Welcome to my new work ‘under construction’ “Arrival” A Paranormal Thriller. An excerpt will be featured each week.

Welcome to my new work in progress! “Arrival” A Paranormal Thriller.

MIND CONTROL FOR TO BE CONTINUED PAGE ARRIVAL.

I will be featuring an excerpt from “ARRIVAL” my latest work (In progress)  each week. I have listed this as a paranormal/thriller. I have yet to decide if I should add Dystopian to that genre list.

Your thoughts and comments would be greatly appreciated.

Here we go! (No synopsis)

CHAPTER 1 Excerpt 1.

“Arrival” by Suzanne Burke

The blood was pooling now. Rapidly drying in the oppressive heat of early morning.

It caked the whitewashed walls in grotesque patterns, like Picasso on a bender.

The team moved softy, with the silence of impending death, sending ‘activation’ messages to those of the ‘Breed’ that stood  watching the carnage without expression.

The other onlookers, the latest generation of ‘Nontells’ were deemed irrelevant. They would do as instructed; unaware of the invasive and hostile messages they lived their pathetic lives around.

Diablo Ortega was a Nontell. He watched the Breed experts carefully, fascinated as always with the teamwork without words that they excelled at. The nagging doubts he had of their intentions lay dormant at such times. The poetry of movement between them was a beautiful thing to behold.

It was only when his own part of the job was complete that those niggling thoughts carved a valley into his brain. The bodies were still warm to the touch. Death had not yet visited for long. Dismemberment was carried out in routine order. Diablo had a fleeting gratitude that his team did not need to decapitate the body. Taking the limbs was sickening enough.

His face reflected no horror. For he had witnessed far worse.

Why did the the Breed insist that all Nontells leave the room once forensics were underway. Why did the Breed always clean the gore themselves, when they had an army of Nontells to do it? It made no sense.

Why indeed were the ‘Breed’ at all times,the last ones to remain on the scene, and the first to arrive?

Diablo tried unsuccessfully to stem the tide of his suspicions. The ‘Breed’ could read his thoughts, he was certain of it; all that kept him safe was their egomaniacal assumption that a ‘Nontell’ would have no thoughts worthy of reading.

He sat. He pulled a beer from the ice-box and drank it down fast; it cleared the bitterness from his palate for a time. Alcoholism was rampant within the Nontell colonies. Since the ‘Arrival’, in fact, the Breed encouraged it. It was the one thing that the Nontells were permitted to excel at.

He remembered well the days before ‘Arrival’. Those days before were forbidden to recall, never to be spoken of. The Breed had succeeded overwhelmingly well in quelling their humanity. But not for all. Not for him.

The memory played out in the theater of his mind,  sweet, sweet, memory … of the days when laughter was spontaneous, tears were permitted,, and joy was anticipated with delight. Days of sunshine and superman, dogs and children, doughnuts and coffee.

Years of striving to attain a place, working long deadly hours, returning home to a partner that valued your contribution to their world.

‘Arrival’ had irreversibly altered that sacred pattern.

The ‘Breed-Master’ had declared the days before “Arrival” as a pestilence to be diminished and swept from memory.

It was so ordered.

Diablo Ortega chose to disobey.

As did the others …  they would arrive soon. The other Nontells, the ones with enough humanity remaining to dare to be different. Small pockets of them had begun forming, always alert and always at risk.

Diablo waited, and allowed his thought to drift, visions of yesterdays again entered, they blazed heat and light …

The sudden loud pounding on the door, startled him. He jumped up, spilling the contents of his beer over his shirt. He glanced around as if a method of escape would magically appear, it did not … . The pounding continued and his heartbeat accelerated, all his focus now on that door.

They others had a prearranged signal and this wasn’t it.

To be continued….

I do hope you enjoyed this excerpt. Those that read this, will be the first to do so.

Book Review: ‘Hurricane Kretschman’ by Jeff Lee. Book 4 of the ‘Adventures in La-La Land’ Series.

 

Meet the author.

