Tuesday 28 May 2019

The Beach House by James Aylott



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Commercial Adult Fiction
Date Published: June 14th 2019
Publisher:Beautiful Arch


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Tales from The Beach House is a satiric work of fiction that sharply captures the “Man-Bites-Dog” world of contemporary South Florida. The Beach House, a crumbling old motel, is home to a collection of eccentric residents. Amongst their ranks; a tennis pro at the end of his game, a mortuary scientist whose love life has flat-lined, a paparazzo photographer searching for scoops, a bawdy duo fronting an improbable Ponzi enterprise, a beauty from “The Islands” with a dark secret, a fried-out TV weather man who claims to channel God, a middle school principal with a soft spot for Crack, a Rod Stewart cover artist searching for redemption, and a waitress serving a side order of erotic fiction. Each member of this cohort is in search of something – fast money, an easy hustle, fleeting romance, enduring love, fame, power, dignity, happiness… a place they can call home. As well as facing their own tender, tragic, and often hilarious personal circumstances, this eclectic gang is compelled by necessity to band together when a sinister developer threatens the very existence of The Beach House.



Excerpt

Contents

Greetings from FloriDuh!                                                       7

Apartment #1 Greyhound Departure                                     15

Apartment #2 Angel of Death                                                35

Apartment #3 Atlantic Crossing                                             53

Apartment #4 Dirty Laundry                                                   67

Apartment #5 The Wolf’s Lair                                                90

Apartment #6 Mayor of The Beach House                            111

Apartment #7 The Barbados Triangle                                   126

Apartment #8 The Intersections of Florida Life                     142

Apartment #9 Mental as Anything                                         169

Apartment #10 Midwestern Sensibilities                               195

Apartment #11 Fifty Shades of Delray                                   219

Apartment #12 Walking on Lake Okeechobee                      237

Bad Men from the North                                                        260

An Articulation of Particulars                                                 287

The Beach House                                                                  312



Apartment #12 Walking on Lake Okeechobee



Randy Showers stood outside the front door of Apartment #12, drinking his morning coffee. He drank only one hundred percent Hawaiian from the Ka’u region of the Big Island. He never added milk or sugar. Any “junk” put into what he said was the finest coffee in the world was, in his opinion, sacrilege.



Randy was well versed in sacrilege; after all, he was a collared Man of God who often told his flock that he personally channeled Jesus. From his elevated second-floor corner position, Randy had a good view of the hive of activity around The Beach House. Palm trees were bending in the force of strong, warm winds that were blowing from the direction of the Everglades. A team of surveyors was measuring up the property parcel with an array of fancy gadgets. A slow-moving and confused-looking man from FPL was tagging and flagging the route of the gas lines between the building and the street. A crew from Surf Way Developments could be seen busily cleaning vulgar graffiti that had appeared on the billboard advertising its new planned development – a large penis and balls in flamingo-pink spray paint wasn’t exactly exuding the dream of luxury that would soon be on offer in this locale. The swimming pool had already been drained and cordoned off to save the Homeowners’ Association spending money on cleaning services for the remainder of the building’s existence. All these events and commotions only added to the general glumness and end-of-days feel circulating around The Beach House.



All the tenants had been served a thirty-days notice to vacate. Pete and Angel, with their inside knowledge as owners, said it was almost certain that nothing could be done to halt the sale, as it had been a binding majority of title holders who had pushed through the deal. Paperwork had been processed, permits pulled, and the City and State had all signed off on the condominium termination and the replacement project. The city of Delray had been overzealous in accommodating this development – no doubt seeing all the extra dollars that increased assessment on the new building would bring to their coffers. The State was also unexpectedly helpful. They hadn’t relished the impending takeover of this dysfunctional Homeowners’ Association, as it would have been real work for some happily underworked Tallahassee civil servants. The owners were simply ecstatic to be rid of their real-estate headaches and were united in satisfaction that the beasts that were Bessie and Gabriel, if not slain, would soon become someone else’s problem.



The people who lived at The Beach House and called that place home were, of course, the real victims of this tragedy of events. Pete and Angel, not that they wanted to leave The Beach House, would be paid out for their property and could easily start afresh someplace else with the proceeds. Bessie and Gabriel would be made homeless, but the consensus was that “you reap what you sow,” and this entire mess was down to their crazy out-of-control antics. The remaining tenants were in another situation altogether. With their bad credit, cheap rent deals, police rap sheets, lack of references and short-term horizons, they would struggle to find local digs where certain questions by landlords weren’t asked. Tonight there was a residents’ meeting with the aim of attempting to halt the redevelopment; but at best this was seen as a feel-good Hail Mary with little chance of success and more likely just an excuse to have a party.



