Category Archives: #rrbc

Welcome to the #RRBC RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB “SPOTLIGHT” Author Blog Tour!! #RRBCSpotlightAuthor @ChuckWesJ

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Welcome to this month’s #RRBC Spotlight Author Blog Tour! Please join me with Charles W Jones, author of, among other things, CIRCUS TAROT:

pic_charleswjones[1709]“Many strange things are present in World Circus, and not just the sideshow acts. If you were to take a walk northwest of World Tent, you’d come across a little café where you can get your fill of corndogs, snow cones, and, of course, cotton candy. But that’s not what I want to show you, the spectacle of interest is Tower. The yard and maze around it is always midnight with firefighting Clowns running to put out fires from embers that drift to the ground from the fire that shoots from the top of Tower. This excerpt is Mary and Johnny’s journey through Tower.”

Excerpt from Chapter 26

Mary and Johnny released hands and began looking around. The foyer opened to a larger room with nothing in it but a spiral staircase in the center. The walls and floor were the same golden granite as the foyer; no windows disrupted the smooth surfaces.

“Looks like we go up,” she said, assessing the stairs. “Not just through.”

He stared at her, without saying a word, waiting to see who took the first step. Deciding to take the lead, he held his foil in front of them. They clamored up the spiral, their footfalls echoing in the chamber.

“I need to take a break,” he said as he slowed, gripping the railing.

“It does seem like we’ve been climbing a very long,” she replied, stopping a few steps behind him.

She looked up. The top appeared to be a short distance from them, maybe fifty more steps.

“Oh shit,” he exclaimed. “Don’t look down.”

“What? Why?” she asked.

Without taking his advice, she looked down, over the side of the spiral of the railing. Hardly believing what she found, a momentary wave of nausea flooded her system. Thousands of feet below them was the base of the staircase. From their vantage, it appeared the stairs carried them diagonally to the ceiling. Her foot slipped backward. A shrill scream of surprise jumped from her mouth as she fell backward. Johnny watched with an ashen face as she tumbled slowly back down the stairs. Her hands fluttered, looking for purchase on the railing. A jolt of pain shot through her shoulder when a hand caught hold of the railing, ending her descent. Awkwardly, she righted herself and climbed with shaking legs back to Johnny.

“Are you OK?” he asked when she was ten steps below him.

“Yes, I’m glad I only fell a few steps.”

“More like down at least three spirals.”

“What?” Her voice cracked. She stopped her head from turning to look down.

They stood in silence, clutching the cold metal railing as horror abated from their systems.

“Next time someone tells me to ‘not look down.’” She panted. “I will listen.”

He nodded, then turned carefully on the step to continue the climb. From time to time, they looked up to see whether it looked as though they had made any progress to the top, and were careful not to allow their eyes to look below them. Finally, the stairs ended. They stepped into a slightly smaller space.

“There’s no way out,” he said with a shaky voice, looking around the room. “I think we should go back down.”

“We can’t.”

He turned back to her. The gilded iron railing and the opening in the floor no longer sat in the center of the room. He rushed back to her side.

“What do we do now?” he questioned shrilly. “I want to go home.”

“I do, too,” she consoled.

She left him in the center of the room as she walked the circumference. The granite was cold to the touch, which seemed odd to her. The fire burning in the turret should cause the room to be at least warmer than it was. There had to be something she missed, but what?

He gave up on the idea of ever going back to normal and thought of staying within the walls of Tower for the rest of his life. He was locked in the center of the Tower with her, no one ever knowing what happened to them. He watched her rubbing the polished walls, looking for a way out. He blamed his mother for sending him to their house to check on them—they were not his friends!

“Quit pouting, and come help me.”

He grumbled to himself as he stood. What was there to do in this room requiring his help? He shuffled to her with a put-upon expression. She glanced back at him.

“There’s a seam here. I want you to put your hand on it so that I can find it again. I think I found a hidden door. I want to take a look from a few steps back.”

His mood lightened, and he did as she asked, placing his hand across the fine seam in the granite. The cold of the stone gradually became warmer as he watched her task of slowly sliding her finger along the wall next to him.

“Mary,” he said, his tone alarmed.

“Yeah?”

“My hand is starting to burn.”

“What?” She spun around, facing him.

She looked at the place his hand met the wall; neither looked different.

“It’s probably just the stone warming with your body heat. Take your hand off the wall and use your other hand for a while.”