Jeff Lee image for review
Jeff Lee.

Born in New York State, Jeff Lee was raised in the San Francisco Bay Area and has spent his entire writing career in Los Angeles.

For more than thirty years he has been a copywriter and creative director for some of the advertising industry’s most recognizable agencies, winning numerous awards for his creativity. None of those ad agencies are still in business, but Jeff appears to have a solid alibi.

Trained as a cook in the Army, he still enjoys being creative in the kitchen and admits that few things in life compare with the thrill of discovering you have just given a nasty case of food poisoning to 140 heavily armed men.

Jeff lives about halfway between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara, in a house he shares with his two sons and a cat that’s part golden retriever.

 

BOOK COVER HURRICANE KRETSCHMAN BY JEFF LEE JPG

 

HURRICANE KRETSCHMAN:

BLURB

All wisecracking, Harley-riding Repo Man and Bounty Hunter to the Stars Fish Fishbein wants is a cool vacation. It’s just him and his three best buds, potato-potato-potatoing down the highway — along with a force of nature named Shawna Kretschman, a bad-ass blonde with her own full-race hog. Not to mention a short fuse, serious fighting skills and an outfit that leaves zippo to the imagination. All lickety-splitting their way to Sturgis, South Dakota to link up with better than a million hard-drinking, harder partying Harley owners at the town’s annual Motor Cycle Rally.

But a high-powered real estate developer wants all the bikers gone, so he can sell the area as a family-oriented resort town. And he’ll stop at nothing – including murder – to get what he wants. Bikers and locals suddenly start dropping like road racers on a rain-slick GP course. And Fish, his friends and his big mouth are all in the developer’s crosshairs.

They’re on a hysterical collision course that includes phony cops, bar fights, pepper spray-laced paint balls, a no-holds-barred wrestling match in a ring full of chocolate pudding, getting adopted by the entire Sioux nation and manscaping.

The annual Sturgis Motorcycle Rally might be an 80 year-old tradition. But it’s going to take all of Fish’s brains and a ton of luck to keep himself and his buds alive long enough to enjoy a few more seasons.

My Review 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 Hands-down, one of THE funniest Books I have read.

Every once in a rare while an author comes along with the comedic timing essential to writing a fast-paced one liner such as ‘Hurricane Kretschman’. Having been totally entertained by the three preceding books in this series, I was both curious and excited to see if this talented author could make me laugh out loud in public yet again. He did. Author Lee’s wonderfully creative touch has given substance to several amazing characters in his journey through the mayhem that is crafted within these pages.

Central character “Fish” Fishbein is more complex than you would suspect at first viewing. The layers of this hilariously funny and deeply caring man are peeled back slowly, and every clever line of dialogue is intertwined with the characters love for his crazy companions, Kenny and Einstein, as they decide to head across the USA to the Motor Cycle Rally to end all Rally’s in Sturgis, South Dakota.

His constant companions and partners in  … well … everything, are cleverly drawn. Well enough in fact, to become clearly visual and as equally lovable as they are chaotic.

To my delight (And Fish’s) a new character explodes into being along the way.

How on earth does a reviewer ever hope to encapsulate the outrageously funny, and often diabolically dangerous persona of Shawna Kretschman aka the Hurricane Kretschman of the books title.

Suffice it say that this beautiful blonde PTSD suffering, Harley riding ex-Military M.P with attitude to ‘die’ from …er … for, adds further dimensions to the reading enjoyment. She sets “Fish’s” pulses racing as fast as a hog on a racetrack. Has our hero found love at last?

Whether they live long enough to find that out remains to be seen.

Enter the villain in the unflattering shape of Dale Kimbrough, a land developer set on making the bikers (All of them) disappear so he can develop a family friendly place. What’s not family friendly about bikers?

Suffice it to say, bodies start appearing, and bad guys start disappearing in rapid succession. The developer badly underestimated just how much mayhem he was unleashing when he chose to take on our heroes.

