All Bookish Things

Wednesday, 8 May 2019

A Bitter Wind

Mystical Fantasy/Sci-fi, Occult, Supernatural

Publisher:FriesenPress

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Can time become stuck at NOW or does it just seem that way?

Can the past be changed without creating a paradox?

Does history repeat or is that something we tell ourselves to cover our poor choices?

When Alexander ‘Ramses’ Smith is assigned to decipher the odd hieroglyphs of the Temple of Khnum—all heka (magic) breaks loose. As a teen, his interest was in metaphysical and sharing psychic experiences with a beloved grandmother. When she died, things turned dark when an Ouija Board freed a terrifying entity with red eyes. He thought he was free of it when he shut his psychic gifts down and began a study of Egyptology—But Shezmu was waiting for him in Esna. Lex found others trapped by the time loop: afret (djinni), the ghost of a former archeologist, Dr. Broderick S. Gillwood, the Neteru (Egyptian gods/goddesses) all conspiring against his scientific training and logical mind.

Lex soon realizes there is no choice but to obey the voices in his head and the mysterious ones of an outer sort. He must rely on the intuitive gifts he fought so hard to quash. Realizing he can see and sense what others cannot, Lex runs headlong into a past life that puts him dangerously susceptible to the hidden secrets infused in the stone ruins. He must quickly re-define his understanding of the lines between imagination and reality or lose the battle for his mind with the darkness created by blood sorcery and a destiny (shay) he never expected.

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About the Author

As a Mystical Author, Anita Merrick is a 3rd generation psychic, retired and living in a wooded area of Erin, NY with her husband, Timothy, and furry children—two West Highland White Terriers and a half-Westie/Cavalier King Charles spaniel. As Crystal Wind (DBA), she is a Psychic Intuitive, Tarot Reader and Medium, an ordained priestess in the Order of Melchizedek. She holds certification as a Tarot Master from the Tarot Certification Board of America. Prior to 1991, she performed as Nehebka, a semi-professional Oriental (belly) dancer; at the same time raised, trained and showed Appaloosa horses. A Bitter Wind, a first novel, comes from a life-long love of Egypt that probably really began in 1988 as a belly dancer and a first trip to Egypt and a performance at the Winter Palace of Luxor. Starting about 1991, her focus went to the paranormal, supernatural and metaphysical, as well as the tarot. That led to the next trip to Egypt (1997) with a group of like-minded friends then a synchronistic connection with Nicky Scully/Shamanic Journeys, Mary K. Greer and Normandi Ellis, Anita returned to deepen an understanding of the mystical. The last trip in 2011 (Shamanic Journeys) most powerfully connected her to the mysteries of Egypt—Like a portal opened into the ancient past, the spirits spoke and their stories became this book.

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Tuesday, 7 May 2019

Digit: Robot Dog Stops Bullying At School

Children's Book

Publisher:Xlibris

The story is about a Robot dog named Digit. Digit the Robot dog who helps to stop bullying at the Zipper Elementary School. Digit is a large robot dog that rolls down the hallways at the Zipper Elementary School. Digit is a special dog because he teaches children not to bully each other in school. Digit carries a red toolbox kit that teaches children about positive behavior, positive role models, positive rules, being kind to one another, being helpful to each other, and teaches children how to deal with problems about bullying in school. Digit teaches the children how to be friendly, to share, to say please and thank you but most of all he teaches them to have positive behavior. Digit lets the children program the computer. Digit has a special red toolbox kit with special positive reward for those children who are well behaved in and out of school. Digit says, “Bullying Hurts! It hurts us all. Stop Bullying now!

Other Books by Sophia Z. Domogala:

Buzzin’ with Kindness

Publisher: Xlibris

The story is about ten bees bullying one another while flying around in Mrs. Busys classroom. The ten bees are buzzing very loud, shouting at one another, crashing into one another, pushing, shoving, trying to sting the children, and flying around the classroom while Mrs. Busy is teaching. These are not acceptable behaviors. The bees are being rude and are trying to bully one another. All of a sudden, the bees decide being bullies is wrong. Being bullies to one another is not the correct thing to do. The bees decide to be kind, use kind language to one another, use good manners, be polite, and set a good example for the children. Being bullies set a bad example for the children. Mrs. Busy tells the children to behave nicely to one another. She tells the children they should not push, hurt, shove, or bully one another. They need to be thoughtful, kind, and say Excuse me or Im sorry. Being a bully is not the correct behavior either in school or outside of school or anywhere. Mrs. Busy tells the children to do their best in school and play together nicely as bullying hurts the feelings of others. Mrs. Busy lets the children know they should use only kind words and their indoor voices, they should be good listeners, and they should not punch, kick, shove, hit, spit, and grab one another. Bullying hurts others. The ten bees were wrong to hurt one another. No bullying! Bullying others is not an acceptable behavior. Bullying hurts!