Watching him try to pull his hand from the wall, she furrowed her brows. It didn’t budge no matter how much force he used. He grabbed a finger with his other hand, attempting to pull it free. A cry of agony filled the room while his face flashed various shades of red. She assessed his hand and the wall again, thinking of the meaning of the Tower. At first, she found no correlation, and then it came to her.

“You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. We’re in this together. If you think we’re going to stay here forever, we will. Only you can change your fate.”

Tower groaned as though it were taking in a deep breath to inflate a balloon. The walls and floor vibrated. She looked him solemnly in the eye and without a word passing between them, he understood it was up to him.

“We’re getting out of this,” she coaxed.

He looked into her eyes, believing her.

“We’re going home,” he said, smiling.

His hand came away from the wall. She smiled proudly.

“I’m sure this is a door,” she said, leaving what just happened alone. “I can’t figure out how to open it. Any ideas?”

He surveyed the area her fingers smudged the glossy stone.

“If it’s a door,” he declared. “Shouldn’t we just push it open?”

He placed his hands firmly on the wall, using strength he didn’t know he had. She joined his efforts, both grunting and groaning. Finally, the block of granite slid forward. They didn’t stop until they were in the next chamber, slumping to the floor exhausted.

About Circus Tarot

In the strange land of World Circus, Mary and Darrin discover they aren’t in their safe, dull life any longer, but have taken the identity of one of the cards from the Circus Tarot. After a terrorizing encounter, resulting in death, they learn the bizarre rules of the land and discover that the denizens of the sinister World Circus want more than to entertain them.

Don’t forget to get your copy of Circus Tarot at Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00785VJIW

Find Charles W Jones at the following places:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ChuckWesJ

Facebook: https://facebook.com/ChuckWesJ

Website: https://charleswjonesauthor.com

 

Welcome to the “WORLD UNKNOWN” Blog Tour! @Jinlobify #4WillsPub #RRBC #RWISA

Welcome to the Vagaries of Life Blog Tour Day 4. Today we have the wonderful Joy Nwosu Lo-Bamijoko with us to talk about her newly-released book THE VAGARIES OF LIFE AND GIRLS TALK!

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joy-photo-for-rwisaThis is the fourth day of my ten days tour.

There was a time I was terrified of writing. Especially, when deciding which of our spoken languages to write in. Writers from my culture before me have also faced this type of fear. Some have written just as they spoke, and it was not always grammatically correct, but they told their stories.

One of my favorite authors, Cyprian Ekwensi wrote in pidgin. Pidgin is a corrupt form of the English language spoken in Nigeria. It is our lingua franca as everyone both the educated but especially the illiterate speaks it. Other English speaking African countries have their own form of pidgin.

It was trilling for me, the first time, to read Ekwensi’s story in Pidgin. I will never forget the effect this book titled Jaguar Nana had on me. It was the story of a Saucy and abrasive young girl. Market women read this story. Those who couldn’t read had it read to them. I had mauled the idea of writing in Pidgin.

The Rules:

I will choose only three winners from the correct matches. The winner with nine correct matches will be gifted with a $15 Amazon gift card and an eBook copy of your choice from any of my books. The second with eight correct matches will be gifted with a $10 Amazon gift card and an eBook copy of your choice from my books. The third winner with seven correct matches will be with gifted a $5. Amazon gift card and an eBook copy of your choice from my books.

Now the catch! If you follow the tour and read the snippets, I would hope that you would buy and read the complete stories and leave a review of the book after the tour.

This tour is supported by another of my books; Pregnant Future. If you want to read that one too, that will be great. However, the focus will be on Vagaries of Life: And Girls’ Talk. Good reading!

Snippet 4:

The first time it struck me that society dictated how I lived was when a highly regarded jazz artist came to Lagos. He visited Nigeria while being hosted by the American Cultural Institute in Lagos. All notable artists in Lagos converged to spend the night with this jazz musician and to listen to him play.

I walked into the venue, to find the place packed full of a mixed audience of both males and females, but I stuck out because I had walked in alone. All eyes shifted to me. I’m not a shy person, but with all those eyes on me that evening, my knees buckled.

I looked around, searching for a seat. Someone stood up and offered me the stool he was sitting on. I thanked him, took the stool and went and sat facing the grand piano. The piano top was open, and it shielded me from the player. That was the whole idea. I wanted to be near the piano, but not able to be seen by the player.