I laughed out loud so often along the road of this amazing journey, it was indeed a pleasure to become reunited with author Jeff Lee’s superbly talented writing. I simply can’t recommend this book highly enough.

OTHER OUTSTANDING BOOKS BY JEFF LEE.

BOOK COVER JEFF LEE THE LADIES TEMPERANCE CLUB FAREWELL TOURBOOK COVER JEFF LEE CHUMP CHANGE

purchase CHUMP CHANGE on Amazon.com

Purchase The Ladies Temperance Club Farewell Tour on Amazon.com

Purchase Hurricane Kretschman on Amazon.com

Jeff Lee Author Page on Amazon.com

Welcome Carmen Stefanescu with Dracula’s Mistress #Historical #Gothic #Paranormal

I love reading authors I have yet to become familiar with! Meet Carmen Stefanescu with her new release “Dracula’s Mistress” Introduced to us on the post by Mae Clair.

From the Pen of Mae Clair

Happy Saint Paddy’s Day! On this delightful wearin’ o’ the green day, I’m excited to welcome my dear friend, Carmen Stefanescu, with her brand new release, Dracula’s Mistress. Carmen is wonderful supporter of other authors. If you haven’t already connected, check out her blog, Shadows of the Past, or find her at any of the contact links below.

As a lifelong native of Romania, Carmen is ideally suited to write Dracula’s Mistress, a tale that combines history, horror and light romance in a look at the man who spawned the Dracula legend. Let’s make Carmen feel welcome on her book’s birthday!

Dracula’s Mistress

Book Cover for Dracula's Mistress by Carmen Stefanescu

Purchase Dracula’s Mistress from Amazon • Just .99 cents!!

Blurb:
From the day that the powerful, brave and merciless Vlad III Basarab, a descendant of the Draculesti family—better known to most people as the infamous vampire Dracula—ascends the throne, he knows only battles, betrayal and intrigue.

Evil grips the…

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Dazzled by the ‘Spotlight’ on Rave Reviews Book Club!

I love to share the special Highlights of my life! My month long featured tour as The Rave Reviews Book Club’s “SPOTLIGHT AUTHOR” for February 2017 ranks among the most memorable times thus far in my journey as an Indie Author!

WHY?

Let me give you just a glimpse!

SPOTLIGHT TOUR LOGO FOR FEEDBACK BLOGPOST

If you are expecting a “Rave” that’s precisely what you are going to get! BUT, I like to back up my rhetoric with some statistics. So let’s take a look at a few, shall we?

My “SPOTLIGHT AUTHOR TOUR” commenced on February 1st 2017.

My visitors to this site for the entire month of January 2017 numbered = 91.

My visitors to this site for the duration of the “SPOTLIGHT TOUR” February 1st/February 28th =181. Yes! My visitors doubled!

My visitors’ country …

SCREENSHOT ON COUNTRY BLOG BREAKDOWN VISITOR STATS

The rest of the world contributed a further 20 visitors! Considering the fact that I’m an Australian based author these stats are so very welcomed.

We all write because we love to do so! I’m no different. We wouldn’t put ourselves through all the angst of being a writer, otherwise. The icing on that cake is when other people purchase, read and hopefully enjoy our work. When that happens it sets off a chain reaction that reflects in that “Bottom line” we never thought we’d care about when we became writers.

SO! Lets get down to that, shall we? The SALES figures for my SPOTLIGHTED book “ACTS BEYOND REDEMPTION”

In the month of January I garnered For my featured book “Acts Beyond Redemption”  90 sales.

In my ‘Spotlight Author” month of February “Acts Beyond Redemption” Garnered 176 sales. Nuff said, folks? These figures really do speak for themselves, don’t they?

By extension of the interest in my work due to the SPOTLIGHT TOUR ALL of my books listed with Rave Reviews Book club had sales increased for the month of FEBRUARY.

And last but certainly not least my followers increased both here on my blog and on TWITTER @pursoot where I hang my hat.

My blog now has a wonderful 9445 followers.