Amazon

About the Author

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Dr. Sophia Z. Domogala, (Doctorate in Education) , grew up on Long Island, attended Uniondale High school, New York and a resident of Eatontown, New Jersey for over 40 years. Dr Sophia Z. Domogala. Earned a Master’s of Arts degree, and Bachelor’s degree from Hofstra University, New York, and received Doctorate degree from Nova Southeastern University, Florida, in Educational Leadership. In addition, did post-graduate work at Monmouth University, West Long Branch, New Jersey, and course work in School Law, St. Peters University, and Georgian Court University in New Jersey. Served as a banking business consultant and pursued a career in the public education field for over twenty years as a special education teacher, elementary school teacher, middle school teacher, principal, curriculum coordinator, and Director of Pre-School. Enjoys challenging and engaging students in creative school and community projects, the arts, music, theater, traveling, cooking, and enjoys drawing, oil painting, and sketching. A member of the Stanford Who's Who, Black Book, and Manchester Who's who book, the Executives Professional Women's Book and was nominated for Presidential Award. Member of the NJPSA and the National Association of Elementary/ Secondary Schools Principals.

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Friday, 3 May 2019

Drakon's Knight

Today N.J. Walters, Entangled Publishing, and Rockstar Book Tours are revealing the cover and an excerpt from her Romantic Fantasy Book which releases on June 24, 2019! Check out the awesome cover and enter the giveaway!

On to the reveal!

Title: DRAKON’S KNIGHT (Blood of the Drakon Book #7)

Author: N.J. Walters

Pub. Date: June 24, 2019

Publisher: Entangled Publishing. LLC (Amara)

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 400

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, B&N, iBooks, Kobo, Entangled Page

Drakon Jericho Drake, the child of a pure-blood dragon and human, has a simple plan: Kill the leader of the Knights of the Dragon and start a war. Except, when he meets his target, Karina Azarov, she can’t remember who she is. Worst of all––he can’t kill her. His dragon side has just claimed the dangerous woman as his mate.

Karina has no idea why these Drakon’s have taken her to their home. And she most certainly does not understand why she’s so drawn to her captor. Maybe because he’s strong, intelligent, and caring, in his enigmatic sort of way. One thing she knows, he’s not going to hurt her. If only she could remember something from her past that would explain why these Drakon’s hate her so much.

But if her memory returns, mated or not, he may get his war.. And one of them will die.

Read all the books in this amazing companion series!

Excerpt:

He caught her chin in his hand. Surprised by his action, she allowed him to lift her face until their gaze met.

“I had no plans to kidnap you.” His voice was so impossibly deep it seemed to vibrate in her very bones.

“No?” She reached up and wrapped her hand around his wrist. Or tried to. It was too thick for her fingers to reach all the way around.

“No.” He shook his head, making his hair flow around his shoulders. At some point, he’d lost the tie that had held it back. It was thick and lush, and she wanted to run her fingers through it, which was crazy, considering her circumstances.

The air practically cracked and snapped with tension until she wasn’t sure she could bear it for one more second.

“Well?” she demanded.

“I didn’t plan to take you.” He leaned inward until their noses were almost touching, his breath puffing against her skin. His nostrils flared. “No, I didn’t plan to take you,” he repeated as he rubbed this thumb over the curve of her jaw. “I’d planned to kill you.”

About NJ:

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Todaybestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $5 Amazon Gift Card, International.

Giveaway ends May 13^th, midnight EST.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday, 24 April 2019

Bobby Ether and the Jade Academy

YA Fantasy

Date Published: April 24, 2019

Publisher: Koehler Books

When sixteen-year-old Bobby Ether is abducted and brought to the secluded Jade Academy in Tibet, monks teach him and other special students how to tap into their Anima—the universal energy that connects all living things. But the headmistress of the academy is secretly exploiting the students, looking for genetic triggers to create a new breed of humans with metaphysical abilities. As his powers increase, Bobby is thrust into a cesspool of conspiracy, lies, and betrayal. A jade amulet left by his clairvoyant grandfather may provide answers, but what exactly is his family's connection to this mysterious place?

