Guest Author A.J. Scudiere

CMash October 18, 2012 1 Comment

It’s old friend’s day. Which only means, a new book has been written. And A.J. is stopping back to tell us all about it. So without further ado, Ms. A.J. Scudiere!!

A.J. SCUDIERE

AJ Scudiere lives in a world where texture reigns supreme. Whether it’s air or virus or even location, it can be felt and smelled. At heart a biologist and avid student, AJ writes about the possibilities that keep us up late at night. The dark writer lives outside Nashville in an idyllic setting full of wildlife and open spaces.

The author has three suspense novels, Resonance, Vengeance, and God’s Eye. The fourth novel—Phoenix—is due out this fall.

At heart a biologist and avid student, AJ writes about the possibilities that keep us up late at night. Previous novels have won A Booky—top ten fiction novel of 2011, multiple Best Audio Fiction of the Year awards, and garnered 2 Audie Nominations.

The author has three suspense novels, Resonance, Vengeance, and God’s Eye. The fourth novel—Phoenix—is due out this fall.

GUEST POST

What makes a reader stay up all night with a good book?

There are a thousand different answers to that question and really only one: a character you care about and a good story.

When we talk about suspense novels (thrillers), we can define that even more. We now need a character we want to root for and a plot that convinces us something is very wrong here. One easy way to create this plot is to put our character in danger, the sooner the better! We can also let him walk around unknowing, while you—the reader—can see what he can’t.

Why do you like a character? Well, we all have our pet peeves, and when an author crosses that line, you probably won’t read further. But for the most part you have to either relate to or care for the character. All of us are different, so what we relate to will be different. For me, making the character as richly written as possible helps with this. One dimensional characters catch only readers who share that dimension in some way, depth means the reader can see more and therefore find more to latch onto.

For me, a plot has to have some level of reality to it. I’m not saying I’m against Fantasy or SciFi (my first novel was SciFi!) but as a reader—and therefore as a writer—I dislike plot points that simply happen. If a story needs an earthquake that shakes Florida to its core, or if New Yorkers suddenly riot and take over the city, it has to be believable. I need to buy in before I’ll read about a toddler on the quest for a holy grail. As a writer, it becomes my job to build that world for you. A world that makes you just a little concerned about the ground beneath your feet in Florida; one that makes you look sideways at New Yorkers . . . or toddlers!

What makes a good solid thriller is answers. You need your questions answered. Where is the killer going to strike next? What is the toddler going to do with that chalice? But what makes a great thriller is getting the satisfaction of figuring out the answer for one thing, while another question is arising. That’s what gets you involved. That’s what keeps you up at night when you have something to do early the next day. It’s what makes you wonder ‘what’s going to happen next?’ And that’s my job: to give you characters you understand. To give you a story that keeps you on your toes. To make you say ‘just one more chapter.’

ABOUT THE BOOK

Jason Mondy’s world is unraveling.

His seemingly secure job as a fire fighter is suddenly thrown into chaos.
The bright spot in his week is that he rescued two children from a house fire,
but he returns home that night to find all his furniture is missing.
His girlfriend has left him without warning and his nightmares keep him from sleeping.
Even just a simple trip home to find some rest leads his adoptive mother to sit him down
and tell him that maybe his troubles aren’t quite as innocuous as they seem.
Then she divulges a secret she’s kept for over twenty-six years . . .

Jason has a brother he doesn’t remember existed.

He doesn’t remember his life before he was adopted at age seven.
He only knows that he was rescued from the fire that took his birth mother’s life.
But the story is deeper than that, and the foundation on which he built his world is now cracking.
The brother he doesn’t remember it out there somewhere, left behind.

Armed with only this stunning new piece of information,
Jason embarks on a quest to find the truths buried deep in his past.
As he searches, one by one the pieces of his life fall like dominoes.
And the more he uncovers, the more everything he thought he knew
about himself and his past
begins to turn to ash.

His truth isn’t true at all . . .

THANKS TO SAMANTHA, JKS COMMUNICATIONS,
I HAVE THREE (3) SIGNED COPIES OF THIS BOOK,
ALONG WITH A HAT, TO GIVEAWAY. U.S. RESIDENTS ONLY.

CLICK HERE TO BRING YOU TO
THE GIVEAWAY ENTRY PAGE.

DISCLAIMER
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.

Guest Author, Showcase, The Story Plant

Guest Author Ethan Cross

CMash October 16, 2012 Leave a Comment

Don’t you just love when authors come back and visit your blog? It means that they have another book to tell us about. Mr. Cross was here back in March of 2011. But today, for me, it is even more exciting for a few reasons. Not only does it mean that you will get to read about his book, but he is returning today at the request of The Story Plant as he kicks off his virtual tour with Partners In Crime Tours. But before I introduce this amazing writer, I would like to thank Mr. Aronica, publisher of The Story Plant. I have been reviewing this company’s novels from the time I first went public with this blog and can honestly say, that every author and book I have read under this imprint, has been added to my “authors to read list”. I invite you to visit The Story Plant, and see for yourself , the phenomenal authors and titles they have. And now, I ask you to help me welcome Mr. Ethan Cross!

ETHAN CROSS

When a fireman or a policeman would visit his school, most of his classmates’ heads would swim with aspirations of growing up and catching bad guys or saving someone from a blazing inferno. When these moments came for Ethan Cross, however, his dreams weren’t to someday be a cop or put out fires; he just wanted to write about it. His dream of telling stories on a grand scale came to fruition with the release of his first novel, the international bestseller, THE SHEPHERD.

Ethan Cross is the pen name of a thriller author living and writ- ing in Illinois with his wife, two daughters, and two Shih Tzus. In addition to The Shepherd and The Prophet, he has published two no- vellas––The Cage and Callsign: Knight (with Jeremy Robinson).
Connect with the author at his website, Facebook and Twitter.