Color me CONTENT! Don’t wait…pop in and take a look at #RRBC this is one place where you get out of belonging to a Book Club, exactly what you put into it … and THEN some.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE!

I re-located on February 27th to a small University Town hundreds of miles from Sydney! I was promised that I would have Internet connection within five days. Didn’t happen, folks! My internet was only connected YESTERDAY!  18 days later! Frantic doesn’t even come close to how I was feeling … on top of all the stress of such a big move. I logged in to Twitter only this morning to find that every one of my scheduled posts for the month to date had received continuous and marvelous support from all the folks at RRBC, despite the fact that I had been unable to offer reciprocal support for weeks!

Now THAT’S what I’m talking about.

I am one very happy camper!

THANK YOU ALL! For your faith in me, and the friendships which I shall continue to treasure.

To the President of Rave Reviews Book Club; The wonderful Nonnie Jules, thank you will never be enough.

talent-spotter-images-links-for-liza-oconnor

ACTS BEYOND REDEMPTION ON AMAZON.COM

My AUTHOR page on AMAZON

 

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Book Review: “Paper in The Wind” by Olivia Mason-Charles.

Book REVIEW Paper in the wind by Olivia Mason Charles.

book-cover-paper-in-the-wind-olivia-mason-charles

Blurb

Paper in the Wind is a compassionate and riveting story depicting a single father’s dedication to his daughter. In the midst of the overwhelming struggles that accompanied autism, he continues to persevere. Her father’s love enabled her to overcome insurmountable obstacles, discovered the power of love and embraced the gift of life.

MY REVIEW. 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 Read, learn and be inspired. An amazing journey.

This book is written with a deep understanding of Autism, and a thought provoking, and inspirational message of hope. It is not written blindly … it is not written without great thought and the exploration of human failings and tribulations, for it truly encompasses all that and much more.

It is written with all the damage exposed of a couple coping the best way they know how with their autistic daughter. They fail and they falter in the face of all the pain, stress, and worry for the future of their beloved Alexa. In short, the author makes them very human, so human in fact that I caught myself nodding my head in sad tears of understanding. Life throws such massive challenges in the path of these parents. The author permits us to see how constant stress and unrelenting concern for their child rips apart the fabric of a love once a towering wall and now forced to crumble into ruin … exhausted by circumstances.

Olivia Mason -Charles doesn’t ease you into this story, you are confronted and challenged every step of the way. The length of the book should not to be judged by the number of its pages, but rather for the incredibly powerful messages imparted within each page. How many of us would not turn to something, anything to help deal with the unrelenting stress? Whether that something is a spiritual guide to support strong held beliefs, or a substance that gives temporary relief, such as alcohol, we are not asked to make judgement here … we are invited to try and understand.

This author invites you into the world of an Autistic child, in all its complexity. She shows the debilitating effects and the incredible and naive cruelty of those that do not, and cannot, even begin to understand.

Alexa is wonderfully characterized with all the intricacy of learning to comprehend a world that she perceives differently to others.

We are invited to cry for her, and rejoice with her, and cheer her on from the sidelines!

Yet despite the confrontations these marvelous characters face, the overwhelming message within these pages is hope. Hope that exists because of the unrelenting love of a father, a human man, a man with all the imperfections that simply being human can bring. Take this journey Olivia Mason-Charles invites you on with her inspiring words; I believe you will find it a truly memorable one.

Paper in The Wind on Amazon here.

The Author On TWITTER:

@omasoncharles

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Peggy Hattendorf: Author & RWISA Member!

I’m so pleased to share this fascinating and insightful Interview with the talented author of ‘Son of My Father’ Peggy Hattendorf.

The Indie Spot!

Greetings and welcome to The Indie Spot. It is my privilege and honor to introduce to you author and RWISA member Peggy Hattendorf — in her own words! Take it away, Peggy…

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The Interview

1) How long have you been writing?

My professional writing started in the mid-1970’s, when I created volunteer and staff handbooks for a number of agencies in the non-profit field.