Can Bobby master his talents in time to uncover the truth? If not, his fate—and the fate of the entire Jade Academy—may be sealed.

Praise for Bobby Ether and the Jade Academy:

"Tragedy, mystery, and suspense make this scientific coming-of-age story a fascinating read." --Clarion 5-star review

"Bobby Ether and the Jade Academy is a thrilling action-packed adventure you never want to end." --IndieReader 4.5 stars

About the Author

R. Scott Boyer graduated from the Haas School of Business at UC Berkeley in 1996. In 2008, he became fascinated with the idea of blending young adult fantasy with new-age fiction and thus began his journey as a writer. While maintaining a full-time job, he couldn't help but envision the kind of book he wanted to read. This exploration led to the creation of the Bobby Ether YA fantasy series, which combines spiritual elements with ancient myths and legends to create fun, fast-paced stories tailored for young adults but suited for adventure lovers of all ages.

Through his writing, Scott likes to explore various spiritual and metaphysical themes, including karma, serendipity, communion with nature, and the interconnectedness of all living things. In his free time, Scott likes to play basketball and tennis, as well as bike with his rescue dog, Patch. Over the years, Scott has been involved with a number of volunteer youth organizations, including United In Harmony, YMCA summer and winter camps, various basketball programs, and C5LA.

Raised in Santa Monica, California, Scott still resides in the Los Angeles area close to his family.

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Saturday, 13 April 2019

Tick Cooper

YA & Adult Historical Fiction

Publisher: Black Opal Books

“I swear by everything I ever owned that my adventure will be the honest truth—even if I had to tell a few lies along the way to get to the meaning of that truth.” So promises Tick Cooper, a twelve year old Ohio boy who’s about to accompany his Uncle Ned down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers to New Orleans. It’s the autumn of 1860, right before the election that will send Abraham Lincoln to the White House. With his mother deceased and his father having deserted him for the chance of gold in California, Tick has been most fortunate to receive the care and love of his father’s older brother and his wife—Aunt Clara. Although she has recently passed away, she and Uncle Ned have educated the boy about living a good and proper life. But Tick hasn’t had much of a chance to put what he’s learned into practice—nor to face the moral challenges every young person will face as he or she grows up. But the river journey will provide plenty of those experiences and tests of character. Yet, reaching New Orleans does not conclude the lessons and challenges, for there Tick witnesses a slave auction, and on the block is a thirteen-year-old freed black girl named Clarissa, whom Tick had briefly met in Ohio. Now Tick faces his most significant challenge. Can he help get Clarissa back to Ohio all the way from New Orleans?