A few minutes after I had taken my position, the jazz musician arrived, flanked by two officers of the Cultural Centre. Behind them walked a popular couple known in Lagos for their jazz spot, Femi and Janice. The two walked hand-in-hand, smiling and waving at everyone…

About the Author, Joy Nwosu Lo-Bamijoko

Joy has written and published extensively on national and international scholarly                journals, magazines, and newspapers. 

Her first short story I Come from Utopia was published in African Voices, Spring/Summer, 2007, pg. 18. Since then, she has published numerous others in RAVE SOUP FOR THE WRITER’S SOUL Anthology, Vols. 1 & 2.

Mirror of Our Lives: Voices of Four Igbo Women was published in 2011 and was shortlisted for the Commonwealth Book Contest in 2012. She has also two books published in the Italian language. The First titled: Io Odio, Tu Odi, & Cinema E Africa Nera, are both by Edizione, Tindalo.

The Legend of the Walking Dead: Igbo Mythologies, is a journey into the   mysteries of life and death of the Igbos of Nigeria was published in 2014.

In Pregnant Future: No One Knows What Tomorrow Will Bring, Justina is the story of every young woman who found herself alone in the world to fend for herself. It is the story of the pitfalls that await such a woman. It is the story of survival.

Her latest book, A collection of Short Stories, titled: Vagaries of Life: And Girls’ Talk was published in December, 2018.

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Pregnant Future – Blurb

 Justina was a fighter. And, although it seemed the world was against her and her future was destined for failure …she persevered in the face of it all.

The future that was being thrown in her face, was not the one she had dreams of …and if she wanted to get her feet on the right path, she was going to have to show the world her strength. But, does she?

Will she have the will to make it to the end, unscarred?

What would you do if you knew what the future had in store for you?

Would you run towards it with open arms, or would you run away and never look back?

Justina must make a choice …before life chooses for her.

Links to Joy’s Social Network:

 My Web Site

 FaceBook

 Goodreads

 Twitter

LinkedIn

Thanks for supporting Joy and her work today! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site.  If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE.  

Lastly, Joy is a member of the best book club ever – RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB {#RRBC}! If you’re looking for amazing support as an author, or if you simply love books, JOIN US! We’d love to have you!

 

 

Welcome to “SONGS OF HEARTSTRINGS” Blog Tour! @MHurdle112 #4WillsPub #RRBC

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Allow me to welcome the wonderful RRBC author Miriam Hurdle today:

miriam hurdle[1610]Miriam: This is Day 3 of “Songs of Heartstrings” Blog Tour. I want to thank 4WillsPublishing for setting up the tour and my host to have me here.

This poetry collection includes nine themes: Songs of Nature, Songs of Dissonance, Songs of Physical Healing, Songs of Marriage, Songs of Parenthood, Songs of Tribute, Songs of Reflections, Songs of Challenge, and Songs of Inspiration. Each of these themes covers various aspects of my life experience. Many poems are illustrated with my photos and watercolor paintings.

 

Songs of Heartstrings received a 5-Star review from Readers’ Favorite here.

Other book reviews are available on Amazon here.

Since I was a teenager, I read Psalm in the Old Testament. The psalmists were honest with their feelings and often asked God questions. Yet they concluded their psalms in hope and praises. My poetry writing style is influenced by the psalmists.

One Blogger’s Review

This was an enjoyable book.  I envision Miriam Hurdle as a modern psalmist, one who may not be a shepherd of sheep but still has a deep connection with creation and her creator.  This book of songs and tales has incredible richness and something for everyone.  Whether you’re in need for uplifting messages, comfort in times of trouble, or celebration of life, Hurdle has you covered.

Overall Review

As I read through many of these poems, I had a feeling like I was reading the book of Psalms.  Miriam is a fitting Psalmist, I’d say – her zest for life and ability to see the Creator in all things is admirable and amazing.  While I felt like I’d known her through her posts and comments, reading this book made me feel like I was intimately connected with the author.

And Miriam Hurdle, I dare say, is someone everyone should know.

If you enjoy poetry or want to be inspired, this is a great set of poetry.  I read the poems one or two a day (sometimes I’d cheat) and try to soak them in.  I don’t know if this is the way I was supposed to enjoy it, but I think it worked for me….- H.R.R. Gorman

(He went on to comment on several poems, A Tiny Spider, Light and Dark, Beautiful Tiny Baby, RIP Randy and Loved and Missed.)

