandhi fundamentally reframed resistance, believing in the transformative power of love and compassion over violence. His reframing led to the peaceful liberation of India from British rule and inspired countless movements for civil rights worldwide. To me, he is a true historic Quantum Rebel at heart.

What are your current projects?

If money was no issue would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

Definitely a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake. There’s something deeply grounding about being surrounded by nature, with the stillness of the mountains and the peaceful reflection of the water. It offers a sense of tranquility and connection, away from the noise of the world a perfect setting for reflection, inspiration, and recharging.

At this time, I’m fully focused on building the Quantum Rebel movement, which aims to inspire both emerging and accomplished visionary leaders, pioneers, and changemakers to elevate to their next level of greatness. As part of the book launch, we are introducing the limited-edition Quantum Expansion Journey a powerful, immersive experience designed to empower heart-centered leaders to step into their next level of greatness, lead with impact, and elevate their results. This journey serves as the gateway into the Quantum Rebel movement, inviting visionary leaders to embark on a transformative path that drives powerful, purpose-driven results in their leadership and business.

What kind of music do you enjoy? What kind of movies do you prefer? Do you have a favorite author?

I enjoy a diverse range of music genres, from classical to country, blues, R&B, and golden oldies. I prefer real-life movies, and I have many favorite authors, including Gary Zukav, Dr. Joe Dispenza, Peter Senge, Dr. Stephen Covey, Paulo Coelho, Don Miguel Ruiz, and his son, Don Jose Ruiz, among others.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Yes, for those stepping into the journey of becoming a transformational author:

1. Go Within to Discover Your Soul’s Deep Calling: Reflect on your life lessons, breakthroughs, or insights that have the potential to uplift others. These experiences are often the seeds of your most powerful message.

2. Create a Soul-Mind Map: Over the following few weeks, capture insights and ideas on sticky notes or in a journal. As patterns and themes begin to emerge, they will form the foundation of the message you’re meant to share with the world.

3. Bring It Together and Celebrate: Once clarity emerges, organize your ideas, finding the connections that resonate most deeply with your soul’s essence. Trust the process as your message solidifies into something truly transformative. And don’t forget to celebrate every step of the journey, no matter how small the win.

Pick one of your characters and share some of their backstory that didn’t make it into the novel.

Since Quantum Rebel is a transformative work rather than a novel with characters, I’d like to share a section that didn’t make it into the final version of the book. This part was focused on “Who is this book not for,” and here’s an excerpt from the manuscript that was eventually left out:

"This book is not for those who are deeply invested in maintaining the old-world order. They are not open to dialogue about new ideas, even with the understanding that independent will allow each of us to choose our own path. Instead, they resort to burning books, stifling ideas, creating conspiracy theories, humiliating nonconformers, and intentionally rewriting history to fit their perspective. They create dogmas and use shame and fear as tools to keep their followers in line. It seems they will fight to the end to preserve the old systems of scarcity, domination, control, and conflict. This book is not written for this subgroup of humanity, although they are, of course, welcome to read it."

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress? www.thequantumrebel.com

Facebook and LinkedIn: @thequantumrebel

Instagram and YouTube: @quantumrebels

They can also join the Quantum Rebel Community, an exclusive space where both emerging and accomplished visionary leaders, pioneers, and changemakers gather. With the purchase of Quantum Rebel, readers gain access to this high-vibration community, where we explore the book's transformative themes together through immersive experiences and monthly Book Circle sessions, guided by me.

The Mouse Family That Live By The Brambles

by Sylva Fae

Photography by Gez Robinson

Gez Robinson is a talented wildlife photographer from Yorkshire, England. For the last few years, I’ve been following the story of a family of mice, that live in an area of the garden dedicated to wildlife. It has been fascinating to watch the trust that has built up between the mice and Gez, as he patiently sits behind the camera. The photos are stunning, and show what characters wild mice are, whether it be their quirky antics in their natural environment, or their curiosity as they interact with the props left by Gez for the mice to explore.

Gez has been a wildlife photographer for around fifteen years, and has a passion for wildlife. During the first pandemic lockdown, craving his photography fix, he started taking photos of the birds and other wildlife in his garden.

“…and that’s when I spotted a little mouse on the old decking. It was looking at a blackberry on the blackberry bush and just stood there whilst I took photos of it. My passion with the mouse family was born.”

Since the early successes of the Mouse Family That Live by the Brambles facebook page, Gez has published a book of the same name and set up other social media accounts.

https://www.facebook.com/bramblemouse

https://www.gezrobinsonphotography.co.uk/

Instagram: gez_robinson_photography

TikTok: @mousefamilybythebrambles

Copyright @ Gez Robinson for all photos featured in this article.

Arthur Slade

arthurslade.com

Praise for I, Brax: A Battle Divine

“There is so much fun in this book, even with the big battles, fires, destruction, and evil creatures being unleashed throughout the story. . . . It is a great story from the masterful and ever-entertaining pen of Arthur Slade. A great read in the Dragon Assassin universe!”

– Steven R. McEvoy, Book Reviews and More

Governor General’s Award-winning author Arthur Slade’s latest novel continues his popular Dragon Assassin series—and this time, Brax, the dragon, gets to tell his own tale!

I, Brax: 1. A Battle Divine, the just-released new novel by award-winning Saskatchewan author Arthur Slade, continues his popular Dragon Assassin series with a twist, giving the narrator spot to the wisecracking dragon Brax.

About I, Brax: A Battle Divine Brax, hero of several Dragon Assassin tales, finally gets to tell his own story . . .

On a diplomatic mission, Brax and his rider, Carmen, encounter a ghostly vision of The Nameless Goddess. She's a part leopard, part crocodile deity, who warns them she is coming to conquer their world. Brax, in his usual snarky way, makes fun of her hairy legs and, after she vanishes, dismisses this threat.

But things soon get a lot worse . . .

When the duo arrives at the capital of the Akkad empire, they discover the emperor has been horrifically murdered by what looks to be an astral servant of that goddess, and his young nephew ascends to the throne. Both Brax and Carmen swear to protect the wetling from the Nameless Goddess. But power-hungry enemies circle the throne. Those dangers, along with the creatures sent from the netherworlds, makes protecting the emperor almost impossible.

“I’m thrilled to be able to publish the print version of this very fun book,” publisher Edward Willett says. “Art is a terrific writer, and I’m sure his many young fans will enjoy reading this exciting and humorous adventure. So will no-longer-young readers like me!”

Their only choice is to battle this goddess face to face . . .

Once they discover the true name of The Nameless Goddess, the hunt is on. Will they be able to destroy her before she rises to take over their world?