“Fuck me Jesus,” were the strong and unchristian words that came from Reverend Randy Showers’ mouth as he witnessed a fleet of police cars pulling up all around The Beach House. They’ve finally nailed me, he thought. Randy, from his high-ground vantage point, counted at least six vehicles, half marked, and the rest black SUVs with blue lights bolted onto the roof. He slugged back the remainder of his coffee knowing that, if he were lucky, he would be getting truck stop Joe once they had hauled him to jail. Randy knew there was always a chance that this day would come. Not only was there a likelihood that his past would catch up with him, but there was also a looming menace that his present would bite him firmly in the ass. At the very least, he was reassured that he was wearing a pair of clean underpants and his hair looked good. A man with a C-list celebrity resume and a local standing in the church community needed to look cool and classy in the obligatory police mug shot.



As a young, fresh-faced graduate with a liberal arts degree from a South Carolina university, Randy, like many in his position, had no idea what job he was equipped to do. After deep conversations with the careers department he could only come up with a slush pile of jobs he had no interest in. Needing to pay his way through life, he used his fallback good looks and his given name, and signed himself up with a stripper agency.



It was while working a bachelorette party, undressing as a character cop, that a fortunate encounter would take place. On occasion, upon demand, he would give a little “extra service” for a tip. It just so happened that the guest at this party who had paid to play with his baton and cuffs was a high-flying female television executive with local Charleston network WCIV. Upon getting up-close and personal with his good looks and learning that Randy Showers was his real name, the woman told him, “Do I have a job for you!” Randy was hired as an on-camera weatherman for the local evening news. It didn’t matter that he had no meteorological education or television experience. This job was all about looking good in front of a camera and reading a teleprompter. However, the name Randy Showers was the real clincher for this job, as it was the perfect catchy byline for a primetime local television weatherman.



For twenty-five years Randy was Mr. Weather in the Greater Charleston area. He loved getting out of the studio for big events, such as standing on a beach and being blown around in a hurricane, filing his report from a kayak floating on a submerged street during a flood, or going on air shirtless during a heat wave. For a man with zero formal training in this profession he was the consummate local weatherman’s weatherman and won numerous regional awards. However, a local weatherman is also expected to be a trusted pillar of the community, and this part of the gig Randy only half-embraced. He was good at turning on Christmas tree lights, opening new school libraries and being a member of that bright-teethed WCIV team that delivered “dependable news”, but he had one major off-screen flaw – he was a crazed womanizer with a chronic sex addiction. Randy was amazed at just how much of a pull being a local television weatherman was to the ladies. Interns, fellow anchors, women he encountered on promotional appearances and generally anything in a skirt he chased. For twenty-five years his employers somehow managed to pay no attention to the ethics clause in his contract, and like a modern-day Don Juan, Randy thought nothing could ever put a stop to his bed-hopping ways.

While Randy kept his looks as youthful as possible with tax-deductable investments in hair plugs, dental veneers and Botox, these weren’t enough to defy a changing environment. It was a slightly sleazy and embarrassing affair that had been brought to the attention of a new generation of station executives that would lead to his downfall.



During a Friday-night live weather report broadcast from a local High School football game, Randy managed to lure and subsequently corrupt two teenage cheerleaders. In his defense, they may have been sixteen but he swore they had the bodies of eighteen year olds and were experienced in the ways of pleasing a man like a woman of thirty. It was not the first time that Randy had descended on the slippery slope of jailbait, but it wasn’t so easy in the modern era to get away with it when the girls posted incriminating evidence on Facebook. Possibly it was all used as an excuse by management to bring in a cheaper, younger guy. Perhaps it really was a different era where feminist ethics were not only preached but also practiced. The parents came to a deal with the station. Randy was released from his contract, the cheerleaders were given hush money and the hope was that the authorities and the women’s rights attorney Gloria Allred would stay well away. However, there was a statue of limitations that had not expired, and in the eyes of the law it was rape, and a payoff would not save him if the girls ever chose to press charges.