I entertained the idea of writing a novel about 10 years ago but purposely shelved the plan for nearly two years due to other commitments. The notion of writing fiction still gnawed at me and I would jot down potential characters, ideas and storylines during this hiatus. When I finally dusted off my old notes, scribbles and research and read over the material, I realized I had the makings for a good story. With new found enthusiasm, I set about writing my first novel. My background…

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“Glimpses Across the Barricades” Poetry Collection #1 ‘The Pigeon Lady’ by Suzanne Burke.

Hello, and thank you for making the time to drop by. I will be sharing one of my poems each week, from my wip “Glimpses Across the Barricades” A collection of my own takes on those moments that bring about change in our lives.

 

 Glimpses Across the Barricades.

‘The Pigeon Lady’

A Story Poem.

By Suzanne Burke.

In loving memory of ‘Noelene’.

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She fed pigeons in the park opposite my home.
The same bench each day she occupied; she never seemed to roam.
There she sat in the early morn and again at end of day.
On my way to work as I hurried by, she’d smile at me and say
“Good morning dear, a lovely day for your early morning walk.”
I nodded my response; I did not make the time to talk.
I’d quickly grab a coffee from the station coffee shop
and gulp it down as I waited for my crowded train to stop.
My working days were filled with legal speak and lengthy hours.
I remained remote and untouchable inside my clever ivory tower.
My world was filled with designer clothes, and all the correct possessions,
and of course, I had my dearest friends, and our numerous bitch sessions.
My calendar was full with gallery openings and plays-
I was on the “A” list of the social must invites, where I worked hard to stay.
I surrounded myself with people whose favorite word was ‘yes’,
those cool, together, people, who never showed distress.
The seasons changed with rapid pace, the fall wind was chill.
The pigeon lady remained upon her bench, and smiled her greeting still,
A battered straw hat she always wore, upon her graying head.
I didn’t break my stride as she spoke. I hurried by instead.
The mornings grew darker, as days were met by early winter snow,
yet still she sat with her battered hat, perhaps she had nowhere else to go.
It was not my problem after all; therefore, I didn’t stop to ask
I had Christmas shopping yet to do, so I thought only of that task.
One early morning in late December, I awakened so unwell
the thought of going out to work my fevered brain dispelled.
The illness burned and left me weak and shaking in my bed,
day merged with night, as I lay with pain pounding in my head.
For three days I lay in sweat-drenched delirium, yet shook with fevers chill,
I telephoned my dearest friends for help; they were all too busy still.
By day four the weakness had me in tears of lost despair.
My doorbell rang, I answered …  to find the Pigeon Lady there.
“Good morning dear,” was her surprising greeting,
she continued on, and said “I’ve made you soup but it needs heating.”
She stood there in her battered hat then gave me flowers that she bore,
she laughed, a quite delightful sound, at the expression that I wore.
“I’ve missed you dear,” was all she said, as she escorted me briskly back to bed.
I was confused, which clearly showed, pain was pounding in my head.
“Where is your linen kept?” she asked, she then changed my sweat-soaked sheets.
She raised the blinds to let the sunshine in, and then I had her soup to eat.
After the soup she explained, “Your gardener told me you were ill.”
I had no idea what to say, my eyes were closing against my will.
“Come on, young woman, off to sleep,” said she, and I gladly went.
I slept at once in my clean fresh sheets. My crying was all spent.
I awoke unsure of what I’d see, a delightful aroma filled the room;
a cheery fire awaited me, to take away the chilly gloom.
She’d left a note, which read, ‘I’ve left a meal, and tomorrow I will call.’
I had not the strength to ponder, why she had come at all.
On the morrow just on daybreak, she was there once more
Her clothing clean and tidy, yet still her battered hat she wore.
I didn’t know how to thank her for the kindness she had shown.
It was so far outside my experience, on the streets where I had grown.
“Your life has been so empty dear.” How did she understand?
“It will be all right you’ll see;” said she, as she gently touched my hand.
“What is your name, my dear?” she asked, with her sweet slow smile