Excerpt

There I was jumping from the top of one tree to another. It wasn’t exactly as if I was flying, because I had to land on the top branch of each tree, but it sure felt like flying. Geese were following me and honking away like they were trying to warn me about something. But when I decided to forget about the tree tops and just fly, I fell hard to the ground thirty feet below and started rolling down the side of a hill while I was hiding my face in a pillow. I kept feeling the feathers from the goose down pillow sticking out and poking my cheeks and the side of my neck. Try as I might, I couldn’t pull that pillow off my face and it got to be stained with the blood coming out of me. But I kept rolling and rolling until I was stopped by something firm but soft. But by the time I finally pulled the pillow away from my face to see what or who had stopped me, I woke up and I never found out. That happens to me in dreams a lot. Wish it didn’t, though. What woke me up was my Uncle Ned telling me it was time to leave our house and get on the train to Cincinnati where we would get aboard the steamboat the St. Paul and head down to New Orleans. I was about to leave on the greatest adventure of my life. I swear by everything I ever owned that it will be the honest truth—even if I had to tell a few lies along the way to get to the meaning of that truth. Uncle Ned shouted from the front porch of our house in Oxford, Ohio, “Time to catch the train, Tick.” That’s my name—Tick—Tick Cooper. Or what they’ve always called me anyways. Uncle Ned said I’d always remember this day as long as I lived, but I still wrote it down when we got on the train in Hamilton so I’d be sure never to forget— “November the 1st, 1860.” We would ride some thirty-five miles to Cincinnati, the 2 largest city in the whole state. I’d a been on the train only once before—when the railway first opened, when I was six. But what gets a boy excited when he’s six and what gets him excited at twelve are quite different things—so this time I acted all grown up like I’d ridden the railroad every week. I didn’t jump around and bother Uncle Ned the way I did the first time. Even so, it was still pretty special chugging along in such high style. Nothing much happened on the train for the first twenty miles or so, but two more passengers got on and right afterward I heard some commotion going on in front of where we were sitting. “I say that’s my seat you’re sitting in. Get out of it now.” The man who said that was an elderly gent who looked like he had gotten into many tough scrapes in his life. He had long white hair and side whiskers, but what I grabbed my attention most was his scarred-up face. It looked like someone had dug trenches on his cheeks and above his right eye. And he seemed much bigger and stronger than men as old as he was. He was talking to a boy who looked younger than me—maybe nine or ten. The boy was in the seat by himself and was just too scared to say anything back. “You had better come up with a good reason why you took my seat or I’ll rip your nose right off your face, boy.” Because Uncle Ned had fallen asleep, it was up to me to do something. I just had to be sure that boy kept his nose on where it was, so I ran up to the man. “Excuse me, mister. My brother here is in the wrong seat. Come on, Ben. Your seat is back with us.” That boy almost flew out of the seat and headed to the back of the train car. “Excuse my brother, mister. He doesn’t hear well and sometimes I have to tell him things twice.” I turned and walked back to my seat, expecting that that white-haired old devil would 3 grab me and try to take my nose off. But he didn’t say or do anything. He just grunted and sat in the seat I guess he always sat in when he rode on that train. I found out that Ben’s real name was Peter Butler and that he was put on the train by his grandpap so he could take a steamboat from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh, where his mother, father, and baby sister had just settled in a house. I told him I’d look out for him until we reached Cincinnati, where his grandpap’s brother lived and would take him in for the night. We talked about the man with the scars on his face—I mean we talked softly so we wouldn’t wake Uncle Ned or let that old buzzard hear us. I told Peter that some folks believe they really own whatever they use often—cups, chairs, and such--and that it’s easy for someone big to get what they want from someone smaller, who can’t do anything about it. And if that big someone is also real ugly, it’s all the easier. When I told Peter my name, he wanted to know if I was born with it. I told him that when I was born my father named me John Polk Cooper, but those first two names never really suited me much. It was Aunt Clara who first called me “Tick” because when I was a baby I used to burrow into the blanket like a tick into a dog’s back. But the name really stuck when I started running around and hiding in bushes, old dead trees, and holes in the ground. I also like the sound of Tick Cooper better than John Cooper or John Polk Cooper any day of the week. One of my teachers said that Tick Cooper wasn’t as easy to pronounce as John or John Polk Cooper, because the first name ended with a “k” sound and the second name began with the same sound. But she was educated and I guess those things matter to those kinds of folks. Ben said that Polk was a funny name to be stuck with—and it was, but from what Uncle Ned told me I got my middle name because of the then president of the United States, James Polk, who they say kicked the Mexicans out of Texas and took it for the 4 United States. Uncle Ned said that my father thought Polk did the right thing, but from what Uncle Ned also told me, my father once shot a man in the leg who claimed that the twelve feet at the very back of my father’s land rightfully belonged to him. They say the man showed my father the papers, but