Like many shamed criminals who had escaped hard time, Randy headed to Florida for a fresh start. He knew he would never be hired as a weatherman again, as he was too old and too many questions about his past would be asked. The only other career that he had not tried that fitted in with his catchy name was that of a porn star. Randy was realistic though, and his stamina and girth were just not up to par. Not wanting to put to waste the investments he had made in that artificial television smile and lush carpet of unnatural hair, he did the only thing he thought he was suited for… he started a church ministry.



Reverend Showers, a name he could legally use after the religious crash-course certification he found on the back pages of the National Enquirer, had a good ring to it. He chose a poor African-American area of inland Palm Beach County to start his church, as the black community was religious and would be enthralled by a minor white celebrity priest. However, more importantly, ebony-skinned women were not his thing, so he wouldn’t have to worry about letting his dick interfere with God’s work.



For premises he sublet an underused synagogue. Most of the Jews in that area had moved to better parts of the county and this temple currently sat empty. He had been running his Rainbow Church for just over two years and he would modestly say in public that it had been a great success. In private, though, he would admit that it was all a bit of a racket. Reverend Showers was little more than a smarmy middle-aged snake-oil salesman who, if he weren’t selling God to the gullible, would be selling those same people timeshares on the beach.



Randy had one unfulfilled ambition – he wanted to make it big on a national level. Back in his heyday he had applied for network weather jobs but was never successful. He blamed these fruitless attempts on not having a diverse look, never thinking it could have anything to do with a lack of scientific training. So Randy viewed his new ministry as a way of finally becoming a household celebrity. All he needed to take himself into the top division of men-of-the-cloth was to perform a miracle. The one he had in mind was walking on water, and not just any body of water but Florida’s own Lake Okeechobee. Randy was certain that if he could make it appear that he was gliding over Florida’s largest lake, the national attention would elevate him to the type of riches that even network weatherman could only dream of. Randy was now devoting all his time and money into making this illusion happen. He had reached out to David Copperfield for help and was studying expensive manuals by magicians, as he knew there had to be a way to make this miraculous feat occur.

It was Randy’s consuming devotion to performing this miracle that could have been another reason for his impending arrest, as he was guilty of theft and embezzlement from his church. The donations that his devoted parishioners put in his tray were diverted straight into his pocket. Admittedly, some of it was used to keep the lights on at the church, but the majority was for his living expenses and funding the continued exploration of performing his illusion.



As the police descended on The Beach House, Randy’s main thought was what lawyer he would use. The charge of statutory rape would be easy to defend, as he could find one of those mud-slinging vultures who would paint a picture of those two fresh-faced cheerleaders as the dirtiest harlots in the whole of Charleston. The church embezzlement charges would be a little trickier to evade. Randy hadn’t hidden the money trail very well, often paying for hair-restoration treatment directly from the ministry’s checking account. Then there were the escort girls who were on the church books. That would also be a problem. At the start of his “Finding the Lord” phase, Randy had worked out that the best way of staying out of trouble was to relieve any extra holy spirit via paid ladies.



In the light of day, Randy’s activities looked uglier than a bag of hairless cats and he might just have to plead guilty and strike a deal. Whatever happened, it would be hard to escape from this monster of a self-created mess. What then for him? A man who had fallen from grace for two heinous successive “lapses of judgment” would be somewhat challenged to find a new place in the world. It would certainly be hard to live off his connection with Jesus again, although he would have name recognition and good looks for a man of his age so he could always try his hand at politics. That seemed to be an eternally forgiving line of work. Randy was amazed just how much clarity he was having in what was likely to be his final thirty seconds of freedom.



About the Author

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James Aylott was previously a Hollywood paparazzo photographer and staffer at an American supermarket tabloid. This is the author’s first work of fiction, although he was often creative in his career of entertainment newsgathering and hated letting the truth interfere with a good story. A prior resident of Delray Beach, Florida he is currently embedded in St. Louis, Missouri researching his follow up novel: Tales of Whiskey Tango from Misery Towers.




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Purchase Links

Available on the Apple Bookstore
In print at any good independent book retailer via Ingram Spark.
Paperback $15.99 (ISBN: 978-0-578-47956-9) pp. 320
eBook $3.99 (ISBN: 978-0-578-47957-6)

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Saturday 25 May 2019

Bought



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Last Chance Series, Book One
Erotic Romance, Romantic Suspense
Published: April 2019

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The last memory that Alannah ‘Lanie’ Jackson has of her father is the day he went away. Hidden away in an attic from the rest of the world, the only thing that Alannah ‘Lanie’ Jackson can hold on to is the memory of her father and the hope that one day he will come for her. Every day that passes, the memory of her childhood disappears and she learns that her only purpose now is to please. Trained to act a certain way, the day comes when she can finally be free. She only hopes that the man who purchases her will be kinder than her current master.