Arthur Slade was raised in the Cypress Hills of southwest Saskatchewan (on a ranch). He wasn’t raised by wolves. It was elves. And one grumpy dwarf. He began writing at an early age. It took a few years but he is now the author of more than thirty novels, including Dust (which won the Governor General’s award), Dragon Assassin, and The Hunchback Assignments. He currently lives in the mythical city of Saskatoon and does all of his writing on a treadmill desk while he listens to heavy metal. Really. It’s true.

Mark Leslie Celebrates 20 Years of "One Hand Screaming" with a Special

Expanded Edition and Craft Beer Collaboration

In Mark’s words, “It's been an incredible journey revisiting these stories, seeing how they've resonated with readers over the past two decades, and then determining which additional stories I’ve penned in the past twenty years to blend in to it, offering a fresh new treat,” says Leslie. “This anniversary edition is my way of saying thank you to all the readers who continue to support my work. And what better way to celebrate than with a delicious craft beer? I can't wait for readers to experience One Hand Screaming in a whole new way.”

https://books2read.com/1handscreaming

Robert J. Sawyer, Canada’s Dean of Science Fiction described Leslie as “an exciting new voice in Canadian fiction and sure to be one of the SF stars of tomorrow.”

Bram Stoker Award winning author Edo van Belkom called him “a writer with a bright, bright future” and said that Leslie “can move from urban fantasy to magic realism, from hard science fiction to dark psychological horror with apparent ease.”

Nancy Kilpatrick compared his horror to being reminiscent of the oldtime story tellers and added “if there’s a dark corner, Leslie will draw you to it, even against your will.”

Julie E. Czerneda said “Leslie paints his characters with compassion, then sends a chill down the spine. Prepare to be haunted by a master of suspense.”

New York Times bestselling horror author Jonathan Maberry praises this new collection by saying that “One Hand Screaming is a wonderfully weird gallop through nightmare country. Dark, often hilarious, twisted, and filled with magic.” Maberry says that he “loved every single story.”

Kevin J. Anderson, a New York Times bestselling author says that “Mark Leslie is full of ideas fun ones, suspenseful ones, clever ones, twisted ones. You never know what’s going to come up next in One Hand Screaming. But you won’t be disappointed.”

To further commemorate this milestone, Stark Publishing has partnered with Counterpoint Brewing Company in Kitchener, Ontario, to create a limited-edition craft beer inspired by the book. One Hop Screaming, a boldly hopped IPA, will be available in October 2024, offering the perfect pairing for readers eager to enhance their reading experience.

Key Features of the 20th Anniversary Edition:

● Expanded Collection: Includes 26 new stories and poems, including 14 previously unpublished works.

● All original artwork: 9 specially commissioned full-page spreads of artwork by Vanesa Garkova head up the specially themed sections of this collection

● Author Insights: Features all-new introductions to each piece and an in-depth “Stories Behind the Screams”

● Craft Beer Collaboration: Limited-edition One Hop Screaming IPA brewed in partnership with Counterpoint Brewing Company from Kitchener, Ontario available October 2024

By

TOM BENSON

West Berlin before reunification. He saw active service in Northern Ireland and the first Gulf War. A career in retail management followed and lasted 25 years. Since 2007 Tom has published novels, anthologies and poetry. https://tombensonauthor.com/

One Man, Two Missions

The train ride from London to York was tedious but necessary and proved worthwhile Harjit confirmed he had a tail. He boarded the train and walked through one carriage before selecting a seat in the next.

A grey-haired woman was seated alone in a group of four seats. She glanced up but said nothing when Harjit removed a ‘Reserved’ ticket from the other window seat and sat down.

Although he had black hair and a full beard, he would be assumed to be Asian. Harjit was born and bred in Yorkshire, England. He was returning from a short but intensive training course in a

remote area of West Pakistan. He had flown back to London via Berlin and Amsterdam. The stop-overs were brief, but necessary for security, although they added six hours to the journey.

The twenty-eight-year-old stroked his beard and pondered what to do about the man and woman who were shadowing him. They boarded separate carriages on the train. Harjit had been trained to spot surveillance, and though the pair tailing him were good, he was better countersurveillance depended on a keen eye for detail and a good memory. Harjit was blessed with both.

“Excuse me,” Harjit said to the smartly-dressed, grey-haired woman sitting opposite.

“Yes, dear?” She looked up from her e-Reader.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on my bag while I go and grab a coffee?”

“Of course put it on the rack up there beside my case?”

“My bag has tiny padlocks fitted, but, you know, I don’t like leaving it.”

“Don’t worry I’ll keep an eye on it for you.”

“Would you like tea or coffee the mobile buffet might take a while to reach us?”

“I’d love a cup of tea if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He winked and set off. Before he reached the end of Coach C, Harjit glanced at the young Asian woman he’d first noted when boarding the plane at Karachi. He didn’t see her on the connecting flights at Berlin or Amsterdam, but by some miracle, she was on this northbound train from London.

Harjit was halfway along Coach D when he used the train’s motion to fake a stumble. It allowed him to check out a man in his forties that he’d seen in Karachi and again in Amsterdam. Strangely, like the woman, this was another person who had come from the same start point but had disappeared on one leg of the journey now dressed differently for this part.

Eight minutes after leaving his seat, Harjit was back in Coach C and setting down two paper cups on the table. “There you go. I brought milk, sugar and sweeteners not sure if you were a healthy eater.”

The grey-haired woman laughed. “I’m delighted that you considered such a thing thank you.” She put down her e-Reader and lifted her bag to fetch her purse. “How much ”

No need, really.” Harjit held up a hand. “Please it’s my treat. You watched my luggage.”

“Were you in London for business or pleasure? ” The woman poured milk and sugar into her tea and used the wooden stick supplied to stir.

“I was down there to see family. I have a brother who is thinking of starting a business, and he wanted me to give him a second opinion on a couple of properties. My family background is in

retail, so my experience comes in handy.” He paused to sip his coffee. “What about you?”

“I’ve just spent a delightful but tiring week visiting my grandchildren three of them.”

“I can imagine.” He laughed naturally. “Talking of family, my brother has never seen Edinburgh, so I’ve agreed to meet him there, and I’ll show him around.”

That will be a great visit for you both is there anything, in particular, he’d like to see?”

“Yes, he’s fanatical about heritage, and is particularly interested in the Scottish Crown Jewels displayed in Edinburgh Castle.”

“You’ll be eager to squeeze in a visit to something so special.”

“Yes, I’ve planned it for this coming weekend Saturday.”

“I hope it all goes well for you.”

“I’m a bit concerned about the visit actually.”