ABOUT THE BOOK

OLD ENEMIES…
Francis Ackerman Jr. is one of America’s most prolific serial killers. Having kept a low profile for the past year, he is ready to return to work – and he’s more brutal, cunning, and dangerous than ever.

NEW THREATS…
Scarred from their past battles, Special Agent Marcus Williams cannot shake Ackerman from his mind. But now Marcus must focus on catching the Anarchist, a new killer who drugs and kidnaps women before burning them alive.

HIDDEN TERRORS…
Marcus knows the Anarchist will strike again soon. And Ackerman is still free. But worse than this is a mysterious figure, unknown to the authorities, who controls the actions of the Anarchist and many like him. He is the Prophet – and his plans are more terrible than even his own disciples can imagine.

With attacks coming from every side, Marcus faces a race against time to save the lives of a group of innocent people chosen as sacrifices in the Prophet’s final dark ritual.
Read my review here.

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONEFrancis Ackerman Jr. stared out the window of the dark copper and white bungalow on Macarthur Boulevard. Across the street, a green sign with yellow letters read Mosswood Playground – Oakland Recreation Department. Children laughed and played while mothers and fathers pushed swings and sat on benches reading paperback novels or fiddling with cell phones. He had never experienced such things as a child. The only games his father ever played were the kind that scarred the body and soul. He had never been nurtured; he had never been loved. But he had come to accept that. He had found purpose and meaning born from the pain and chaos that had consumed his life.

He watched the sun reflect off all the smiling faces and imagined how different the scene would be if the sun suddenly burned out and fell from the heavens. The cleansing cold of an everlasting winter would sweep across the land, cleansing it, purifying it. He pictured the faces forever etched in torment, their screams silent, and their eyes like two crystal balls reflecting what lay beyond death.

He let out a long sigh. It would be beautiful. He wondered if normal people ever thought of such things. He wondered if they ever found beauty in death.

Ackerman turned back to the three people bound to chairs in the room behind him. The first two were men—plain-clothes cops that had been watching the house. The older officer had a pencil-thin mustache and thinning brown hair while his younger counterpart’s head was topped with a greasy mop of dark black. The younger man’s bushy eyebrows matched his hair, and a hooked nose sat above thin pink lips and a recessed chin. The first man struck Ackerman to be like any other cop he had met, honest and hard-working. But there was something about the younger man he didn’t like, something in his eyes. He suppressed the urge to smack the condescending little snarl from the younger cop’s ferret-like face.

But instead of hitting him, Ackerman just smiled at the cop. He needed a demonstration to get the information he needed, and the ferret would be perfect. His eyes held the ferret’s gaze a moment longer, and then he winked and turned to the last of his three captives.

Rosemary Phillips wore a faded Oakland Raiders sweatshirt. She had salt and pepper hair, and ancient pock marks marred her smooth dark chocolate complexion. Her eyes burned with a self-assurance and inner strength that Ackerman respected.

Unfortunately, he needed to find her grandson, and if necessary, he would kill all three of them to accomplish his goal.

He reached up to her mouth and pulled down the gag. She didn’t scream. “Hello, Rosemary. I apologize that I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier when I tied you up, but my name is Francis Ackerman Jr. Have you ever heard of me?”

Rosemary met his gaze. “I’ve seen you on television. You’re the serial killer whose father experimented on him as a child, trying to prove that he could create a monster. I guess he succeeded. But I’m not afraid of you.”

Ackerman smiled. “That’s wonderful. It means that I can skip the introductions and get straight to the point. Do you know why I asked these two gentleman to join us?”

Rosemary’s head swiveled toward the two officers. Her gaze lingered on the ferret. Ackerman saw disgust in her eyes. Apparently, she didn’t like him either. That would make things even more interesting once he started to torture the young cop.

“I’ve seen these two around,” she said. “I’ve already told the cops that my grandson ain’t no damn fool. He wouldn’t just show up here, and I haven’t heard from him since this mess started. But they wouldn’t listen. Apparently they think it’s a good idea to stake out an old lady’s house instead of being out there on the streets doing what the people of this city pay them to do. Typical government at work.”

Ackerman smiled. “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve never had much respect for authority. But you see, I’m looking for your grandson as well. I, however, don’t have the time or patience to sit around here on the off chance that he might show up. I prefer the direct approach, and so I’m going to ask you to level with me. Where can I find your grandson?”

“Like I told them, I have no idea.”

He walked over to a tall, mahogany hutch resting against the wall. It was old and well-built. Family pictures lined its surface and shelves. He picked up a picture of a smiling young black man with his arm around Rosemary. A blue and gold birthday cake sat in front of them. “Rosemary, I’ve done my homework, and I’ve learned that your grandson thinks the world of you. You were his anchor in the storm. Maybe the one good thing in his life. The one person who loved him. You know where he’s hiding, and you are going to share that information with me. One way or another.”

“Why do you even care? What’s he to you?”

“He’s nothing to me. I could care less about your grandson. But someone that I do care about is looking for him, and I try to be useful where I can. And like you said, sometimes bureaucracy and red tape are just too damn slow. We’re going to speed along the process.”

Rosemary shook her head and tugged on the ropes. “I don’t know where he is, and if I did, I’d never tell a monster like you.”

His father’s words tumbled through his mind.

You’re a monster…Kill her and the pain will stop…No one will ever love you…

“Oh, my dear, words hurt. But you’re right. I am a monster.”

Ackerman grabbed a duffle bag from the floor and tossed it onto a small end table. As he unzipped the bag and rifled through the contents, he said, “Are you familiar with the Spanish Inquisition? I’ve been reading a lot about it lately. It’s a fascinating period of history. The Inquisition was basically a tribunal established by Catholic monarchs Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile in order to maintain Catholic orthodoxy within their kingdoms, especially among the new converts from Judaism and Islam. But that’s not what fascinates me. What fascinates me are the unspeakable acts of barbarism and torture that were carried out in the name of God upon those deemed to be heretics. We think that we live in a brutal age, but our memories are very short-sighted. Any true student of history can tell you that this is the age of enlightenment compared to other periods throughout time. The things the inquisitors did to wrench confessions from their victims was nothing less than extraordinary. Those inquisitors displayed fabulous imagination.”