Excerpt

The wind had been whipping around all morning. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that I was in the Arctic instead of Oregon. There wasn’t very much that I could see through my small window, but it was big enough to see that the bare branches of the oak tree that had died long ago were swinging in the wind. Not many people came to visit the mansion since I began living here fourteen years ago. But in the last six months no one came to visit at all. At first, I thought it might have been due to the change in weather, but then Master Winston said it was because I didn’t live up to their expectations and therefore, I was of no interest to them. He blamed it on my inability to learn and lack of obedience.

Moving away from the window, I ducked my head and wandered over to my small bed, which was nestled in the corner of the space that was my room. Pulling the covers over my body, I tried to keep warm. The attic was very poorly insulated and the exposed beams that held the rafters were proof. Sometimes it had gotten so cold that I could see my breath. I found the best way to keep warm was to pull the covers up over my head and trap the warmth of my breath beneath them.  As much as I hated this room, I hated what waited for me on the other side of the door when Master Winston came to call even more.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander. As I slowly began to fall asleep, I imagined myself as the fairytale princess who was locked in the attic by her evil stepfather, waiting to be rescued by a handsome prince. I knew the chance of ever being rescued would be slim to none, but just the thought of it actually happening was something that I would never stop hoping for. I wished that things could be as they were when I was younger. I would give anything to be together with my father again. So much time had passed since I’d seen him that every day that went by, my thoughts of him were dimmer. I feared that soon I would forget him all together. I wasn’t sure if it he would even be able to find me. Last Chance, Oregon, was just that, and not many people came here. I don’t think many people knew about this out-of-the-way town, at least not anyone who cared.

“Push me higher, Daddy, I want to go higher and fly like the birds.”

“Lanie, if I push you any higher you are going to fall.”

“I won’t, Daddy. I promise to hold on tight.”

The warm wind felt so good against my skin. I loved my new swing set. It was pink and purple and had two swings, a slide, and a Roman glider. It was the perfect gift for my fifth birthday. I knew why my dad had put in so many hours at work. It was so that he could buy me this swing set. Pumping my legs harder, I could feel myself going higher and higher. It was as though I could reach the birds above me.

Letting go of the chain, I reached out to touch one. It was so close, but not close enough. I felt myself falling from the swing. Instead of hitting the ground as I should have, I was sent spiraling into a pit of fire.


About the Author

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Award-winning Author of the Independent Press Award and NYC Big Book Award. A.L. Long is also the recipient of the National Indie Excellence Award.

My love for writing began several years ago after an early retirement from a demanding job that I loved, but also hated because it consumed so much of my time. Now, I am able to focus my time on what I love. Writing romance has been a life long dream and to actually say that I am a published author is beyond what I would have ever expected.

Even though some may say I have a little naughtiness in my books, I look at it as an added bonus for my readers. After all what is a romance book without a little spice.

When I am not writing, I enjoy spending time with friends either at home or out on the town. Mostly, I enjoy a relaxing night at home where I can enjoy a glass of wine in the company of a good book.



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Thursday 23 May 2019

THE MISSING SEASON



I am so excited that THE MISSING SEASON by Gillian French is available now and that I get to share the news!
If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book by Author Gillian French, be sure to check out all the details below.
This blitz also includes a giveaway for FOUR signed copies of the book, Us Only, courtesy of Gillian and Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, enter in the Rafflecopter at the bottom of this post.
About the Book:
Title: THE MISSING SEASON
Pub. Date: May 21, 2019
Publisher: HarperTeen
Formats: Hardcover, eBook
Pages: 304
Find it: GoodreadsAmazonKindleB&NiBooksKoboTBD

From the author of Edgar Award finalist Grit and The Lies They Tell comes a tense, atmospheric novel for fans of E. Lockhart and Marieke Nijkamp, about friendship, truth, and the creeping fears that can't be outrun. 

Whenever another kid goes missing in October, the kids in the old factory town of Pender know what is really behind it: a monster out in the marshes that they call the Mumbler.