“Of course I gave you your park name, it’s been bestowed on you a while.”
“My park name?” I queried. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Oh; I give everyone a name my dear!” and her eyes began to gleam.
“We have so many characters in the passing parade I see,
that I bestow on each a name that means who they are to me.”
I was not certain I would like or understand what I was about to hear.
She looked at me, and gave my hand a pat. “Why you are the ‘Lady Guinevere;’
still in search of ‘Camelot’. Be patient dear, she added, I just know it will arrive;
if you can just stop from shutting out the world in order to survive.”
How had this strange woman looked inside, and found the child that once I’d been?
I was profoundly shaken, how could she know these things others had not seen?
She smiled once more and waited, “And so what is your name?”
I grinned at her at last, and made no attempt to hide my pain.
“My name is Jennifer,” I said, how we laughed at that. ‘Guinevere’ was so correct
“Well now, Lady Jennifer.” she said, in her manner so direct
“My name is Francesca, however dear; you may call me Fran.”
We shook hands my new friend and I, and we talked as some friends can.
Three more days went by before I was well enough to work resume
Fran came by each day to check on me, she didn’t just assume
always asking if it were convenient for her again to call,
I thanked her and told her truly it was not inconvenient at all.
Day four I had risen early it was still a little dark
I made two mugs of hot, sweet, tea and joined Fran in the park
She was clearly so delighted, we enjoyed that place and time.
Then each morning thereafter, a small bench space was mine
I learned about the pigeons; their names and all their individual deeds .
They soon became accustomed to my joining in their morning feeds
Fran shared with me her park people, and a few I helped identify
There was, Mr. Baggy Pants who almost lost them as he scurried by,
and young Master Odd Sox, was color blind for sure,
I became ever more grateful, that she had knocked upon my door.
People that I worked with commented on a change in me
Mostly they seemed uncomfortable. So they just let me be.
Fran one morning said to me as another season changed
“Lady Jennifer my friend, a dinner I have arranged.”
“I’d like you to come home with me tomorrow after work”
“Come home with you?” I questioned, then, I felt a total jerk.
Luckily she laughed at me, and no offense did take
“Yes dear I have a family, and a home” she corrected my mistake.
I had mixed feelings about that evening, I was unsure what to do. I mentioned this to Fran, who said “My dear you just be you.”
Our morning ritual we shared and arranged a time to meet.
Fran’s large dog was so pleased to meet me, he knocked me off my feet.
I was welcomed as her trusted friend by her sons, all three.
Thomas was the eldest, head of the family was he.
The middle son was Jacob, so like his mother he did look.
The youngest one was Elijah who read me like a book.
All three sons proudly wore policemens’ uniforms.
Their father was killed in the line of duty, I was sadly then informed.
The time flew by so quickly, and often to their home I went
Many happy hours of shared dreams and laughter was time so gladly spent
Fran held herself so gracefully, I could not think of her as old.
I did not want to ask her age fearing she would think me bold.
Her hair was completely gray by now; and her hands would often shake.
And as the distance she would walk became difficult to make; she said no words to indicate that may have worried me
her carefree laugh, and ready smile, were all she’d let me see.
I awoke one morning as usual and prepared our cups of tea
I walked outside, then, stopped in shock; for Fran I could not see.
The pigeons were all there waiting, as it softly began to rain,
She is just late I told myself; I waited for hours in vain.
A police car stopped outside my home, Thomas looked my way;
I did not want to hear the words he said; I wanted to run away.
Our beloved Fran had gone to bed, and in her sleep had died
Thomas put his arms around me as we clung to each other and cried.
I feed pigeons in the park opposite our home
I wear Frans’ battered old straw hat; I have not far to roam.
My daughter lay safely in her pram. The passing parade goes by.
My small Francesca loves the birds, and greets them with a delighted cry
Her daddy Thomas dotes on her, and on me, his wife.
Every day I tell my Francesca more about her grandma’s life;
One morning as we sat there, a young woman strutted into view.
A “Lady Guinevere” at last! I looked up and smiled,
Fran this one’s for you.