Ackerman brought a strange device up out of the duffle bag. “This is an antique. It’s previous owner claimed that it’s an exact replica of one used during the Inquisition. You’ve got to love Ebay.”

He held up the device—built from two large, spiked blocks of wood connected by two threaded metal rods an inch in diameter each—for their inspection. “This was referred to as the Knee Splitter. Although it was used on more than just knees. When the inquisitor would turn these screws, the two blocks would push closer together and the spikes would first pierce the flesh of the victim. Then the inquisitor would continue to twist the screws tighter and tighter until they received the answers they wanted or until the affected appendage was rendered useless.”

Rosemary spit at him. As she spoke, her words were strong and confident. He detected a slight hint of a Georgian accent and suspected that it was from her youth and only presented itself when she was especially flustered. “You’re going to kill us anyway. No matter what I do. I can’t save these men anymore than I can save myself. The only thing that I can control is the way that I go out. And I won’t grovel and beg to the likes of you. I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

He nodded. “I respect that. So many people blame the world or society or others for the way that they are. But we’re all victims of circumstance to a certain extent. We like to think that we’re in control of our own destinies, but the truth is that much of our lives are dictated by forces far beyond our control and comprehension. We all have our strings pulled by someone or something. It’s unavoidable. The only place that we have any real control is right here.” He tapped the tip of his fifteen-inch survival knife against his right temple. “Within our minds. Most people don’t understand that, but you do. I didn’t come here to kill you, Rosemary. It will give me no pleasure to remove you from the world. But my strings get pulled just like everyone else’s. In this case, circumstances dictate that I hurt you and these men in order to achieve my goal. I’m good at what I do, my dear. I’ve been schooled in pain and suffering my entire life. Time will only allow me to share a small portion of my expertise with you, but I can tell you that it will be enough. You will tell me. That’s beyond your control. The only aspect of this situation that you can influence is the duration of the suffering you must endure. So I’ll ask again, where is your grandson?”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t speak.

The smell of cinnamon permeated the air but was unable to mask a feral aroma of sweat and fear. Ackerman had missed that smell. He had missed the fear, the power. But he needed to keep himself contained. He couldn’t lose control. This was about information, not about satisfying his own hunger.

“Time to begin. As they say, I’m going to put the screws to this officer. Makes you wonder if this device is responsible for such a saying, doesn’t it?”

~~*~~

After several moments of enjoyment with his new toy, Ackerman looked at Rosemary, but she had diverted her gaze. He twisted the handles again, and the officer’s thrashing increased.

“Okay, I’ll tell you!” she said. “He’s in Spokane, Washington. They’re set up in an abandoned metal working shop of some kind. Some crooked realtor set it up for them. I’ve tried to get him to turn himself in. I even consider calling the police myself, but I know that he and his friends won’t allow themselves to be captured alive. He’s the only family I have left.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

Ackerman reached down and twisted the pressure from the officer’s legs. The man’s head fell back against the chair. “Thank you. I believe you, and I appreciate your situation. Your grandson has been a bad boy. But he’s your flesh and blood, and you still love him.”

He walked over to the table and pulled up another chair in front of Rosemary. As he sat, he pulled out a small notepad. It was spiral-bound from the top with a blood red cover. “Since you’ve been so forthcoming with me and out of respect, I’ll give you a genuine chance to save your lives.” He flipped up the notepad’s cover, retrieved a small pen from within the spiral, and started to write. As the pen traveled over the page, he said, “I’m going to let you pick the outcome of our little game. On this first sheet, I’ve written ‘ferret’ to represent our first officer.” He tore off the page, wadded it up, and placed it between his legs. “On the second, we’ll write ‘Jackie Gleason’ to represent the next officer. Then Rosemary. Then all live. And all die.”

He stirred up the wadded pieces of paper and placed them on the floor in front of her. “I think the game is self-explanatory, but to make sure that there’s no confusion, you pick the piece of paper, and I kill whoever’s name is on it. But you do have a twenty percent chance that you all live. And just to be clear, if you refuse to pick or take too long, I’ll be happy to kill all three of you. So please don’t try to fight fate. The only thing you have control over here is which piece of paper you choose. Have no illusions that you have other options. It will only serve in making the situation even less manageable for you. Pick one.”

Rosemary’s eyes were full of hate. They burrowed into him. Her gaze didn’t waver. A doctor named Kendrick from the Cedar Mill Psychiatric Hospital had once told Ackerman that he had damage to a group of interconnected brain structures, known as the paralimbic system, that were involved in processing emotion, goal seeking, motivation, and self-control. The doctor had studied his brain using functional magnetic resonance imaging technology and had also found damage to an area known as the amygdala that generated emotions such as fear. Monkeys in the wild with damage to the amygdala had been known to walk right up to people or even predators. The doctor had said this explained why Ackerman didn’t feel fear in the way that other people did. He wondered if Rosemary had a similar impairment or if her strength originated from somewhere else entirely.

She looked down at the sheets of paper then back into his eyes. “Third one. The one right in the center.”

He reached down and uncrumpled the small piece of paper. He smiled. “It’s your lucky day. You all get to live. I’m sorry that you had to endure this due to the actions of someone else. But as I said, we’re all victims of circumstance.”

Then he stood, retrieved his things, and exited onto Macarthur Boulevard.

~~*~~

Ackerman tossed his duffle bag into the trunk of a light-blue Ford Focus. He wished he could travel in more style, but the ability to blend outweighed his own sense of flare. He pulled open the driver’s door, slipped inside, and dropped some jewelry and the wallets and purse of his former captives on the seat next to him. He hated to lower himself to common thievery, but everything cost money. And his skill set didn’t exactly look good on a resume. Besides, he didn’t have time for such things.