That's what Clara's new crew tells her when she moves to town. Bree and Sage, who take her under their wing. Spirited Trace, who has taken the lead on this year's Halloween prank war. And magnetic Kincaid, whose devil-may-care attitude and air of mystery are impossible for Clara to resist.

Clara doesn't actually believe in the Mumbler--not like Kinkaid does. But as Halloween gets closer and tensions build in the town, it's hard to shake the feeling that there really is something dark and dangerous in Pender. Lurking in the shadows. Waiting to bring the stories to life.
Excerpt:
“It’s sad, you coming here.” Kincaid takes me in, his smile fading. “Now you’ve got no chance.”

No chance. Like he read it in my tea leaves or the lines of my palm. “Why?”

“Because he only takes Pender kids. Likes our taste, I guess.” Kincaid drops his board, glides backward on one foot, never breaking eye contact. “Like . . . hopelessness.”

“And Steak-umms from the caf,” somebody says, making people snicker.

“Liver.” Trace shows his teeth. “God, I love that shit.”

“What about Gavin Cotswold?” Sage says. “Have they figured out how he died yet?”

“Mumbler got him.” Trace.

“He OD’d.” Bree gives Trace a withering look. “He went out in the woods, got fucked up, and died. His own mom thinks so.”

“I heard the animals didn’t leave enough of him behind to be sure.” Trace says. Then, to Kincaid, “Tell her about the first boy. Ricky Whoever.”

“Sartain. Ricky Sartain.” Behind Kincaid, most of the activity has stopped, everybody pulling up some concrete to listen. He’s holding court, a storyteller who knows his audience. “It all started, like, twenty years ago. Kid went missing two days before they found him on the banks of the marsh, way out by the railroad bridge.” Kincaid nods slowly, easing into it. “Somebody put their hands all over him.”

More covert laughter, Trace’s whisper: “Loved to death.”

Kincaid entwines his fingers, working his palms together in sinuous rhythm. “Squeezed him, crushed him. Mashed his spine, smashed his belly.”

A voice speaks up: “My mom said that kid got hit by the train.”

“Of course she did.” Kincaid doesn’t turn. “She also told you that Santa Claus is real and honesty is the best policy and if you’re good, you’ll get into heaven, right?”

Snorts. Somebody mimics, “But my mommy said,” whacking the boy who interrupted with a baseball cap.

“He was folded in half.” Sage grips Trace’s forearm. “That’s what I heard.”

“No.” Kincaid’s hands are tai chi slow. “Lengthwise.”

“Stop.” Bree says it under her breath; I’m the only one who hears.

“Ricky disappeared right around Halloween. That’s the pattern.” Kincaid skates a circuit around us, dismounts, and slaps the tail of the board so it pops into his hand again, all one smooth movement that I wish I could watch again frame by frame. “Truth. After, Ricky’s friends told everybody how they’d all gone out to the railroad bridge to smash pumpkins one night, and there was somebody hiding under there. Too dark to see, but they heard him, mumbling and yammering away.”

Yip, yip, yip! I look up to see audience participation, lumbering shapes aping around the others, sounding like a zoo after hours—Ahhh-ah-ah-ah! Mwaaa-hoohoo!

“Next time anybody saw Ricky, he was red guacamole.” Kincaid pauses, smiling faintly, but he’s not really seeing me now. “Ever since, Mumbler’s been around. Takes a bad kid every few years, always in October. Grown-ups have some bullshit excuse for what happened to them, but we know.”

Nods pass around the circle. I watch for inside looks—they’ll drop the act when they see I’m not taken in—but the quiet drags on. “What’s the Mumbler look like?” I hold
Kincaid’s gaze, willing him to let me in on this, let me prove I don’t scare easy. “So I’ll know him if I see him.”

Kincaid looks to Trace, again with the smile that creases his eyes into merry slits, a kid showing his little sister where Mom hides the Christmas presents. “We can take you to him.”

About Gillian:


I’m a ridiculous, sometimes cranky, often hungry, frequently writing flibbertigibbet who really hopes she can keep doing this for a living.

My debut novel, GRIT (HarperTeen), was an Indie Next List pick, a Junior Library Guild Selection, received starred reviews from Kirkus Reviews and ALA Booklist, was an Edgar Award Finalist, a South Carolina Young Adult Book Award Finalist, and received both a 2018 Lupine Award from the Maine Library Association and a 2018 Maine Literary Award from the Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance.