my father shot him anyways, saying that it was the law that those who live on the land and cultivate it have all right to it. I guess old President Polk never heard of that law when he took Texas. So since I was born on March 3, 1848, I got stuck with a Polk between my first and last names. If I was born three years ago my name would have been John Buchanan Cooper, which was wore then the name I had. As Aunt Clara used to say, “Thank heaven for small favors.” When the train stopped in Cincinnati, we waited until the foul-looking man left the train car before we did. Uncle Ned woke up and finally met Peter, who thanked me for helping him and waited until he saw his grandpap’s brother before getting off the train. I wished he was going to New Orleans instead of Pittsburgh, because I knew I’d never see him again, but my Aunt Clara used to say that the older you get the more often folks would come in and then out of your life—sometimes on the very same day. Aunt Clara. I guess I forgot to say that she was Uncle Ned’s wife and was always like a mother to me, since my own mother died when I wasn’t yet two years old. I’m still very sad that Aunt Clara got real sick and died a few months back. The day before we left Oxford, we went to see her grave at the Old Yard Cemetery. Uncle Ned had been going there every week since she died, but he never made me go with him. I just did it on my own every few weeks or so, but it was more to be with Uncle Ned because I really wanted to go. Not that I’m afraid to visit the graves of all those dead people. I’ve been there after the sun went down with three of my friends and was the very last to run out of there, which won me the wool cap we found snagged on a tree limb the day before. 5 Anyway--at her grave, Uncle Ned told Aunt Clara that he’d be going away for a spell and he’d be thinking of her all the time. He also told her that he’d be taking me with him. She was so good to me—she really was. As soon as we got off the train, we heard a noise on the wooden platform—a kind of “ker-thump” every several second or so, so we looked around and saw a man who looked like he hadn’t shaved his whiskers in a hundred years limping along with a wooden crutch under his arm, which he dragged as he took a step with his good leg. Good leg? I should have said only leg! Uncle Ned reached in his pocket for a coin or two, which he liked to do whenever he saw someone who couldn’t walk or see too well. So I reached in mine and pulled out one of my two new Indian head pennies. My other one was back in my room at home, but I always carried one of them with me for good luck. But when I looked at the coin, I wanted to think that Uncle Ned’s contribution would be enough that the one-legged old soul wouldn’t hold it against me if I jammed my lucky coin back in my pocket. I sure didn’t want to be without luck on my grand adventure to New Orleans. But I didn’t think or act fast enough because the next thing I knew I had put my Indian head penny in the man’s hand. He closed his old fist around it, and I felt like I dropped my hunting rifle down a well. My stomach became as heavy as a cannon ball, and my throat felt as dry as if I had swallowed a campfire. Being charitable isn’t always “its own reward,” as Aunt Clara used to say. The poor man had only limped about ten feet away when two men in fancy clothes, with new top hats and walking sticks came up behind him and started laughing and pointing at his crutch. I guess these were men because they were dressed in all high fancy, but they acted like boys not much older than me. The one in the striped pants took his walking stick and swung it like he was chopping at a low limb and knocked the 6 crutch out from under the old man, who fell to the platform before I could take get close enough to break his fall. Those two dandified gents both burst out laughing as the old man let out one of them painful old man’s screeches, with a whistling sound—probably because he lacked some front teeth. The coins he had gotten from me, Uncle Ned, and some other kindly folks were scattered all over the platform. And then you know what those two popinjays did? They threw down several coins themselves! I couldn’t believe it. I guess they paid for the right to hurt the old man. Or maybe they did it to make sure their consciences wouldn’t bother them none. Uncle Ned told me once that some folks believe they can make up for their being cruel and thoughtless by giving money. And these two gents were nothing compared to what I’d see later on my adventure. But I’m running ahead of myself. When I went over to help up the old man, I saw my Indian head penny about six feet away, picking up the bright sunshine, which made it sparkle. When I got the crutch situated under the old man’s arm, I walked over and picked up the coin. I was afraid someone else would take it and use it to buy something useless. No. Now wait. That’s not all of it. I better come clean or this tale isn’t going to be worth you’re taking the time to read it if I don’t. To tell the honest truth, I picked up the coin mostly because I wanted to think more about his need for it, since four other folks gave the old man more money. I picked up my coin as the lame old man was walking away with the rest of the money that someone had picked up from the platform, along with the new coins just placed in his hand. I knew he wouldn’t miss my Indian head penny—not one bit--and seeing that it and the other penny back home were gifts from my Uncle Ned, I decided to put the penny back in my pocket. For about a second. I caught up with the old man and gave him my good-luck penny for a second time. Maybe I was wrong, but I just felt he needed the good luck 7 much more than I did. Then I heard Uncle Ned calling me, and that was the last I saw of my penny and the old man. But not the last I’d see of those two high-hatted, dandypants scoundrels who knocked the old man down.