He retrieved a disposable cell phone from the glove box and activated the device. As he dialed and pressed send, he looked down at the small slip of paper that Rosemary had chosen. The words All Die stared back at him.

After a few rings, the call connected, and the voice on the other end said, “What do you want?”

Ackerman smiled. “Hello, Marcus. Please forgive me, for I have sinned. But I do it all for you.”

Purchase links: Amazon B&N IndieBound

DISCLAIMER

I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,

in exchange for my honest review.

No items that I receive

are ever sold…they are kept by me,

or given to family and/or friends.

ADDENDUM

I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or

Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affliate.

I am providing link(s) solely for visitors

that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author, Showcase, The Hachette Book Group

Guest Author Sandra Brown

CMash October 11, 2012 1 Comment

Yes!!!! It’s THAT Sandra Brown. Sandra Brown, the renowned author, which I have been a fan of, for many years. So when Caitlin, from The Hachette Book Group contacted me regarding reading, reviewing and hosting a showcase on Sandra Brown, it was an instant YES!! It is my honor to have the opportunity of spotlighting Ms. Sandra Brown!!!!

SANDRA BROWN

Sandra Brown is the author of over sixty New York Times bestsellers, including, most recently, Lethal; Rainwater; Tough Customer; Smash Cut; Smoke Screen; Play Dirty; Ricochet; Chill Factor; White Hot; Hello, Darkness; The Crush; Envy; The Switch; The Alibi; Unspeakable; and Fat Tuesday, all of which jumped onto the New York Times list in the number one to five spots. There are over eighty million copies of Sandra Brown’s books in print worldwide and her work has been translated into thirty-four languages. In 2008, Brown was named Thriller Master by the International Thriller Writer’s Association, the organization’s top honor. She currently lives in Texas.
Visit Sandra Brown at her website here.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Sandra Brown is again at the top of her game with a fast-paced mystery set in the high profile world of publishing and tabloid media. LOW PRESSURE (Grand Central Publishing Hardcover; September 18, 2012; $26.99) combines all the key elements that make Sandra Brown’s books must-reads. The Associated Press has said “no one is better in the genre than Brown” and LOW PRESSURE proves them right. Combining an insider’s knowledge of publishing with her trademark dead-on characters and plot, Sandra Brown’s LOW PRESSURE is “a winner.”

Bellamy Lyston was only twelve years old when her older sister, Susan, was killed on a stormy Memorial Day. Bellamy’s fear of storms is a legacy of the tornado that destroyed the crime scene along with her memory of what really happened during the day’s most devastating moments.

Now, eighteen years later, Bellamy has written a sensational, bestselling novel based on Susan’s murder. Because the book was inspired by the tragic event that still pains her family, she published it under a pseudonym to protect them from unwanted publicity. But when an opportunistic reporter discovers that the book is based on fact, Bellamy’s identity is exposed along with the family scandal.

Moreover, Bellamy becomes the target of an unnamed assailant who either wants the truth about Susan’s murder to remain unknown or, even more threatening, is determined to get vengeance for a man wrongfully accused and punished.

In order to identify her stalker, Bellamy must confront the ghosts of her past, including Dent Carter, Susan’s wayward and reckless boyfriend – and an original suspect in the murder case. Dent, with this and other stains on his past, is intent on clearing his name, and he needs Bellamy’s sealed memory to do it. But her safeguarded recollections – once unlocked – pose new, unforeseen dangers.

As Bellamy delves deeper into the mystery surrounding Susan’s slaying, she discovers disturbing elements of the crime that call into question the people she holds most dear. Through haunted by partial memories and conflicted over her feelings for Dent, she won’t stop until she reveals Susan’s killer. That is, unless her killer strikes first….
Watch for me review in the near future.

THANKS TO CAITLIN, AT THE HACHETTE BOOK GROUP, I HAVE
ONE (1) COPY TO GIVE AWAY. OPEN TO U.S. RESIDENTS ONLY.

CLICK HERE TO BRING YOU TO
THE GIVEAWAY ENTRY PAGE.

DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,
in exchange for my honest review.
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or
Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affliate.
I am providing link(s) solely for visitors
that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author, Showcase, WOW Tours

Guest Author Pamela King Cable

CMash October 10, 2012 Leave a Comment

If you are a frequent visitor, then you know that the ladies of WOW! Women On Writing, always have amazing female authors for us to meet. Today is no exception. So without further ado, Ms. Pamela King Cable!!

PAMELA KING CABLE

Pamela King Cable was born a coal miner’s granddaughter and raised by a tribe of wild Pentecostals and storytellers. She is an award-winning, multi-published author who loves to write about religion and spirituality with paranormal twists she unearths from her family’s history. Married to a megachurch ministry team member as a young adult, she attended years of megachurch services. Pamela studied creative writing at The University of Akron and Kent State University. She has taught at many writing conferences, and speaks to book clubs, women’s groups, national and local civic organizations, and at churches across the country. Nearly a decade in the writing, Televenge is her debut novel. She lives in Ohio with her husband, Michael, and is currently working on her next novel.
Visit Pamela at her Website, Blog, Facebook and Twitter.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Andie Oliver is a faithful woman—to God, to husband Joe, and to televangelist Calvin Artury, a Godfather in a Mafia of holy men. Joe works limitless hours on the megachurch ministry team, falling deeper into debauchery, while Andie attempts to free him from the Reverend’s control and far-reaching influence. Uncovering long-hidden truths—even murder—she loses everything, including her children. Andie fights for redemption for her family and herself, confronting the very definition of sin, and shaking the Christian evangelical world to its core. Evading ruthless adversaries who will go to any lengths to protect Reverend Artury, Andie battles the dark side of televangelism.