Highlighted Poem from Songs of Physical Healing: The Sun Welcomes Me

Poems written in this section reflects on my melanoma cancer chemotherapy and surgeries experience. I wrote a post in January 2017 as one of the eight posts recounting this process:

“It is a grace I could cross the threshold of 2016 and step into 2017. In January 2009, I was getting ready for my first bio-chemotherapy. It was a nervous moment to face the outcome of unknown; yet it was a chance I accepted because of my love for my husband and my daughter.

Let me go back a little further in time. During my regular annual physical checkup in the summer of 2008, my doctor told me that the fibroid in my uterus had exploded within a year. He referred me to my gynecologist. My gynecologist confirmed that it was time to have hysterectomy done. He said, “You are not planning on having more babies, aren’t you?” I giggled without giving an answer.

My gynecologist did the hysterectomy on July 31, 2008. At 10:00 p.m. on August 1, my gynecologist came to the hospital room to inform me I had melanoma cancer in my uterus. After the removal of the uterus, the cancer cells were still in my female organ area. He told me he made all the referrals of testing and surgery. He left me his cell phone number because he was going on vacation the next day.

Dr. Eisner at UCL did the surgery to remove the cancer cells in October. One thing I still don’t understand till this day was that, the surgeon removed all the cancer cells in the tissues except one cancerous lymph node. He referred me back to my primary care hospital for chemotherapy treatment.

Because of lacking communication, I waited until December before I got the supervisor of the hospital case management paid attention to my case. During the waiting in November and December 2008, my cancer went from stage II to stage IV and resulted in a six-month aggressive treatment. I received the referral to a Melanoma Research Clinic for bio-chemotherapy. The first cycle of treatment began on January 5, 2009. I completed the chemotherapy, surgeries, and radiation in July 2009. I have been in remission ever since.

Day 3. The Sun Welcomes Me

The Sun Welcomes Me

Journey through high and low

amid worrisome melanoma cancer.

The sense of mortality heightened, with

no assumption of

the survival chances.

My prayer was to ask

the mercy of the Maker

granting me one more moment to live.

Every new morning was a precious gift.

Cloudy or sunny the sky might be,

trotting on the street rain or shine

even when having no energy

to pick up my feet.

Hoping to keep up

the physical strength

to sustain through six months of

harsh chemotherapy.

What a profound gratefulness as

treatment fading at the end

when the sun pierced through

the clouds to

welcome me.

About the Author:

Miriam Hurdle is a multi-genre writer. She writes poetry, flash fiction, and short stories and memoir. Her poems are included in Letters to Gaia, Whispers and Echoes Issue 2, Whispers and Echoes Issue 3, and Outcast and More Words.

She is passionate about poetry and her favorite poets are Robert Frost with his poems “The Road Not Taken,” and Linda Pastan with her poem “To a Daughter Leaving Home.”

She is a member of PoemHunter.com, and her poetry may be read on the websites.

Music has rooted in her life. Being a soloist as a teenager led her to taking voice lessons and to have ongoing singing engagements. She continues to sing soprano in choral groups. Lyrics have a major influence in the natural flow of her melodic writing. She writes memoir in the form of poetry.

Along with her brother, she took photos when the films were black and white. Photography is still her enjoyable hobby. Drawing and painting were fun activities as a child. Her favorite was to draw a Japanese girl with big eyes, long hair, small lips and chin. She resumed drawing and watercolor painting several years ago. In her poetry collection, photos and paintings are included to illustrate the poems.

She earned a Doctorate of Education from the University of La Verne in California. After two years of rehabilitation counseling, fifteen years of public-school teaching and ten years in school district administration, she retired and enjoys life with her husband in southern California.

Links to Purchase the Book:

Amazon Universal Link: http://smarturl.it/SongsofHeartstrings

Amazon UK Link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07K1S47W9 

Amazon.com Link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B07K1S47W9 

Contact the Author:

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Miriam-Hurdle/e/B07K2MCSVW

Website: https://theshowersofblessings.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/mhurdle112

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/miriam.hurdle.1

***

To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site.  If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE.  

Lastly, Miriam is a member of the best book club ever – RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB {#RRBC}! If you’re looking for amazing support as an author, or if you simply love books, JOIN US! We’d love to have you!

Thanks for supporting this author and her work!  