“Oh, dear why is that?” The handsome older woman was genuinely interested.

“You know sometimes you can have a rehearsal at something, well this time it will be a live visit if you know what I mean?”

The woman nodded. “I believe I do.” She reached out and touched his hand. “Try not to worry I’m sure if you take your time, things will work out well.”

“You’ve made me feel better about it already thank you.”

The pair chatted for a while and then Harjit nodded for his companion to continue with whatever she’d been reading.

* * *

The train stopped at Peterborough, Northampton, and York. It was at Northampton that the young Asian woman got up to leave the train. She made a performance of getting her bag down from the rack and then when she was off the train, she walked past the window and glanced at Harjit as she passed with a crowd of other passengers.

“One down, and one to go,” Harjit murmured, but he kept his senses on high alert.

At York station, it was busy as ever, and when the passengers disgorged from the train, they lined up and fed their tickets into the automatic turnstile readers. Harjit used the opportunity to ensure he was behind a few other people. He looked over other’s shoulders as if in irritation at the delay, so he was able to look around at the other lines of passengers. Two turnstiles to the left, he saw the man in his forties, and one turnstile to the right was the Asian woman.

Yes, she’d left the train at Northampton, but must have walked along the outside of the carriage and got back onboard. A neat trick if it works, which in this case it didn’t.

Before he reached the entrance and exit area of the station, Harjit paused and fitted ear-buds which were connected to a thin white cable. He lifted a slim device from a jacket pocket and nodded absently as he made a selection. The young man set off slowly to leave the station and paused outside to look left and right.

As he set off again, he murmured and continued to nod as if singing along to something. “Tall Asian man, pale colouring, forties, bearded and wearing dark suit. Squinting left eye.” He stopped at a pedestrian crossing. “Asian woman, five-eight, thirties, bright floral headscarf, regularly flexes fingers of the left hand.” Harjit put away the phone and continued nodding and moving his lips as he walked. There was no sound coming from the device in his pocket.

Harjit boarded a bus for Leeds and continued to pretend he was listening to music for the entire journey, mainly for the benefit of the young woman who had taken up the chase again and was seated toward the back of the bus. * * *

Two days after arriving back in Leeds, Harjit spent a morning going to specific stores in town, picking up a variety of components to assist with the task for which he’d been trained. A set of batteries here, and some electrical cable there and nobody would realise how important the items would be when everything was connected. The crucial piece of the puzzle for Harjit ’s special project would be delivered to his door as a pizza simple, but effective.

Harjit had noted on his shopping trip in Leeds town centre that the man and woman who ’d been on his tail on his return journey were still in evidence, but working as a team one might be spotted, but never both at once. A third person had joined the Harjit Singh fan club a white guy in his thirties with dark hair, designer stubble, and a penchant for baseball caps. He was actually pretty good at shadowing.

On Saturday, the third morning after arriving back in the UK, Harjit got up early, enjoyed breakfast as usual and laid out the components of his special personal luggage for the day.

“Batteries check, positive and negative cables check, detonator check, explosives check, control switching, remote cable and trigger check, nondescript backpack check.”

Harjit was aware that many operatives were killed through forgetfulness or general carelessness, but he worked rapidly without the need for an instruction sheet. When satisfied that all was prepared, he checked the time, fixed himself a coffee and stared out of the window. He looked out along the street where he’d lived for the past six months apart from his course abroad.

In full view, Harjit could see the local mosque and the most recent graffiti stood out along the side of one wall. Two people were busy scrubbing to remove the anti-Islamic slogan. The graffiti artists were persistent, renewing their efforts regularly.

Between the mosque and where Harjit lived, a dark blue van was parked. It didn ’t look in

particularly good condition, but neither did the unoccupied house it was parked outside. As Harjit looked at the van and then the house, he grinned. Whatever rodents were running around in the empty house had a nicotine dependency, and they enjoyed a smoke away at the back of an empty upstairs room.

Harjit lifted his padded jacket and pulled it on. He fitted a black woolly cap over his dark hair and turned to gaze at the innocent-looking black backpack. “For the will of Allah.” He was reaching for the bag when there was a knock at the door.

The bag was slipped into a cupboard under the kitchen sink before Harjit answered the door.

A tall, dark-skinned man with a hooked nose and a beard stood there. “Hello, it’s Harjit, isn’t it?”

“I was about to go out.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“It’s supposed to be one, but it’s the other.”

“I’ve been sent to check your luggage.”

Harjit stepped back and closed the door behind his visitor. He watched as the man went straight to the kitchen and opened the cupboard precisely as the briefing had said.

The man opened the bag and slipped one hand inside as he quickly inspected the contents. He closed the bag and placed it on the kitchen table. “Remain brave, brother.” He embraced Harjit, opened the door and left without another word. * * *

Harjit used a bus to get to York, and then caught the train to Edinburgh. He had been on the train twenty minutes when a passenger walked along the aisle and glanced at him. The white man with the dark hair, and designer stubble.

At Newcastle Central, Harjit lifted his bag from the luggage rack and got off the train, joining the mass of passengers heading to the turnstiles. When he’d become absorbed in the crowd, Harjit bent down, removed his hat and donned a pair of glasses. He remained stooped in the crowd and moved left, before standing upright to walk rapidly back towards the platform.

A woman in railway uniform nearby looked left and right along the train, raised her arm, and blew on her whistle. There would be a few seconds delay before the doors closed.

Harjit raced the last few paces and jumped back onto the train he’d just left, boarding the second from last carriage. The automatic door narrowly missed trapping his foot. Harjit stood near the door and watched a tall Asian man looking at each window of the train as it passed. The man pulled out his mobile phone. It was the person who’d turned up at Harjit’s flat earlier to check the device, and now he didn’t look happy.

Five minutes after leaving Newcastle, Harjit was sitting in a different seat, in another carriage, with a coffee. He thought for a while of his parents, both of whom had died in bombings. Allah might want his followers to join him, but surely there were too many innocent parties joining the faithful? This was always at the forefront of Harjit’s mind.

* * *

Edinburgh Waverley was busy as expected, so when Harjit left the train and fitted his backpack, he joined the crowd and headed for the Princes Street exit.

“Not long now, mate.” Harjit murmured as he ascended the stairs into the bright daylight where thousands of people wandered the city centre. “Probably more than half are foreign tourists,” Harjit shook his head. He stopped at a pedestrian crossing and looked around. Yes, sure enough, the man with stubble and a penchant for baseball caps was a few yards away, studying a map. At least he’d reversed his lightweight jacket he’d made an effort.