THANKS TO THE AUTHOR, PAMELA KING CABLE, I HAVE
ONE (1) PB COPY TO GIVE AWAY. OPEN TO U.S. RESIDENTS

CLICK HERE TO BRING YOU TO
THE GIVEAWAY ENTRY PAGE

DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,
in exchange for my honest review.
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.

Guest Author, Showcase, WOW Tours

Guest Author Sonia Korn-Grimani

CMash October 4, 2012 Leave a Comment

If you visit often, then you know, the ladies of WOW always stop by with the most amazing female authors. Well today is no different. Robyn is going to introduce us to another talented writer. So I ask that you help me give them a warm welcome to CMash Reads!

SONIA KORN-GRIMANI

Sonia Korn-Grimani earned her doctorate in French literature and the teaching of foreign languages, and directed a multi-cultural language program at UNESCO. With her husband John, and their children Anthony and Renee, Sonia traveled and lived all over the world. She taught foreign languages at the university level, and performed frequently to the delight of audiences worldwide. In her album Cantos al Amor, Sonia sings in 16 languages.

In 1989, Dr. Korn-Grimani was knighted Chevalier dans l’Ordre des Palmes Académiques, and in 1996 she was decorated Officier des Palmes Académiques. These decorations were awarded in recognition of her lifelong dedication to and promotion of French culture and language.

Sonia continues to sing regularly at UNESCO events inFrance, and is also frequently invited to share her Holocaust experiences as a guest speaker in high schools, universities, synagogues and churches.

GUEST POST

On the Power of Love and Forgiveness

In the spring of 1961, shortly after we moved to Malaysia, UNESCO called my husband John to Paris. The prospect of visiting my mother, giving her time with baby Renee—her new grand-daughter, and sightseeing around Paris was too great a temptation to refuse. Those days in Paris are perhaps the happiest days of my life, walking around arm-in-arm with Mother.

We sit down at a café, and she tells me that she is planning to stay in Germany for a few months. Would Renee and I go with her? I want to be with her, but the thought of confronting our past of persecution and anguish, our lost youth, our lost family, makes me very anxious. So much is lost there—wouldn’t it be better to just leave it be?

Something in me wanted to go if only for mother’s sake. So we all went for a few days to Wuppertal-Elberfeld, the city from which we had to flee twenty-two years earlier, after my brother, mother and I were declared enemies of the German State. We walked the sunny streets and picnicked on potato-herring and meat salads in the parks, the parks which I remember well, before we were banned from them for being Jewish. We visit our street and our building—the last address in Germany before we were forced to leave. The building has aged, appearing grey and sad.

I have no desire to enter and do not wish to be confronted with our ex-Nazi neighbors, some of whom now remember their treatment of us altogether differently from how we experienced it. War and time have a way of altering memory. Some neighbors had now justified their treatment of Jews in general, and of us in particular to themselves, but now, twenty-two years later, the only person I would like to see is Frau Rohland, the only one of our neighbors who stayed friends with us until the end, who comforted us when mother was arrested; who had slipped us butter sandwiches that would sustain us all night long on our arduous journey on foot to the Belgian border. Alas, her family was away on vacation.

But we are close to Belgium, and I want to visit the orphanage where I had under a false identity for the second half of the war. Perhaps it was having my own children that made me want to revisit one more part of my past, to find closure with one more part of my life. I wanted to visit the one person whom I felt I could never forgive, Madame J.

She was the proprietress of the orphanage. I was 11 when I arrived with my brother at her doorstep, and Madame J took us in, but only after my mother had begged on her knees and agreed to have the resistance pay her twice times the amount she usually took in foodstuffs. Surely the separation from my mother was difficult, but Madame J.’s spartan guardianship of the children in her care did not make the adjustment any easier.

But there was another part of the story that I found out after almost two years of living at the orphanage. I had discovered that Madame J. hoarded food given to her by the resistance that was supposed to go for the orphan’s care—she was hiding the food in her bedroom and selling it on the black market, probably for a very hefty profit.

I remember when she coolly met my eyes after I had discovered her secret. Even though I was only thirteen at the time, I understood her game, and I also understood the dire consequences if I were to reveal her secret—all of us orphans hiding under her care would have been exposed. I concealed my anger and kept my emotions in check, but never in my life had I felt such revulsion, such sadness. We are all so hungry and some of us suffering from malnutrition, which we thought was because we were living during wartime, but there were boxes and boxes of food in her room, just sitting there!

All of these emotions were swirling in my head as baby Renee and I took the train to Ottignies, and made our way to the orphanage to see Madame J. I needed, more than anything, to find peace with what happened within myself, to find closure within my heart.

As I approach the orphanage, I remember my first arrival in 1942 as a young naive girl; I feel a similar anxiety, but for other reasons. All is too familiar. The sights of the past dredge up the feelings of the past.

I knock, just as I had knocked then, and am greeted by a smiling face and trembling hands. Madame J. sweeps me into her arms and seems truly moved to see me again.

“Come into my parlor, my darling Sonia. So nice that you have not forgotten me who was once your godmother! Come and sit down.”

I sit on the very same couch where my mother had sat during her first interview, that is, until she knelt to beg Madame J. to take my brother and me in and save our lives. I recoil at the thought and lean back into the couch for support.

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Madame J. inquires pleasantly, oblivious to the pain I am feeling.

In a daze, I accept her offer; glad to have her occupied while I try to sort out my recollections, without being overpowered by their weight. Madame J. serves me on very delicate china. Her cakes are delicious.

She brings out photo albums and proudly shows me pictures of us. “How I enjoyed having you and the other Jewish children, all so refined, so bright, so obedient—particularly you, Sonia.”

I then remember how she had shown me albums of the Spanish War orphans who preceded us at Le Joli Coin, and how she had compared us unfavorably to them, offering them as intangible standard of an excellence we could not possibly attain.

I listen to her reluctantly. This is 1961! I feel like shouting. So much has happened in the intervening years and yet you are still fixated on the past. I remain mute.