 

Welcome to the “ACE CARROWAY AND THE BLOG MONSTER” Blog Tour! @GuyWorthey #4WillsPub #RRBC #giveaway

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Please join me today and welcome RRBC author GUY WORTHEY! He is the fantastic author of the Ace Carroway series. I am currently reading Book 1, Ace Carroway and the Great War.

Please be sure to leave a comment below for your chance to win one of the following prizes:

-(3) Kindle ebooks – Winner’s choice (US residents only)

-(1) $10 Amazon gift card (US residents only) or $10 (via PayPal for non-US residents)

And now over to Guy!

Guy Worthey[1592]Greetings one and all, and a hearty thank-you to my kind host and 4 Wills Publishing!

In this eighth blog tour stop we meet the fifth of Ace’s five associates. He’s got sandy hair and blue eyes in a dark tan face. The suit he wears is almost the same as Bert’s from yesterday but somehow comes off as less showy. It could be the same suit; the two men are about the same average size, both trim, both good-looking as far as my limited powers of judgement can discern.

GW: Greetings, Quack.

Quack: Greetings to you.

GW: Oh, you’ve got a bass voice! I’m a bass.

Quack: Have you ever done radio?

GW: Yes, but tell me, what’s your full name?

Quack: Boxnard Warburton Snana.

GW: Decode that for me. I’m not getting a feel for country or region.

Quack: It is a mixture. My father was, shall we say, well-traveled. His and my last name is his family name among the Lakota, but he could never stay still. He loved South Dakota, but also spent time in Boston and London. Cities fascinated him.

GW: How did you get the nickname Quack? Surely not from Boxnard or Warburton or Snana.

Quack: I was a field medic in the Great War. Bert — I knew Bert at the time — was fond of pointing out that I was not a fully trained doctor, and called me a quack.

GW: How do you feel about that?

Quack: It’s fine. Honestly, the name hasn’t stuck much outside our little group. Also, it’s convenient. “Quack, duck!” is shorter than, “Warburton, get your head down!”

GW: Does that come up very often?

Quack: Often enough. This detective business is risky.

GW: Your grin says that maybe that’s not a bad thing.

Quack: I love it. We all love it.

GW: You’re talking to a guy who is fine with strawberry jam on his toast, and raspberry is acceptable, but leaping to orange marmalade is just too risky.

Quack: It’s not for everyone. You do have to be a little heyoka, a little backwards in the head. But, let me be clear, none of us have death wishes. When somebody says, “duck!” we duck!

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GW: What do you do when you’re not getting shot at?

Quack: I have no steady job, but I do have an unsteady one. From time to time, I’ll land a role in a play. I’m an actor.

GW: No kidding?

Quack: “In jest, there is truth,” says the Bard.

GW: Shakespeare? That’s … very pithy.

Quack: Jest is also necessary to stay sane. We can’t dwell on those times we almost died or we’d be unable to peel a potato for fear of getting impaled.

GW: Honestly? Don’t talk like that. I faint at the sight of blood.

Quack: That’s perfectly fine. You have the luxury of being able to do that.

GW: What? Luxury?

Quack: Imagine living in a small village surrounded by tigers. Danger is constant. Injuries and deaths are common. In such a life, could you really permit yourself the luxury of fainting at the sight of blood?

GW: I’d be tiger food.

Quack: Yes.

GW: Are you really an actor?

Quack: “Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.”

GW: I stand convinced. Thank you for speaking with me today, Quack.

Quack: It is my pleasure.

worthey_stop8_image3[1594]

Quotes by Quack:

Bert-scolding: “Wipe that smirk off your face, Brat, or I’ll wipe it off for you!”

Learning lines and diction: “How do you say saboteur in German?”

Improving Bert: “Envy, Bert? Tsk. It does not become you, old chum,”

On Ace Carroway: “Wait! I heard about you! You were on track to be the youngest M.D. in Harvard history! It only clicked just now.”

Bert-praise: “You got your man, though. By the thunder of the Wakinyan, I think you broke his face!”

On Gooper: “It is odd. Somehow, he blends into the scenery. His red hair is like the red leaves. His pale skin is like birch bark.”

On flying: “We walk on sky trails.”

Quack gets to say the line that I regard as the very pinnacle of book one: “She’s Ace!”

And a limerick!

Blond Quack is a whiz at disguise.

He’s 5 feet, 9 inches, blue eyes.