Harjit wandered along Princes Street and went into three random stores to walk around for a while. By the time he reached the exit of the third store, he had confirmed that the young woman with the twitching fingers was on his case again. She was standing at a bus stop outside the store, studying the timetable.

“Time for the endgame,” Harjit whispered as he walked along Princes Street. He watched one of the new trams go past on its way to the airport, and then he crossed and set off for the Royal Mile. It was a steep climb up The Mound, and then for good measure, Harjit made three random turns before reaching the famous street which led to the castle. The young man had almost completed the task set for him.

At the junction with the Royal Mile, Harjit was compelled to step off the pavement to get around a group of Japanese tourists, all aiming phones and cameras at anything and everything around them. Harjit turned right and ambled up the incline toward the famous castle, high over the city.

He paused to look in a window full of souvenirs. “I don’t know about you, Allah, but I’ll be bloody happy when this is over.” He used a spinning stand full of postcards as a means to look back the way he’d come.

The young Asian woman had made up ground and was walking fast, the fingers of her left hand flexing rapidly probably a stress-related issue, but a habit nevertheless. When it looked like she might walk into Harjit, she opted to look in a store window at kilts for men. Strange.

Harjit walked across the massive car park and parade ground to look out over the city before he ventured to the front of the castle and the entrance.

Inside the main walls, there were individuals and groups of people all around the place, most taking pictures, but many others studying the map of the castle grounds. When Harjit was in the central area, he pulled out his phone and started taking random pictures.

A middle-aged man in a sleeveless safari jacket stopped nearby. “Excuse me would you take a picture of me, please?”

Sure.” Harjit nodded as he put away his phone and accepted the other man’s phone. He held the device up and focussed on the man. “Is St Margaret’s the small chapel in here?”

“Yes, it’s five minutes’ walk that way thank you.” The man looked at the picture on his phone and then walked away, nodding and smiling.

Harjit headed towards the main building which housed the Scottish Honours and Scottish Crown Jewels. As he approached the entrance, there was a scuffle, and he turned to see a woman being bundled away by four armed police officers.

Harjit stepped inside the entrance, took several deep breaths, and then left and walked around to St Margaret’s, the tiny church within the castle grounds. Half a dozen tourists were sitting or kneeling in the handful of pews. He went to an empty pew on the right, removed his backpack, placed it on the seat beside him and sat back.

Two minutes later the man wearing the sleeveless safari jacket moved into the pew behind Harjit and knelt down facing the altar. “Are you okay, Harry?”

“Yes, Sir. How many did you get?”

“Seven are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, but there’s still danger there’s another guy. I shook off a big bloke at one of the railway stations, but he’s managed to get here somehow he’s tall, got a long, hooked nose and a beard.”

“What was it about him that rung alarm bells for you? ”

“He came to my house this morning, supposedly to check that I’d set the device up properly. I saw him tinkering with it. He added a bloody remote, so if I bottled it, he’d need to be within one hundred metres to trigger the bomb.”

“One of our other operatives on the train saw you shake that bastard off at Newcastle. It seems the bearded Asian guy didn’t wait for another train he left Newcastle on the back of a bloody motorbike. We picked up the rider after they split up in Edinburgh, right outside the castle grounds.”

“What about the tall guy he can still trigger this thing ”

“Don’t worry, mate I think he’s been dealt with by one of our most experienced people.” He nodded towards a smartly-dressed, grey-haired woman who had just lit a candle and sat in one of the front pews. The woman placed her large floral shopping bag on the seat beside her. There was no sign of the hypodermic needle which could be extended from the front edge when the bag was bumped against a body.

The deadly contents of the concealed syringe were dissolving into the bloodstream of a delirious and confused Asian man. He had a hooked nose, a beard and was now lying at the gates of Edinburgh Castle frothing at the mouth.

Harjit nodded as he glanced at the new arrival in the church. “Jean is a class act.” He sighed. “You’ll still have to get Bomb Disposal to deal with the device it’s live, remember.”

“It’s all in hand. You’ll be arrested for show when you step outside, so use the phrase ‘live bag’ to remind them when the uniform guys take it from you. Debrief will be at the Golden Thistle Hotel in two hours, and the beers are on me.”

“Did I pass selection, Sir?”

“Too bloody right you did, Harry. You’re on the team now, mate, and I hope this also brings some closure for the deaths of your parents.”

“They were my inspiration over the past six months I always had two missions.”

A

story taken from—

One Man,

Two Missions

A collection of twelve original tales supported by three bonus stories from other collections by the author. Courage, intrigue, retribution, karma, terrorism, adventure and summary justice all feature for those who enjoy stories with a kick.

I wrote this post six years ago when I hadn’t been blogging for very long and didn’t have many followers. During my recent attendance at the South African Festival of Children’s Literature where I was asked to speak about cake and fondant art and its benefits to children, I thought again about all these benefits and decided to share it again for Growing Bookworms. Most children love to spend time in the kitchen either cooking or baking. It is a fabulous bonding experience with Mom or another caregiver and they always enjoying eating the results of their hard work afterwards.

I love to bake and both my sons have travelled the cooking, baking and eating road with me. Michael, particularly, loves to cook. He prefers to make more practical things than I do such as savoury and/or sweet pancakes, French toast and even stews and curries which he sometimes makes with his Dad. I like to cook but I also enjoy making all sorts of fancy sweet treats and cakes.

I remember baking with my small boys. Gregory used to love to measure and pour the ingredients into the bowl. Funnily enough, Greg also loved to wash up. Sadly, this did not continue into his teenage years. I used to strip him down to his nappy and stand him on a few chairs lined up in front of the sink [so that he could not fall off] and set him free in front of a sink of soapy water. He used to splash around happy with a cloth washing up the bowl and wooden spoon. I kept the washing of any sharp implements and breakables for myself. Michael, on the other hand, has never been a fan of any kind of cleaning up. He likes to measure, pour and, especially, to mix. He also likes to “lick” out the bowl. I have photographs of Michael covered from head to toe in chocolate cake mix with the bowl upside down on his head. What fabulous fun.

Other than the obvious fun and bonding factors, there are a list of other great benefits to baking with your children. I did some research on this and this is what I found:

1. Maths skills: Baking helps children to learn maths concepts, in particular, measurement and simple fractions (half a cup, a quarter of a lemon). In addition, multiplication and division are involved if you half or double a recipe. Other kinds of cooking may also involve patterning (for example with salads and kebabs) and simple addition (how many people are you feeding? how many cupcakes do you need for the class?);

2. Art skills: Decorating cupcakes, cutting out biscuits and making animals and people out of fondant (sugar dough). All of these activities encourage creativity and develop design abilities. An element of construction can also be involved if you are making a gingerbread house or a marshmallow tower and children learn how to fit pieces together and get a tower to stand up;

Sir Chocolate and Lady Sweet’s rocket ship is powered by the cream of tartar baking mixture.