She breaks into my reverie. “Would you like to visit the home? I am now taking care of a group of young delinquent, homeless boys.”

I follow her and see the familiar navy-blue uniformed, thin and pale bodies of her new charges. They look as forlorn as we had looked so many years before. Although the war is not even in their memories, it seems clear that Madame J. has not changed her tactics in dealing with this new group of children.

It took me years of reflection after this visit to come to terms with my desire to forgive her, and not being able to. I remember watching Renee and my son Anthony, now an infant, as they played in the dappled sun of the coconut tree in our yard in Kuala Lumpur.

“She did save your life and at great personal risk, Sonia,” argued my husband John. “You might have perished during the war if it weren’t for her, so you need to recognize her for that.” And I do feel lucky to have survived the war at all.

When I think back to my discovery of the boxes in her room—I keenly remember my shock and certainty that she was hoarding food for her personal gain. As an adult, I cannot be certain. I try to be fair. Perhaps she used the contents, which were unavailable on the open market, to buy silence from people who would have otherwise exposed us.

And I try to live up to the nickname given to me at the orphanage: La Tourterelle Généreuse, the generous dove. “Yes, we went hungry. No, she was not a nurturing guardian. But she saved more than 20 children and several adults. Looking at it now, as an adult, I feel gratitude towards Madame J.”

I would never wish the experiences of living under her care in wartime, or the harrowing and constricted life we had before, on anyone. Yet Madame J. was an honorable person who despite the danger saved many lives. And just perhaps, the very trials of my youth forged that strength of character which has allowed me to sing—both literally and metaphorically—in my adult life.

And for the closure in my heart, I feel grateful. I watch Renee and Anthony giggle and play on the blanket in the warm sunshine, and I feel alive and happy in the present. Whatever has happened to you in your past for better or for worse, this has made you who are and gives you the strength to do what you are destined to do. When we harness the energy from love and not from anger and resentment or things we cannot change, we are capable of doing great things.

ABOUT THE BOOK

At the age of eight, little Sonia Korn is declared an enemy of theGermanState. She and her family are given a grim option; either find a way to disappear, or be rounded up and sent to certain death. After a perilous escape to the Belgian border, and becoming caught in the chaos and carnage of war-torn France and Belgium, Sonia finds that she must give up everything she knows and loves just to survive. This is the complex true story of one girl, who rises from war’s ashes to sing the songs of hope and love world-wide. A heart-wrenching and poignant memoir, by internationally renowned singer Sonia Korn-Grimani.

THANKS TO AUTHOR, SONIA KORN-GRIMANI, I HAVE ONE (1) SIGNED
COPY OF THIS MEMOIR TO GIVE AWAY. INTERNATIONAL.

CLICK HERE TO BRING YOU TO
THE GIVEAWAY ENTRY PAGE

DISCLAIMER
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.

Guest Author, Showcase

Guest Author Kim Tews

CMash October 2, 2012 3 Comments

So thrilled!! A very special day here at CMash Reads. My good friend Lori, from Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book is stopping by today with her amazing friend and author, Kim Tews.! So I ask that you help me in giving them a warm welcome!!

KIM TEWS

Kim Tews was raised in Madison, Wisconsin and attended the University of Wisconsin-Madison, majoring in Economics. She and husband, Randy, pursued careers in real estate before beginning mission work together in Ecuador, South America in 2001. In 2005 they established the 501 (c) 3 non-profit Outreach for World Hope to save the lives of starving children in eastern Guatemala. The couple lives in Verona, Wisconsin with their three children, traveling back and forth to Guatemala frequently to facilitate the ongoing programs of Outreach for World Hope.
You can visit the author at her webpage, book page and Facebook.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Tears Water the Seeds of Hope is the inspiring true story of Kim and Randy Tews, a Midwest husband and wife that become disenchanted with the relentless pursuit of the “American Dream” and embark on a journey that spans six countries and redefines their hearts and lives. The story begins in a small town in America’s heartland and weaves its way through South and Central America as the couple gathers an army of supporters, and eventually establishes a 501(c) 3 organization to save the lives of children in the end stages of starvation in eastern Guatemala. The narrative is filled with action-packed adventure and heart-warming victories as the characters face incredible odds and seemingly hopeless situations, while hundreds of volunteers join mission teams to offer help and hope through the programs of the ministry. Readers of all ages will enjoy the roller coaster ride of emotions—from laughter, to tears, to sheer joy—as they realize that it is possible for ordinary people to make a difference, one life at a time.

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1 – Wrecked for LifeThe setting sun painted a backdrop of cotton candy pink clouds over the roadside bar and grill where we would soon hear our favorite acoustic guitar duo sing Jimmy Buffet songs. It was an idyllic Wisconsin summer night late in June of 2005. Under normal circumstances, I would have enjoyed the warm breeze and the glow of the festive colored tiki lights on the outdoor deck with the sense of carefree recreation that midwestern families enjoy when school is out and the days are longer. Randy shook his head, smiling as our two daughters took turns throwing harmless jabs at one another, each laughing hysterically at her own jokes. I felt as if I were watching the scene from a distance, fighting back tears as my mind returned to the children I had seen two days earlier in a squalid hospital in drought and famine-stricken eastern Guatemala—a scene that would change me forever and wreck me once and for all for the relentless pursuit of the American Dream. I was haunted by the forlorn faces of two children whose hopeless situation had laid the framework for the rest of my life.

The severely starved two-year-old boy was scarcely more than skin and bones. Hair was a luxury his body could not afford, as the nutrients available to him were barely enough to keep his vital organs functioning. His face was sunken and pale, the outline of his ribs and spine clearly visible through his thin layer of skin. He had been carried by his barefooted ten-year-old sister from El Volcancito, their remote mountain village several miles away, into the small town of Jocotan, in hopes that his life could be saved. The mother of the children was bedridden with a debilitating illness for which she could not afford treatment. My heart broke as much for the boy, barely hanging on and suffering miserably, as for the young girl, exhausted and saddled with the crushing responsibility of keeping her baby brother alive.