Actresses: Notice

This actor’s tight focus

And (hard to miss them) tight thighs.

About Guy Worthey:

Wyoming native Guy Worthey traded spurs and lassos for telescopes and computers when he decided on astrophysics for a day job. Whenever he temporarily escapes the gravitational pull of stars and galaxies, he writes fiction. He lives in Washington state with his violinist wife Diane. He likes cats and dogs and plays keyboards and bass guitar. His favorite food is called creamed eggs on toast, but once in a while he heeds the siren song of chocolate.

To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site.  If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE.

Lastly, Guy is a member of the best book club ever – RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB #RRBC! If you’re looking for amazing support as an author, or if you simply love books, JOIN US! We’d love to have you!

About the Ace Carroway Series:

Join Ace Carroway and her motley gang of associates as they travel the world, solving mysteries and fighting crime.

In ACE CARROWAY and the GREAT WAR, sixteen-year-old Cecilia Carroway lies about her age and joins the war effort as a pilot. She earns her Ace nickname over France, but is forced down behind enemy lines. Escape plans are imperiled when Ace catches the attention of imperial minister Darko Dor.

Three years later, in ACE CARROWAY AROUND THE WORLD, Ace’s father dies in a hail of bullets in quiet Hyannis, Cape Cod. Lieutenant Drew Lucy is on the case, but it’s Ace Carroway at the top of his list of suspects.

In ACE CARROWAY and the HANDSOME DEVIL, Ace barely survives an assassination attempt at the hands of her old nemesis Darko Dor. Figuring the best defense is offense, she starts a detective agency in New York. Before the paint on the door dries, a new web of deception ensnares the rookie sleuths. Sudden romantic attention from a pair of handsome strangers is good, right?

Links #1 Great War #2 Around the World #3 Handsome Devil
Paperback Paperback Paperback Paperback
Kindle Kindle Kindle Kindle
Nook, Kobo, Apple, 24 Symbols, Playster, Scribd, Angus & Robertson Ebook $1.99 Others Others

 

Welcome to the Visionary Fiction and the Soul Blog Tour @pdeblassieiii #4WillsPub #RRBC

deblassie

Please join me today and welcome RRBC author Paul DeBlassie III, Ph.D. Paul is a depth psychologist and award-winning writer living in his native New Mexico. He specializes in treating individuals in emotional and spiritual crisis. His novels, visionary thrillers, delve deep into archetypal realities as they play out dramatically in the lives of everyday people.

Here is an excerpt from his novel The Unholy:

pd the unholy with awards[1535]“Hush now, child,” said a voice she recognized as that of her mother’s closest friend. “The man cannot harm you, mijita, as long as you are with us. We will make him think you are dead. But you must be very quiet. Ya nollores,” the woman warned, raising a finger to her lips.

The woman then carried her into a dark cave illuminated by the light of a single candle. The cave was frightening, with shadows of what appeared to be goblins and demons dancing on the red sandstone walls. “I will return for you soon. You will be safe here,” the woman said. The girl watched the woman walk away, shivering as a breeze blew through the cave’s narrow passages.

Closing her eyes, she rocked back and forth—imagining herself safe in her mother’s arms—then opened her eyes to the light of the full moon shining through the mouth of the cave. The shadows on the walls were just shadows now, no longer goblins and demons. As she slipped into a trance, images flickered in her mind. She saw the woman who had brought her to this place scattering pieces of raw meat around the open mesa where her mother had struggled, helped by two other women the girl could not identify.

Suddenly, the scene shifted to a stone ledge jutting over the mesa, and she heard the pounding footsteps of a man running toward the women. The girl felt her heart race and her breathing quicken, afraid that the bad man would spot them and kill them. Then the image shifted again, and she now saw on the mesa three gray wolves circling the raw meat and the man walking away from the granite ledge. As he left, she heard his thought: The child is dead.

***

Paul DeBlassie III, Ph.D. is a depth psychologist and award-winning writer living in his native New Mexico. He specializes in treating individuals in emotional and spiritual crisis. His novels, visionary thrillers, delve deep into archetypal realities as they play out dramatically in the lives of everyday people. Memberships include the Author’s Guild, Visionary Fiction Alliance, Depth Psychology Alliance, International Association for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy, and the International Transpersonal Psychology Association.