My other novels include THE DOOR TO JANUARY (Islandport Press; Bram Stoker Award Finalist), THE LIES THEY TELL (HarperTeen; 2019 International Thriller Award Finalist, 2019 Maine Literary Award Finalist, 2018 Junior Library Guild Selection), and THE MISSING SEASON (HarperTeen, coming 5/21/2019; preorder giveaway happening now). My short fiction has placed in Writer’s Digest and Zoetrope: All Story contests, as well as appearing in such publications as Weirdbook and Creepy Campfire Stories for Grownups.

I hold a BA in English from the University of Maine, and I’m a member of the Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance, Mystery Writers of America, and the Society of Children’s Writers and Illustrators. Currently, I still live in my native state of Maine–shocker, I know–with my husband and sons, where I’m perpetually agonizing over my next novel (in the best possible way, of course!)



Giveaway Details:

4 winners will win a signed finished copy of THE MISSING SEASON, US Only.




Tuesday 21 May 2019

Courage to Stand


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Non-Fiction / Law
Published: May 21st, 2019

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Success Through Passion and Endurance

As a leading expert in trial law, Sandra Spurgeon masterfully outlines the art and science of case-winning strategies inside and outside the courtroom.  Having successfully litigated thousands of cases, with over 120 of them litigated to verdict in both state and federal jurisdictions, she reveals the secrets of successful litigation techniques.

You will learn her highly effective strategies for:

Case Selection

Discovery Process

Trial Preparation

Execution in the Courtroom

Spurgeon not only clearly describes these methods, but also demonstrates how to apply them - through real examples of courtroom “war” stories.  Based on her vast experience spanning nearly two decades, Courage to Stand – Mastering Your Trial Strategy, is designed to not only help the beginning attorney, but to also sharpen the skills of veteran lawyers.

This work goes far beyond theory and reaches into the trenches to reveal how some of the most difficult cases can be won by utilizing a proven synthesized plaintiff and defense litigation practice which has collected millions of dollars in settlements and verdicts for her clients.  Having successfully litigated 1000s of cases with 120+ litigated to verdict in both state and federal jurisdictions, she reveals the secrets of successful litigation techniques.



About the Author


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Sandra Spurgeon has been a practicing trial lawyer since 1990. In that time, she has successfully litigated in excess of 120 cases through verdict in both state and federal jurisdictions.

Throughout her career, Sandra has synthesized a plaintiff and defense litigation practice that has afforded her great insight and a unique perspective in "getting to the heart" of the case from the beginning stages thru trial. Thru experience, she has achieved trial excellence in the courtroom.

From a defense perspective, Åžandra's includes not only the handling of commercial litigation but also, the defense of insurance claims, healthcare professional liability claims, coverage and extra-contractual issues and fire & casualty claims.

In Kinney vs. Butcher, 131 S.W.3d 357 (Ky. App. 2004), her successful argument presented to the Kentucky Court of Appeals resulted in the decision delineating the standard for an award of punitive damages. In Pike vs. GEICO, 174 Fed. Appx. 311 (6th Circ. 2006), she successfully litigated the prescribed time period for filing an underinsured motorist claim in KY.

Sandra's practice also includes the representation of victims and families who have suffered catastrophic losses and has collected settlements and judgments in excess of $50,000,000. In 2016 & 2017, she collected in excess of $16,000,000 in settlements and/or judgments. In 2017, Sandra litigated a Federal Tort Claim to judgment with the verdict in excess of $2,000,000. Chrispen vs. United States of America, 7:16-132. Although she has always allowed her verdicts and results to speak for themselves, she considers the verdict in Dotson vs. Sony Electronics, 7:02-CV-35 among one of her biggest accomplishments. Sandra successfully litigated this res ipsa loquitor products liability claim to a multi-million-dollar judgment unanimous verdict in federal court on behalf of a burn victim.

Through experience Sandra has developed a systematic approach for handling of complex litigation matters beginning at case selection, through the discovery process, trial preparation and execution in the courtroom. Additionally, she serves as an expert witness and lectures before various organizations and clients on trial practice, evidence and Kentucky law. Sandra is adept at handling complex legal issues and is a skilled legal writer. Sandra is active in her community where she currently serves on the Board of Directors for Foster Council and Women Leading Kentucky. She has also served as parent representative for the Fayette County School Systems. She is an advocate for children and families in her community and was instrumental in the drafting of the Michelle P. Waiver program for children in KY. She is the proud mother of two adult daughters, Victoria and Elizabeth.