Picture credit: Photographs by Robbie Cheadle. Cream of tartar, Bicarb and milk mixed together create a good raising agent for biscuits. It also froths and bubbles and makes a perfect fuel for a biscuit rocket ship to the moon.

◊ Comprehension skills: Baking and cooking teaches children how to read and interpret a recipe. They learn to follow a sequence of steps and how to organise the required ingredients. Baking also teaches children techniques and vocabulary such as folding, beating, kneading and blending;

◊ Science skills: Contrary to popular belief, baking is a science. Children learn the scientific effects of raising agents such as yeast and baking powder. They learn about the interaction between certain substances such as salt and bicarbonate of soda, cream of tartar and milk, yeast and warm water. If they make a mistake and/or leave out an ingredient, disaster often follows which helps enforce these learning points;

• Life skills: Baking and cooking with your children teaches them lifelong skills. In the future, the job of feeding themselves and their future families will become theirs. Baking and cooking skills will stand them in good stead when they leave home; and

• Self-esteem: Baking and cooking helps increase children’s self-esteem as they see and taste the results of their efforts. It also teaches children to work together with someone else in a team and that hard work pays dividends in the end.

Cream of tartar, bicarbonate of soda and milk mixed together bubble and froth.

I am not an occupational therapist but I found the following additional benefits listed on an OT website for children:

1. Bilateral coordination;

2. Eye-hand coordination;

3. Hand strengthening; and

4. Spatial perception and planning skills.

These four benefits make perfect sense to me in the context of baking and cooking with children.

So, what are you waiting for, get cooking. An easy way to start is with mini pizzas. You can buy the bases ready made from most grocery stores and you can also buy the tomato paste source to spread on the bases. Grate some cheese, cut up some mushrooms, pineapple, ham and anything else that you fancy and let the kids have fun assembling their own pizzas.

Robbie Cheadle is a South African children s author and poet with 9 children’s books and 2 poetry books. She has also published 2 books for older children which incorporate recipes that are relevant to the storylines. Robbie has 2 adult novels in the paranormal historical and supernatural fantasy genres published under the name Roberta Eaton Cheadle. She also has short stories in the horror and paranormal genre and poems included in several anthologies.

Connect with Robbie… https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/

Tong Ge

Interviewed by Melanie P. Smit

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I was born in the 1960s in China. My father was a university professor, and my mother worked as a lab technician. In 1966, Chairman Mao launched the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, during which Chinese intellectuals were once again unjustly and brutally persecuted. Like many of his colleagues, my father was imprisoned in a "Cowshed." This made me a target for bullies. To prevent further harm, my mother sent me to live with my sister deep in the Qin Mountains. I returned home when I was seven. Shortly after, my father was released, though he was suspended from his position and required to attend political meetings and struggle sessions in the evenings.

At the time, we experienced power outages two or three times a week. On those nights, the meetings were canceled, and we would have our secret storytelling time. We ’d draw the curtains and gather around a single candle while my father retrieved the banned book Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio from its hiding place. He would whisper the stories to us, translating the ancient Chinese into modern Chinese. Those evenings remain some of my fondest memories, sparking my lifelong interest in reviving words and stories.

In 1976, Chairman Mao died, the Cultural Revolution ended, and the university entrance exam was reinstated. I passed the exam, earned a bachelor’s degree in banking and finance, and moved to Canada in 1988 to pursue a Master of Science in Agricultural Economics from the University of Saskatchewan. Since then, I’ve built a career in financial services.

During my college years, I began writing poems in Chinese. When I decided to write my book in English,

I started taking writing courses in 2006 and read voraciously. My first English piece was published in 2012 by PRISM International. Since then, I have published poems, prose and short stories in both English and Chinese across North America, England and Taiwan, receiving four literary prizes and being a finalist four times. My debut novel, The House Filler, was published in Canada in 2023, and it has been named among the five finalists worldwide for the 2023 Eyelands Book Awards in the historical fiction and memoir category. Additionally, it won the 2024 Independent Press Award for new fiction and is among the finalists for the 2024 Canadian Book Club Award.

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? How did you decide what types of book you would write?

I guess I’m a multi-genre author, having written both historical and literary fiction so far. The House Filler is the first book in the "China China" trilogy, each of which, by the way, can be stand -alone novels, and is based on my grandmother’s story. The second book is inspired by my parents' lives, both covering 1920 to 1970, making them works of historical fiction. The third book, based on my own experiences, is character-driven and features many poems, reflecting my love of language, making it literary fiction. I once tried writing science fiction, writing day and night at a feverish speed. However, this triggered my old injury from 2001 repetitive strain injuries in both arms and I was forced to stop. Now, I don’t even know where the story outlines are.

Do you have a favorite, or is one type of book easier for you to write than others, and why?

I would say my favorite genre is literary fiction. I’ m still learning, and I ’ve found that good literary fiction is very challenging, but I love every moment of it. As for whether something is easy or hard to write, I don’t think it depends on the genre. For me, it’s about the content of the story. I’ve found that writing what I know is easier compared to writing what I don ’t know.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

What happened in early 20th -century China is still relevant today wars, totalitarian regimes, poverty, and the ongoing issue of gender inequality in many parts of the world. As a species, we haven ’t advanced as much as we might think. People need to be aware that freedom is never truly free; it can be taken away in an instant if we’re not vigilant.

I also want my readers to consider this question: Are humans inherently cruel, merely pretending to be civilized until circumstances like war strip away our veneer? Or are we fundamentally kind, with war turning us into beasts? I believe that without consequences, humans are capable of committing atrocities against one another. While some readers have cried while reading the book and even warned others to have tissues ready, I hope they do not merely feel sadness. Instead, I want them to be inspired by the resilience of the human spirit and to recognize that we are stronger than we realize.

What are your current projects?

I am rewriting “The House Filler” in Chinese.

How much of the book is realistic?

I would say about 90%.

When did you start writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap? You mean writing novels, right? I wanted to be a writer since junior high. In college, I wrote a lot of poems but felt incapable of writing novels, even though I always wanted to turn my family’s stories into one. Then, one day in 2004 while gardening, an idea came to me, and I finally found the angle to start writing the novel. Though I eventually abandoned that angle, it was the spark that prompted me to begin.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I’m lucky in a way because my family's legacy is a story in itself, and my mother has been telling me those stories since I was a child. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t need to plot. I do, but I plot in my mind, not on paper. Since my first two books are historical fiction, I’ve also had to do a lot of research too.