Website

Facebook

Twitter

To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site.  If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE.  Thanks for supporting this author and his work!

ebook goddess of the wild thing with awards[1536]

“Exquisite, expansive narrative.” Read the latest 5* #review for #histfic THE SOLDIER’S RETURN #RWISA #RRBC

SoldiersReturnSquare

Exquisite, expansive narrative

“An expansive saga of early 17th Century Germany during the Catholic Counter-Reformation, The Thirty Years’ War, and the Witch Trials of Bamberg – one of the most destructive conflicts in human history. This exquisite narrative follows the travails of a kept farm maid, an alcoholic soldier on the run, and a sadistic Jesuit priest hellbent to rid the region from pestilence, famine and evil through tortuous and murderous forms of purification. Through the lives of these characters we experience the vermin-infested life on the farm replete with bedbugs, lice and fleas; the soldiers’ disease-ridden life on the march, and the zealot’s monastic life of prayer and inquisition. Written from the omniscient perspective of a credible researcher of history, the author pulls no punches in her vivid, sometimes purplish, depictions of plunder, torture, rape and murder, and she portrays the desperate plight of women and children trying to survive against the random vagaries of marauding armies, starving vagabonds, sweeping famine, incest, and the drunken forays of virtually every man in their cloistered lives. Glimpses of love, joy and hope are quickly trampled under the grind of survival, but like the sun, they rise again and again, as does the indomitable spirit and work ethic of the Germanic people. The primary characters’ lives have brutally collided in the past, and their trajectories propel them toward violent ruin. Who will survive? The history books will relate the choices of kings and pope, but if you want to know how their decisions were felt on the ground at the human level, read The Soldier’s Return.”

Review by author Douglas C. Gilbert

THE SOLDIER’S RETURN:

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The year is 1626. A senseless war rips through parts of Germany. Ongoing animosity between the Catholics and the Protestants has turned into an excuse to destroy much of the landscape situated between France, Italy and Denmark. But religion only plays a minor role in this lucrative business of war.

The young dutchman, Pieter van Diemen, returns to Amsterdam in chains after a period of imprisonment in the Spice Islands. He manages to escape but must leave Amsterdam in a hurry. Soldiers are in demand in Germany and he decides to travel with a regiment until he can desert. His hope of survival is to reach Sichardtshof, the farm in Franconia, Germany; the farm he left ten years ago. His desire to seek refuge with them lies in his fond memories of the maid Katarina and her master, the humanist patrician Herr Tucher. But ten years is a long time and the farm has changed. Franconia is not only torn by war but falling victim to a church-driven witch hunt. The Jesuit priest, Ralf, has his sights set on Sichardtshof as well. Ralf believes that ridding the area of evil will be his saving grace. Can Pieter, Katarina and Herr Tucher unite to fight against a senseless war out of control?

Available in paperback and for kindle right here: mybook.to/SoldiersReturn

Welcome to the WATCH #RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour’s final day! #RRBC #RRBCWRW with @NonnieJules

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Thank you all for joining us on our final day of this showcase tour being sponsored by RWISA (RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS), an elite branch of the amazing RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB! This showcase has featured 19 awesome writers, each having their own special day of being featured on multiple blogs.  We ask that after reading the written work of art by each RWISA Author, please click on the link to take you directly to the author’s profile page on the actual RWISA site.

Today we welcome author and founder of RRBC NONNIE JULES!

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EXCERPT FROM THE SEQUEL TO “DAYDREAM’S DAUGHTER…”

(I’ve decided not to preface this piece with any details.  I’d like for the readers to try and “figure” out the direction this piece is going in.  Have fun!)

***

 LEEZA

“Are you gonna buy me a drink or, are you just gonna sit there and stare at me?” Leeza asked the stranger at the bar.

“Uh, sure.  What are you drinking, pretty lady?”  Swirling to and fro, the man gripped the ridges of the bar to keep from falling from the bar stool.  “Hey, bartend, give this pretty lady what ‘er she wants and put it on my tab.”

Leeza looked him up and down.  Although not bad on the eyes, he didn’t strike her as a man with deep enough pockets to have a “tab” anywhere, but, who was she to judge?

“Vodka on the rocks,” she said, gesturing to the bartender.  When her suitor heard her request, his eyebrows shot up.

“Sure you can handle that strong of a drink, pretty lady?” he asked, still teetering.

“That’s not all I can handle.” Her suggestive wink was all the invitation the stranger needed to move a little closer, in spite of the fact that he could barely stand.