A frail little girl sat weeping on a tattered bench at the entrance to the facility, her body emaciated and her abdomen severely bloated, revealing the presence of parasites within her weak, trembling frame. She had been brought to the hospital for nutritional rehabilitation, and because she was four years old, and her mother had two smaller children to care for at home, she had been left alone. Lidia could not have understood why she had been left behind by her family in this unfamiliar place. She had been sitting on the bench since early morning waiting for them to return. In her hand she clutched what was probably her only toy, a comfort and reminder of home. The lump in my throat returned each time I recalled opening her tiny hand to find that she held a black plastic vulture.

Randy and I were married in May of 1993. During our early years together, we were blessed with two beautiful daughters and were pursuing careers in real estate, climbing the ranks among our colleagues in terms of sales volume. We purchased an enormous house on four acres, and although it was only four years old, we completely remodeled it to suit our tastes. With luxury vehicles and an ever-increasing income, we were living the American Dream. There was much to be thankful for, but something was missing.

Randy and I had both grown up near Madison, Wisconsin in middle class families, Randy’s Methodist and mine Catholic. We had attended Sunday services and believed in an all-powerful God, but faith and religion were not playing a major role in our adult lives. Having agreed as newlyweds to raise our family in faith, we dutifully attended services at a congregation near our home for seven years. But we eventually felt that we needed a change and in spring of 2000, we set out in search of a new church home. With no predetermined denomination in mind, we experienced a variety of church cultures, some too formal, some too weird, others seemingly insincere. We eventually stumbled across an Evangelical Free church on the west side of Madison, near our home in the suburb of Verona. I was surprised to find that instead of an organ and a choir, this church had a band that played upbeat contemporary Christian music on keyboards, guitars and drums. The young pastor spoke with passion, bringing the Bible to life by applying scripture to issues faced by the generations of the twenty-first century. It was at this church that our faith came alive.

Our new understanding of the gift of salvation through Jesus Christ and the resulting sense of love and gratitude we felt toward God, inevitably began to pose problems for us. We were embarrassed to invite our new Christian friends to our supersized home, and conflicts began to surface in our hearts about how our time and money were being spent. One of the many bedrooms in our home had been turned into my personal closet and was loaded with clothing and shoes, most of which I did not need. I had become so busy in my career as a Realtor that I began to feel like a gerbil on a wheel. My twelve-hour workdays did not leave room for the peace and joy I had heard should come with our newly authenticated Christian faith. One frantically busy day I decided to return phone calls while waiting in line for lunch at the McDonald’s drive through. When a voice came over the speaker saying, “Can I help you?”

I was so preoccupied that I mistook it for a phone call and said, “Hello, this is Kim Tews with the Tews Team Realtors”.

During the awkward silence that followed the kid must have been thinking, “Yeah, who cares? What do you want for lunch?”

That night I arrived home from work late in the evening to find our three-year-old daughter asleep on the couch clinging to a shirt I had worn the day before. When I asked Randy about the shirt he explained, “She said it smells like you, and she misses you.”

It was time for a change.

Purchase links: Amazon B&N

DISCLAIMER
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or
Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affliate.
I am providing link(s) solely for visitors
that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author, Showcase

Guest Author Russell Blake

CMash October 1, 2012 Leave a Comment

When author and friend, Melissa Foster, a frequent visitor here at CMash Reads, asks to showcase a fellow author, I always honor that request. So today, we get to meet one of her peers as he stops by and visits. So without further ado, Mr. Russell Blake!!

RUSSELL BLAKE

Russell Blake is the acclaimed author of Fatal Exchange, The Geronimo Breach, Zero Sum,The Delphi Chronicle trilogy, Night of the Assassin, King of Swords, Revenge of the Assassin,Return of the Assassin, The Voynich Cypher, An Angel With Fur, How To Sell A Gazillion eBooks In No Time (even if drunk, high or incarcerated), Silver Justice and JET. He lives on the Pacific coast of Mexico and enjoys his dogs, writing, tequila and battling world domination by clowns. His thoughts, such as they are, can be found at his blog:http://RussellBlake.com Follow Russell on Twitter: @Blakebooks

GUEST POST

JET – A Different Kind of Action Hero

Thanks for having me – it’s a sincere pleasure.

I’m so excited about my new series, JET. I really can’t say enough about it. I am launching two books on Oct. 5 – JET, and JET II – Betrayal. Both are full-length novels, and feature the trials and tribulations of Jet, the twenty-eight year old ex-Mossad operative who faked her own death to get out of that life, but whose life has come back to haunt her in a big and ugly way.

Jet is a different kind of novel for me. It was inspired by a few simple ideas. First, I got to thinking, “Wouldn’t it be cool to write a female action lead that was a kind of a cross between James Bond and Jack Bauer, from 24?” From that, I next went to, “And wouldn’t it be even cooler if the books started with lightning action, and then accelerated from there? Like a literary version of a film like Kill Bill?”

That was the idea – a larger-than-life, overblown female heroine who kicked #ss and took no prisoners, but who did so reluctantly – she’d tried to end that existence, but then enemies from her past came after her, forcing her to put everything on the line.

I sort of had a mental image of Kate B in Underworld, but half Japanese, half Dominican – born in Israel, of those two ethnicities, but left a ward of the state early on. I wanted her to have had a painful, horrific past that she triumphed against, emerging stronger. That is sort of a recurring theme in the JET books. She’s like a Phoenix, rising from the ashes, and no matter what gets thrown at her, she comes through it better for the experience.

What’s truly exciting for me about the series is that, for whatever reason, it’s not just a shoot-em-up romp, although there’s enough of that to fill 10 books. No, what happened is that the writing turned out to be almost, and I hesitate to say this, literary fiction. Which was unintentional, but just what happened. So we have this Lamborghini on black ice, out of control roller-coaster of a book, with unexpected characterization, description and prose. I know it sounds odd, but I think it works pretty well. I honestly can’t think of another book like it. And with the number out there, that says something – either that I don’t read much, or that this is truly something different.