Tell us your latest news

“The House Filler” is one of the finalists for the 2024 Canadian Book Club awards. It is Canada's largest reader's choice award. This year, the awards received the highest number of submissions. Over the next three months, Canadian Verified Readers will read each finalist's work in their respective categories and submit their votes for this year's winners. The winners will be announced in January 2025.

Do you have a mentor that helped or encouraged you to follow your dream of writing?

I once had a mentor through the 2019 Borderlines Writers Circle Calgary program, sponsored by the Alexandra Writers’ Centre Society and the Writers’ Guild of Alberta for a couple of years. She helped me a lot, primarily with technical aspects of writing. In the early days, I didn’t have anyone to encourage me to pursue my dream. In fact, as I was about to enter university, I planned to major in Chinese literature or journalism, but my parents strongly objected. Ultimately, I studied Finance and Banking. There’s a reason for their objection, which I worked into my third novel, and I will share that part later. In 2005, after my boyfriend committed suicide, I began working with mediums and connected with my late father and grandmother. They both encouraged me and have been with me all this time. I also have a very close friend and he has been encouraging me since 2011 when we met.

How / where do you find the plots you write about?

I believe I have answered this question, at least in part. I have a rich imagination, but most of what I build is based on real events which can be converted into intricate plots.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

If you read my book, I would greatly appreciate it if you could write a review on either Amazon or Goodreads. This feedback helps me understand how readers feel about my work and allows me to gather valuable insights.

What do you want written on your headstone and why?

“The End”, I guess.

What books have influenced your life the most?

There are so many great books in this world. If I have to narrow it down, I would say the following two authors influenced me the most.

The first is a Chinese author from the early 20th century named Lu Xun. He was an essayist and short story writer who never wrote a novel. However, he had deep insight into the social, political and cultural issues of his time and never hesitated to criticize old traditions, the darker aspects of human nature and the government. His writings are sharp, deep and biting, leaving a lasting influence on generations of Chinese writers and intellectuals after his passing. His short story, The True Story of Ah Q, is such a remarkable work that, in my opinion, it far surpasses Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. The 2012 Nobel Prize winner, Chinese writer Mo Yan, once said he would rather trade all his works for a single story like The True Story of Ah Q.

The second writer I admire is Ayn Rand. I have read all of her novels multiple times. She is a rare author who not only weaves a strong philosophy into her works but also creates stories that are both character-driven and plot-driven. In other words, she crafts well-rounded, multi-dimensional complex characters and places them in compelling plots. While most people are familiar with her two most famous books, "The Fountainhead" and "Atlas Shrugged," her first book, "We the Living," is equally compelling, despite its shorter length. Her exceptional characterbuilding offers much to learn from. Rand’s work has greatly inspired me, not only to become a better writer but also to be a principled, resilient person who never gives in or gives up.

Pick one of your characters and share some of their backstory that didn’t make it into the novel.

In the book, during the Second Sino-Japanese War, Golden Phoenix’s eldest son, Zhong, joined the Nationalist army in Luoyang after they fled their hometown under enemy bombing. In reality, before the Japanese arrived, Golden Phoenix’s brother, Yu, accompanied Zhong as they left their hometown, seeking an opportunity to join the fight against the Japanese. With the enemy's arrival being inevitable, people began fleeing the city. Amid the chaos, Yu and Zhong ended up on different trains heading in opposite directions. Yu returned home alone, while the 19 -year-old Zhong, with no money, food, or shelter, found refuge in a Buddhist temple, becoming a monk until he could find a way to join the army.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

To pursue writing, you must have a genuine passion for it, as it often doesn't yield significant financial returns, especially at the beginning. Hard work is also essential; becoming a skilled writer requires a dedication to continuous learning.

Humility plays a critical role as well. Be open to feedback, even if your initial reaction is defensive. If one person points out a problem in your writing, you might dismiss it, but if two people mention the same issue, it deserves attention. When three people bring it up, it’s time to rewrite. If your book isn’t getting published, resist the urge to blame others for not recognizing your talent. Instead, take a hard look at your work, seek external help, and figure out what might be holding you back.

Finally, perseverance is key never give up and you must also learn how to promote your work effectively.

Can you share a sample of your current work with us?

My current project is in Chinese, I would like to share the part from my third book with regards to why Chinese parents fear for their children’s choice.

With regard to a major, I tell my parents I want to study either Chinese literature or journalism because I want to become a writer. They both object. “It’s too dangerous,” Mother says. “You could be thrown in jail because of something you write. ” s different now,” I argue.

Father joins in, “Yes, but no one can guarantee that history won’t repeat itself. Large -scale literary persecutions happened more than once in Chinese history. You know the story of fen shu keng ru. If you want to be an honest writer, sooner or later you’ll get yourself in trouble, unless you close your eyes and shut your mouth and only write to praise and please. But I know you. ll always tell the truth.”

Everyone knows about fen shu keng ru. I want to quote Chairman Mao: to carry out a revolution, there must be sacrifices. But I stop myself in time. I know my parents love me dearly. t allow me to sacrifice myself.

Sometimes, even when your writing has nothing to do with honesty or politics, you may still be persecuted,” Father continues. “There are too many such examples in history. In the Qing dynasty, for example, poet Xu Jun wrote a poem. In it there are two sentences: Gentle breeze, thou art illiterate; why turn over book pages at random ( 清风不识字，何故乱翻书？ ) Just because the word gentle is pronounced the same as Qing in the Qing dynasty, he was accused of mocking the Qing government for being barbaric and was beheaded.”

known story among Chinese intellectuals.

My mother chimes in, “And that young man in Beijing. What was his name? Wasn ’t he executed for an article he wrote?”

His name is Yu Luoke. The essay he wrote was Theory of Family Lineage.” I know the story too well. In the essay, the young author pointed out that a new caste system had emerged in China where young people had been grouped into different social classes based on their family backgrounds. He debunked the dogma that children from revolutionary parents are also revolutionaries and the children of Di Fu Fan Huai You are also bad guys. He pointed out that such a new caste system was, in fact, counterrevolutionary in disguise. He was arrested in 1968 and executed at age twenty-seven in 1970.

Mother says.

In the heat of the discussion, they have forgotten about my insane decision of only applying for one university. However, I can’t convince them to let me choose my own major. That evening, I write them a passionate three-page letter. Surely this will convince them, since this is the first time I pour my heart out without reservation. If I have such a child, I’ ll do all I can to support her, be her most loyal ally and most enthusiastic cheerleader. When I present the letter to

them the next day, however, they are not moved. Instead, they try a different tactic. They argue that a person can become a writer in any occupation. In fact, a different profession will enrich the writer’s life experience.