“So, what’s your name, pretty lady?” he slurred.

“Anything you want it to be, honey,” she replied.

“Really?  Well, I want your name to be Available.  So, are you?”

As he sat waiting for her response, she was reminded of her puppy, Scratches, paws perched on the windowsill, awaiting her return home from work.

“You gotta pay to play with me,” she nudged.

“Well, honey, you finish up that there drink of yours, and let’s head up to my room.  I’m in town on business and I would love the company of a beautiful woman going by the name…Available.”

In one fell swoop, she turned the glass up and the vodka was gone. The stranger’s eyes bulged again.  Clearly, he’d never seen a woman down a drink like that before.

Turning away from the bar and grabbing hold of his tie, Leeza led the way to the elevator of the hotel…the stranger following close behind, like a leashed dog.

“What’s your curfew, pretty lady?”

The elevator doors had only partially closed when she took her hand and grabbed his penis through his pants.

“I’m a big girl, single with no kids…does that sound like someone with a curfew?” she asked, as the ring of the elevator signaled their arrival to their destination.

Stumbling ahead of her, the stranger swiped his key and pushed opened the door.  Leeza walked past him, falling backward onto the bed.

“C’mon over here and let’s finish the party we started downstairs,” she said, kicking off her heels and propping her legs up on the bed…spread-eagle.

Balancing as he walked, the stranger stood over the bed with a huge grin plastered across his face.  Judging from the growing bulge inside of his pants, it was easy to discern that a grin awaited her there, too.

“C’mere.  You look as if you’re really happy to see me.” Leeza forcefully took him by the tie once again and pulled him on top of her.  When she began frantically unzipping his pants, he held her by the wrists to slow her down.

“Whoa, filly…what’s your hurry?  You said you didn’t have a curfew so why the rush?  Don’t you even wanna know my name?” he quizzed.

“Well, I thought your name was Ready since that’s the way you came across downstairs.”  Feeling a bit toyed with, Leeza’s smile exited. Being toyed with was the one feeling she hated most.

“You’re a funny one, aren’t cha?” he chuckled.  “Ok, well let’s ‘git to what we came here for!  By the way, my real name’s Jim.  Now tell me yours…”

“Nothing’s changed,” she whispered in his ear.  “I’m still…Available.”

Switching off the lamp, she proceeded to undress him by the orange glow of moonlight trickling through the window.   This was a typical night for Leeza;  raunchy sex with yet another man she didn’t know, nor cared to.  After a while, she just lay there and let him have his way.

Then, just as quickly as it had all begun, the party was over…at least, for her. The banging inside her head warned of the onslaught of another massive headache and there was no getting away from it.

Her enjoyment of the night’s events came to a screeching halt as the next one started to take over.

CHRISTY

Jim opened his eyes to a blonde pointing a gun in his face.  Startled, he scanned the room for the brunette he’d brought back with him the night before, but, she was nowhere to be found.

“Give me your wallet!” the blonde demanded.

“Who are you?  And, where is Available?” he asked, his eyes still searching.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t want to know what you’re talking about, capiche?  My name is Christy and I’m not going to ask you again.  Give me…your wallet.”

Jim pointed to his clothes that he’d been stripped of the night before, strewn across the floor.  “You didn’t ask me the first time,” he said“My wallet’s in there. Take whatever you want, just get outta my damn room.”

Christy stooped to pick up the pants, throwing them at him; the gun, nor her eyes, hardly ever leaving the target as she moved.

“Hey, I don’t take orders from you. Remember that. Now give me everything in there that’s spendable.”

Jim snatched the bills from his wallet and threw them at her.  “Here, this is all I have,” he muttered, his tone laced with anger.

“I saw plastic.  I want those, too.  And don’t make the mistake again of throwing anything at me,” she warned, raising the gun to remind him who was in charge.

Jim mumbled something as he gently placed three credit cards on the bed.  Christy snatched the cards up and backed slowly towards the door.  Her hands had barely touched the door handle when she heard Jim yell, “Get out, you bitch!”

Pushing herself away from the door and calmly walking back over to the bed, she could see the fear which had quickly taken up residence in his eyes…the moment when he knew he had pushed too hard.

The growing smirk across her lips catapulted into a full-blown sneer as she lifted the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

“Don’t you ever call me a bitch again.  I told you my name was Christy.”

***

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Nonnie’s RWISA profile page

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