About the Author

photo Tick Cooper Author John Vance_zpsnkmizxpe.jpg

During his career as Professor of English at the University of Georgia, John Vance was the author of six books and numerous articles devoted to literary biography and criticism. He also began indulging his love of theater as actor, director, and playwright, with thirty-five of his plays staged. Now he has turned exclusively to fiction, and is the author of fourteen novels, including the humorous memoir Setting Sail for Golden Harbor and the recently BookBub featured In Mind of the Vampire. He lives in Athens, Georgia with his wife Susan.

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Thursday, 11 April 2019

Room 11 by Mari.Reiza

~ Book Blitz ~

Room 11 by Mari.Reiza

Women's Psychological Fiction

About the Book:

After an accident leaves his wife in a coma, he sits on a hospital chair day-in day-out singing to her. Nobody can pull him away from her as she threads through the rage that could save her. Meanwhile, a desperate nurse grows her admiration for him into obsessive desire.

Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon

Quotes
Anyone can see this man is drawn to his wife with fanatical intensity, beseeching God to give him sense so that he can reconcile the irreconcilable. Paradoxically, through him and his comatose wife I have a vision of order I can aim to, it comforts me to breathe the same air as this man, being part of his landscape. (nurse)

My mother is tight, neat, closed. I want to explode and scare her, show her the real me. I want her to see through to the real me. But I don’t dare, because whenever she’s around I revert to nothing. I wonder if the pain will go once she’s dead. Then I feel guilty. (wife)

He couldn’t learn to do her toes in a hundred years, and surely hopes he won’t have that long, so he gets someone else to come in once a week who also does her wax every three weeks. That’s how my patient’s heels are soft like a baby’s, unlike mine, which are cracked and tired of my body being on my feet all day. Her legs are smooth like silk, whilst sleeping next to me must feel like lying in bed with a horse brush.

‘I have not slept for nights, I have not slept for nights. I do not remember when I ate last, an apple on Thursday.’ I feel like my flow has dried and I can’t fly anymore. (wife)

The man in Room 11 is singing again as he keeps watch on his Salvador Dali girl dripping out of the canvas of the world. ‘We longed for a child but he was stillborn.’ Next he pauses and takes his eyes off me to look out of the window, so I cannot see the hollowness in them. ‘She suffered like a dog,’ he whispers. ‘But we’re ready now, when she comes back.’

Read a Snippet:

For what seems like a long time, I lay there listening to my family on the other side of the door, loudly talking over each other like politicians. I can’t believe they are standing in the middle of the corridor shouting. ‘What about?’ There is always one tragedy or other to be glossed over if it is serious or thoroughly analysed if it is irrelevant. ‘What’s the drama now? It’s not like there has been an accident!’ I already know that no one will ask about my recent diagnosis, not even extend me a rigor mortis hand, because my family likes to pussyfoot. They’d rather switch on the TV, the radio or both, without really taking notice of either, and keep discussing which butcher sells the best chistorra. There is security in boisterous gatherings and the noisier the merrier to cover any scary silences. I can hear so much upheaval already, it clouds my senses. It is their motto, ‘There is to be no lull in the meaningless communication of inanities.’ Yet attempting any real understanding of each other is taboo, a pagan ceremony for needy morons. ‘Will we go with all our feelings to the grave?’ I want to ask. (wife)

About the Author:

Mari.Reiza was born in Madrid in 1973. She studied at Oxford University and worked as an investment research writer and management consultant for twenty years in London, before becoming an indie fiction writer. Also by her, Inconceivable Tales, Death in Pisa, Sour Pricks, A Pack of Wolves, STUP, Mum, Watch Me Have Fun!, Marmotte’s Journey, West bEgg, Room 11, Triple Bagger, Caro M, Opera, the Retreat, sells sea shells and aberri (homeland), all available on Amazon.

Author Links:
Website * Twitter * Instagram

Room 11

~ Book Blitz ~

Room 11 by Mari.Reiza

Women's Psychological Fiction

About the Book:

Read a Snippet:

It’s not a very romantic arrangement I have with Dr. Patel. I don’t find him very attractive, with shoulders and hips like tatty coat hangers with a bit of old hairy flesh slapped on, and favourite hobbies including reading Stamp Collector’s Magazine and listening to Classic FM. The only ‘exciting’ thing he owns is a recent tattoo of an anchor over his left hip and God only knows what that’s about! It makes me puke the way he feels that I respect him more than fear what he may do if I don’t, ‘with an element of coquetry,’ as he puts it. He’s very proud that he’s helping me, proud of my little single storey house in a not too bad neighbourhood with one and a half bedrooms and a bathroom large enough for a proper bath. He loves soaking in my bath he calls his, reading his Stamp Collector’s Magazine whilst I rub his back. My living room has a fireplace with a mantelpiece where I display a picture of me in my university gown, flanked by my parents. The frame is good quality but slightly hidden amongst towers of pink and purple novel spines screaming love. But I don’t have a picture of the man I loved back in Ghana. Dr. Patel teases me enough already about my university photo, about being a near-doctor by training yet spending my life cleaning hospital floors, and he would tease me more if he knew that I’m still in love with a man who was cut to pieces back home years ago. I know that my humiliations excite him. (nurse)