After one week of tug -of-war, I give in. Based on my father’s suggestion, I choose Finance because there was no finance major in China during the ten -year cultural revolution. Father says our country is in great need for financiers and economists.

Is there one person past or present you would like to meet and why?

If I could meet just one person, it would be my late father. I wasn’t able to be with him when he was dying. I grew up in a time when, as Chinese, we weren’t good at expressing our feelings verbally. We never said "I love you" to each other, and I would like the chance to tell him those words. If I could meet two more people, I’d choose my maternal grandmother and my uncle, who appear in my book as Golden Phoenix and Wu. I still lack many details about my grandmother’s life and know very little about my uncle’s 25 years of imprisonment in Xinjiang. I want to ask them so many questions to better tell their stories.

Other than writing do you have any hobbies?

I love to read, go to live theatre, traveling, ballroom dancing, swimming, investing and learning new things.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0CL2WX7XB

1-It means burning of books and burying of scholars, referring to the burning of texts in 213 BCE and live burial of 460 Confucian in 212 BCE by the Chinese emperor Qin Shi Huang of the Qin dynasty. This was alleged to have destroyed philosophical treatise Hundred Schools of Thought, with the goal of strengthening the official Qin governing philosophy of Legalism.

2-Yu Luoke (1943–1970), a dissident who publicly criticized the Cultural Revolution and the class system introduced by the communist government that barred millions of people with the “wrong” background from higher education and good jobs. He was executed by firing squad in March 1970 in front of 100,000 people at the Workers Stadium in Beijing.

3-Meaning the landowners, rich peasants, counterrevolutionaries, bad guys, and right-wingers.

If money was no issue would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

A cozy beach bungalow every single time.

Can you share something personal with your readers? Do you have any holiday traditions? What kind of music do you enjoy? What kind of movies do you prefer? Do you have a favorite author?

I live a very lonely life now and don ’t have any holiday traditions. When I was growing up in China, during the Chinese New Year season, adult children would return home, and the whole family would celebrate the New Year together. People would decorate their doors with couplets written on red paper, expressing good wishes, and buy expensive food and making new clothes. On New Year’s Eve, the family would gather to make dumplings, which we’d boil for breakfast the next morning. Children would light firecrackers in the yard and on the street, and people would visit one another to exchange good wishes. You had to prepare all kinds of snacks and treats for your guests. The celebrations lasted fifteen days, ending with the Lantern Festival on the 15th day of the first month of the lunar calendar. Remembering those times makes my heart ache, as we in the diaspora have largely lost these traditions.

I enjoy classical music, and when it comes to movies, I like good dramas and comedies.

I can add two more authors to my list: Mikhail Sholokhov and Mo Yan, both Nobel Prize winners. Sholokhov’s four -volume novel And Quiet Flows the Don is so remarkable that I’ve read it twice. He vividly and beautifully describes the River Don in a way that makes you feel as if you are right there, yet he never repeats the same words, and those passages never feel repetitive. The characters, conflicts, and complex socio -political issues during wartime —along with themes of life and death, love and hate, loyalty and betrayal, brutality and desperation are woven into this epic masterpiece, leaving you with a sense of contentment after reading. Mo Yan’s novels are vivid, complex, poignant, epic, wild, sad, and beautiful. He often employs magical realism in his writing, with passages that read like poetry. I ’ve read some of his works multiple times, and each experience feels like a feast. I often wonder if reading his work enough times will help me write like him. I hope so.

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress?

I’m in the process of building my website Tong-Ge.com. My X handle is @Tong_Ge1. My Instagram handle is @writertongge.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0DHLW6RFJ

Selina Dragavei wanders the northern wastes in fear of persecution from the Holy Roman Church. In Europe's Dark Age, witchfinders scour the lands and traveller folk such as she are put to flame and suffering. On the ruthless steppes, she evades them but something far sinister will lay claim to her soul.

Returning to the world of men, a dark, transformed Selina has a thirst for blood and only the drift down through the centuries will quench it. But she won't make that journey alone, as she determines to bring others to her. As a troupe of entertainers they attend pageants, festivals, and even royal galas, where a family bound to darkness feed on unsuspecting mortals. Such debauchery, however, does not go unnoticed. Famed witchfinder, Desider von Brandenburg, becomes obsessed with bringing this band of vampire-devils to a righteous cleansing, and so a deadly game of cat and mouse ensues.

Will the holy man bring God's wrath down upon them, or will Selina and her nightwalkers battle the might of Heaven and emerge unscathed? Only instinct, cunning, and a little luck under the watch of a wolf moon will tell...

Beverley Lee is a bestselling dark fiction author who lives close to the dreaming spires of Oxford, England. Her work specializes in atmospheric horror, creeping dread, and broken boys—sometimes altogether—but are always filled with heart and the tenuous threads of relationships pushed to the brink. All the Feels all the time. Vampires are her first love and occasionally they stop whispering long enough for her to write other books. When she’s not writing you’ll find her rambling through the countryside, dreaming about male vampires kissing, and exploring time-worn graveyards

Visit beverleylee.com for more information about her books.

Keith Anthony Baird began writing dark fiction in 2016 as a self-published author. After five years of releasing titles via Amazon and Audible, he switched his focus to the traditional publishing route.

A Light of Little Radiance A

His titles via Brigids Gate Press LLC are the dark fantasy novella In the Grimdark Strands of the Spinneret (published in 2022), his dystopian novella SIN:THETICA (2024) and A Light of Little Radiance, co-authored with fellow Brit Beverley Lee (2024). He is currently writing an alien invasion/post-apocalyptic novel called WIND RUST which will be the first of a planned trilogy.

Anthony Baird and Beverley Lee

Illustrated Idioms

Inspired story prompts by

Susan Faw

When I created my author website at the launch of my authorial career, I was lost as to what to blog about. It is a common problem for authors who are starting out. Most of us feel that no one wants to listen to us talk about or dogs or our families or look at pretty cat pictures. So instead of blogging about what people flock to every day, I decided to write short, quick stories that illustrated something that I had long been fascinated with, the odd words and phrases that make up English idiom.

I bought a copy of The American Heritage ® Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer. With that primer in place, I was ready to bring to life the idioms that we so often use but rarely understand their sources.

Can you guess the idiom in the story?

Comedy Night

Frank loved the crowds, and the audience adored him in return.

Shadowed faces blurred into a melted mass of men and women and all endured the sweltering heat of the dim theater simply to watch him perform. They hung on his every pun, his tantalizing turns of phrase, his juxtaposition of humor and tragedy that left them laughing and gasping and crying at the same time.