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Thursday 9 May 2019

Along the Waterways


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Historical/Fantasy Fiction
Published:October 2018
Publisher: Xlibris

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Along the Waterways is book two of the Dreamtime Mysteries trilogy. Anthropology student, Rex Graham, is presented with a second set of ancestral paintings encoded with clues about the forgotten legends that formed the Dreamtime legends of his people. Rex revisits a sacred tree in his native territory: the resting place of his deceased grandmother, where the atmosphere of the bush has a hypnotic effect on his mind.  After falling asleep, the bush springs to life and ‘Gran Yan’ shares more history with the Australian bush about a bygone era of indigenous peoples: their journeys, adventures, social gatherings and way of life.

The Booran people, territorial owners of the region, returned to their homeland many generations after journeying to the desert in the wake of catastrophic wild-fires, guided by their migrating bird totem, the pelican.

Following their return to Yaraan Grove, the first-born child was named after the great eagle, Mullawaa that guided them home. The boy proved gifted beyond the people's understanding, and his innovative projects proved unacceptable to their tradition-bound culture. Fearing the youth would anger their earth-mother and punish them with more droughts, they called upon Mullawanda to utilise inventive gifts to rediscover lost skills due to their time spent in the desert, and concentrate on practical needs such as boat-building.  Defying the elders, the youthful adventurer landed himself in unexpected situations and encounters with some unique communities.    Some unsolved mysteries that were raised in book one unfold, as Gran Yan shares the stories. Action, suspense, intrigue and a dabble of romance add flavour to the story, along with the unique inclusion of illustrations created by the author, together with her front and back cover paintings.

The book is divided into seven parts and includes a glossary of indigenous languages, index of characters and their tribal groups, plus a bibliography of cultural research.



Other Books in the Dreamtime Mysteries series:


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Native Companions: Dreamtime Mysteries
Publisher: Xlibris
Published: August 2018

Rex Graham, a part-Aboriginal student of anthropology, is searching for his own indigenous ancestral history: customs, language and dreamtime legends. Due to a lifetime bond to his Aboriginal grandmother, he is enlightened after her passing, when he discoverers the key to his lost people’s history and traditional history: preserved in artwork bequeathed to him on her deathbed. Driven by a passion to learn the truth about the simplistic drawings, the legends unfold as epic mythology: filled with adventure, drama and a wealth of traditional Aboriginal survival and culture.

Barnett captures the strong bond the Booran people have with nature—how they lived off and with the land, communicating with it, respecting it, learning from it. Like any good collection of myths, there is also the educational aspect of these tales. Readers will learn about the spirits the Booran people believe in, manhood initiation ceremonies, and other cultural practices such as communication rules and skin signs with other tribes. Blending a fictional premise with well-researched legends, this book is a great starter read for those interesting in learning more about Aboriginal stories, and includes a glossary of mixed aboriginal language, index of communities and bibliography at the end of the story.




About the Author

 photo Native Companions Author Jenni Barnett_zpsb0mfmdk7.jpg
Jenni Barnett was born and raised in South Australia. During her college education at Glenelg, the author developed an interest in archaeology and indigenous societies. Further to an extensive nursing career, Jennifer embarked on studies in traditional medicine with which she is still involved.

As a registered Traditional Western and Chinese Medicine practitioner, the author has done considerable research into early indigenous cultures. While enjoying creative writing and drawing, she decided to combine the two art forms and incorporate them in a traditional, pre-European setting.

During her youth, Jenni spent considerable time working in remote regions of Central Australia, where she learned about many aspects of Aboriginal culture. She developed a respect for certain Aboriginal people of the time, whom were still practising certain traditional ways of living, including bush foods and medicines as well as arts and crafts.  The author is particularly fascinated by the ability of Australian indigenous bush-men to access a higher sense, or instinct. Their survival skills in remote regions of Australia where early pioneers often perished are emphasized in her writing.

As a semi-retired traditional medicine practitioner, Jenni resides with her husband in Queensland Coastal region, dividing her time between writing, sketching and her health practice. Along with her husband she has spent countless hours establishing a bird friendly environment by cultivating native plants and an eco-friendly environment.


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