About the Author:

Wednesday, 10 April 2019

THE TALENTED 2

I am so excited that THE TALENTED 2 by Desy Smith is out now and I wanted to share the news!

If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book by Author Desy Smith, be sure to check out all the details below.

This blitz also includes a giveaway for a $10 Amazon, International, courtesy of Desy 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 TALENTED 2

Author: Desy Smith

Pub. Date: April 8, 2019

Publisher: Floebe Publishing

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 315

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon

I'm back and better than every with my memory intact, mind you.

After learning that Flame, the guy whose sexiness I can't stop admiring is my equal. I would have loved, a few days alone with him. Of course, I never get what I want. Instead, the world, is about to end per usual, because my brother Lucifer, has escaped Hell, again. This time he's stationed himself outside my company, where he's most likely going to kill Queen Isabelle. Sigh. It's up to me to save the day, once more.

Follow Carmel, the Water Talent/Angel for the continuation of her journey in The Talented Kingdom. Where she discovers, she has an equal, meets her son, and the King's Council. While think of some way to stop Lucifer from ending the world.

About Book 1:

Title: THE TALENTED

Author: Desy Smith

Pub. Date: February 6, 2019

Publisher: Floebe Publishing

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 65

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon

Picture this, it’s your last night on the cruise ship. One would expect to drop it like it’s hot one more time or summon the courage to get up on stage and sing the karaoke song you choose days ago.

Of course, I didn't get the chance to partake in any of that, and I should be disappointed or even upset but I’m not, you see I anticipated this. As soon as he, Flame, also known as King Ezekiel’s right-hand man, boarded the ship, I knew without a doubt, something was going to happen.

So when the ship begins to sink, I don’t panic. I jump straight into action. You see, I’m not human, I’m referred to as Talented which are Angels. No, we don’t have wings, well not all of us anyway, and no our appearance is not human. We’re colorful, literally.

Now what I didn’t expect was for Flame to drag me to The Talented Kingdom under false pretenses, no less. If he didn’t make me tingle in weird places, I would have strangled him when he first boarded the ship.

I suppose going to The Talented Kingdom, isn’t bad. I mean, I’ll be around my people, and possibly get to see Flame butt naked. Which is great right? But something is telling me not to go and I don’t know why. Oh well, I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there, that’s if I don’t die first or fall into another coma.

Join Carmel in her world of The Talented, where nothing is what it seems. Angels and Demons are constantly at war with each other and themselves. And the four elements, water, fire, earth and air are controlled and manipulated by the Talented. These aren’t the angels from your bible.

About Desy:

Desy Smith, MFA, is a paranormal romance author and English teacher who is on a mission to expand her readers' minds and create unique worlds that they can escape to through the power of storytelling. Her poignant writing style features sassy heroines, urban drama, angels, wolves, demons, witches, and sensual scenes.

Born, raised and based in Dallas, Desy spent most of her childhood picking apart movies and books. Her mother and her affinity for all things supernatural also really drove Desy to dabble in life's unknowns and use her imagination. Ultimately, this led her to writing stories of her own at just 10 years of age. After her release of "The Talented (The Messenger Series)" this February, she will be working on book number three, and plans on writing until her last breath.

Currently, Desy is the Founder of Floebe Publishing, where she publishes her own and other writers' short stories (of 15,000 words max) with the busy reader in mind. She also provides complimentary creative writing advice to her fellow word weavers.

When she doesn't have a pen or book in hand, Desy Smith is a movie buff and foodie with an unquenchable sweet tooth (having a gluten allergy makes things a bit tricky). She also isn't much of a whistler and has a round face (people like pinching her cheeks any chance they get). With her "carpe diem" mindset towards life, she looks forward to exposing her readers to realms unseen.

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will win a $10 Amazon or B&N gift card, International.

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