Large thatched fans stirred the stagnant air of the warm evening as the laughter of the crowd swelled and died. One lady sobbed unashamed into a lacy handkerchief.

“My dear lady!” Frank said as he swept a bow from the front of the stage. She looked up at him, feathered hat bobbing as she sniffled. “How do you keep from soiling your hands with so many holes in that lace?”

The crowd roared in response, and he smiled a toothy grin back. The woman took in the laughing crowd, and with her mouth twitching began to laugh once again, the barely stifled tears beginning to flow once again.

Frank pulled an identical lace handkerchief from his back pocket, only four times the size and proceeded to blow his nose with the force of a bull elephant, a tuba from the orchestra providing the appropriate accompaniment. The handkerchief flew from his hands and sailed out over the audience, sending men and women scrambling to get out of the way of the descending dirty dainty.

He bowed to the audience and with a tip of his hat, signalling the orchestra to take over with a musical interlude.

Frank strode off stage right and into the wings of the stage. The theater manager, a fat balding man in a white fedora, rolled over to meet him, double chins quivering.

“Excellent show, my friend! A most excellent show!” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out another handkerchief and mopped his brow. “My, my, what heat we have today! I almost cancelled this performance, but with all the seats sold…well, business before pleasure as they say!”

Frank picked up the clear jug of ice water with floating slices of lemon and poured himself a glass, chugging the contents down with barely a swallow. He listened to the murmuring of the crowds receding through the back doors of the theater for half-time refreshments and some relief from the sweltering interior. He swiped his sleeve across his beaded forehead.

“Look, Eugene, it is too hot out there to continue the show. The audience will all be melted puddles before the end of the second half. I think we should give them a rain ticket, preferably for a rainy day…oh, about December fifteenth.”

Eugene’s eyes popped out of his head. “Are you refusing to go back on? You can’t leave the audience waiting! The show must go on!” He grabbed at Frank’s sleeve.

Frank’s eyes took in the shimmering waves of heat dancing in the light of the flame lamps lining front of the stage. He shook his head and drops of sweat arched away from his limp hair, evaporating before they reached the ground.

A rustle from deeper in the curtains caught his attention, and a pair of men came up the wooden steps onto the platform.

“We’re sorry, but we couldn’t help but overhear your conversation” the shorter of the two said. “We would love to perform in your place and let you rest for a bit,” said the second, “until you are

ready to go on with the show.”

Eugene looked at the pair of them, dressed in too short pants hauled up by shortened suspenders, suit coat sleeves frayed at the edges, and bowler hats perched on heads covering varying quantities of hair. “What kind of act do you do?”

“Comedy, silly comedy, to cheer the crowd and make them belly laugh.”

The other nodded earnestly.

“OK, I will give you a trial. You may go set up while the intermission is going on.”

“We have nothing to set up.”

Eugene frowned once again. The sound of returning patrons swelled and filled the theater as they filed back to their seats.

“Fine, Fine, get on the stage. We will discuss your fee afterward, depending on how the crowd likes you.” The pair hurried out onto the stage, pulling a banana from each of their pockets. It was their only prop. Frank frowned, then shrugged and wandered out to join the pair on stage.

Eugene watched in amazement as the impromptu comedy trio launched into a simple but effective comedy skit involving nothing but the two bananas for props. The audience roared with as much if not more laughter as they had for Frank’s solo performance. Eugene chuckled along and clapped his hands with glee.

Thinking that the crowd was giddy with heat, Eugene invited the trio back to open with Frank the following evening and as it turned out, for every evening after that. Word spread of the trio’s comedic timing and the demand for tickets grew ever greater.

One day a couple of VIP clients arrived at the theater, escorted by Eugene himself, and were seated in a roped off area in the center front of the audience, set with two cushioned chairs and two personal attendants pouring iced beverages for the VIP customers.

Both Frank and the new players became self-conscious for the first time in their careers, sensing that these men were important in some way.

This evening, both sets of performers changed up their offerings, performing the crowd favorites and also pulling some new entertainments out of their hats.

The VIP clientele smiled and nodded and observed the mirthful audience, who roared with laughter and tossed coins onto the stage in appreciation.

After the show, the guests were escorted back stage to meet the performers.

“You are amazing” said the talent recruiting executive for Warner Bros “You really are the top banana here!” shaking hands with the pair.

English Idiom: Top Banana also Top Dog

The principal person in a group, organization or undertaking. The first term comes from show business where from the early 1900’s it has signified the leading comedian (possible the original allusion was to Frank Lebowitz, a burlesque comedian who used bananas in his act). It also gave rise to the “second banana” for a supporting actor, usually a straight man.”

The American Heritage® Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer. Copyright © 2003, 1997 by The Christine Ammer 1992 Trust. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

If you want to read more of Susan Faw’s Illustrated Idioms, the series is available here: https://bookgoodies.com/a/B074ZTK65V

Book nerd and fantasy aficionado, Susan is an award-winning author who also doubles as masked crusader for the fantastical world. Championing mythical rights, she quells uprisings and battles infidels who would slay the lifeblood of her pen. It’s all in a day’s work, for this whirlwind writer.

Winner of the Dante Rossetti Grand Prize for Best Young Adult Fiction of 2016 (Seer of Souls, Chanticleer Reviews) she is actively crafting stories that sing in your memory. Welcome to the quest!

You can find Susan at www.susanfaw.com, on twitter @susandfaw or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/SusanFaw.

“Look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see, and wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious.”

– Stephen Hawking

The web is a wonderful tool. There’s instant access to a wealth of knowledge on any topic - including Self-Publishing. Here are a few examples to help authors along the way.

Make sure your website is performing as it should. Free tools for every professional. Make sure your social media links are working, find dead links, favicon generator, WebCheck, web based ePub reader, and more.

https://techguywithabeard.com/?#tools

How to Title Your Book

Lately I’ve been coaching several of my clients through the process of coming up with a good title for their book, so I thought I’d share my tips with you.

https://rachellegardner.com/how-to-title-your-book/

How to Write a Short Story: 10 Good Tips for Writers

Short stories are an extremely versatile form of literature. Read on to learn our top tips for how to write short stories, as well as some examples you can read to get inspired. https://prowritingaid.com/how-to-write-a-short-story

How to Ensure Your Novel’s First Chapter Grabs Readers Right Away

It’s true what they say: First impressions matter. The same can be said for novels, and as an author, getting the first chapter of your book right can make or break the reading experience. So for this article, I’ve put together some tips on how to make an impactful first impression and write a chapter that will immediately grab readers’ attention. Let’s dive right in.

https://insights.bookbub.com/ensure-your-novel-first-chapter-grabs-readers/