I think fans who are a little tired of the genre, and who think they’ve seen everything, should give JET a whirl. I think it will surprise at a number of levels. I know the character is overblown, but she’s overblown in an unapologetic way that is ultimately endearing – at least to me. It’s rare when I get done with a book and can’t wait to write the next one, but JET had that effect on me, so I immediately wrote JET II, which releases the same day. That’s unusual as well, but I don’t want readers to have to wait to find out what happens next, and the words were just waiting, so I figured might as well get em down on paper.

Thanks so much for the opportunity to come on and chat. I think my final thought would be that if you’ve never read anything by me before, just read JET. If you want to know what makes a Russell Blake book different, read JET, and there won’t be any more questions.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Jet. The code name of an ex-Mossad operative who faked her own death to get out of the game – but whose brutal past has come back to haunt her. When her new life on a tranquil island is shattered by an assassination team targeting her for execution, Jet must return to a savage life she’d thought she’d buried forever to save herself and those she loves. A gritty, unflinching roller-coaster of unexpected twists and shocking turns, Jet features a new kind of protagonist that breaks the mold. Fans of Lizbeth Sanders, SALT or the Bourne trilogy will find themselves carried along at Lamborghini speed by a story whose conclusion is as jarring and surprising as its heroine is unconventional.

DISCLAIMER
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.

Guest Author, Showcase, WOW Tours

Guest Author Karen Berner

CMash September 28, 2012 Leave a Comment

I’ll admit, I am quite thrilled to have today’s guest visiting for a few reasons. First, by now, you know that the ladies from WOW! Women On Writing, always stop by and introduces us to amazing female authors. Today’s author may sound familiar to you since she had visited back in December 2011. At that time, I had read and reviewed her first book, A Whisper To A Scream and thoroughly enjoyed it. So much so, that at the time, I had asked Jodi, from WOW, if she would put me on the list for when Ms. Berner’s next novel went on tour. And today’s the day!! So I ask that you help me welcome back, Ms. Karen Berner!!

KAREN WOJCIK BERNER

Karen Wojcik Berner lives a provincial life tucked away with her family in the Chicago suburbs. If it was good enough for Jane Austen, right?
However, dear Miss Austen had the good fortune of being born amid the glorious English countryside, something Karen unabashedly covets, so much so that she majored in English and communications at Dominican University. Like the magnificent Miss Austen, Karen could not help but write about the Society that surrounds her.

A booklover since she could hold one in her chubby little toddler hands, Karen wanted to announce to the world just how much she loves the written word. She considered getting a bibliophile tattoo but instead decided to write about the lives of the members of a suburban Classics Book Club. The series is called, of course, The Bibliophiles. When she isn’t reading, writing, or spending her time wishing she was Jane Austen, Karen spends her time can be found sipping tea or wine, whichever is more appropriate that day, and watching Tim Burton movies or “Chopped,” her favorite foodie TV show.
Visit Karen Wojcik Berner at her website here.

GUEST POST

Be a Character This Halloween
By Karen Wojcik Berner

Thank you so much for having me here today.

Autumn is my favorite season. Football. The slight chill in the air. Pumpkin spice lattes. Nature’s magnificent splendor on display.

And Halloween, that magical day when you can dress however you want and no one looks at you like you’re crazy. A geisha? Sure! Get in line. You get to lead the school costume parade. An angel? Awww, how sweet. A scarecrow? Very seasonal.

By the time freshman year in college rolled around, Halloween took a more, shall I say interesting, route with great memories of being dressed like a little girl, with pigtails and teddy bear, dancing with a friend who was Dr. Frank N. Furter, the Transylvanian transvestite from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Must have made an interesting tableau. Or the basketball team roaming the halls, tied together as a six pack of beer, oh, I mean soda.

My finest Halloween came after raiding the theater department’s costume room (I was taking a children’s theater class that semester) for my Mozart’s mistress dress, real corset and all. People were still talking about that costume at my 25-year reunion this past June, along with my 18th-century up-do, achieved with an entire can of hairspray and baby powder.

In my latest novel, “Until My Soul Gets It Right (The Bibliophiles: Book Two),” the Bibliophiles classics book club members go on a field trip to All Hallow’s Eve at Naper Settlement, a local living history museum. They see Edgar Allan Poe and the three witches from “MacBeth,” plus Dracula and a Puritan witch trial, all good, frightening, classic literary festivity .

Wouldn’t it be fun to dress as a literary character or author this Halloween? Here are some of my favorite ideas.

William Shakespeare. Donning the Bard’s costume is as easy as wearing a blousy white shirt and tucking slim-cut pants into the top of white knee socks. To create the Elizabethan ruff (collar), simply fold a piece of paper into an accordion pleat, punch a whole in the top and thread string through the holes. Tie it around your neck, and fluff it out as you see fit. Draw a small mustache on with black eye pencil, and carry a quill. Huzzah!

Carrie. Have an old prom or bridesmaids dress you are never going to wear,? Poor red paint on it, part your hair down the center, and pour fake blood all over yourself. You’re Carrie from the Stephen King novel of the same name! Works best with a slinky, 1970s-style dress.

Tom Sawyer. Wear frayed, worn jeans, a plaid shirt and a straw hat. Tie a bandana at the end of a long stick. Bingo! Easy as pie.

Nancy Drew. Assemble a preppy ensemble of a plaid skirt, oxford shirt, blazer and a cloche hat. Carry a magnifying glass. Friends with a clue will know who you are immediately.

Edgar Allan Poe. What’s Halloween without an hommage to the creepiest of all 19th-century writers? With a white dress shirt, black suit (with vest), and a mustache drawn on with black eye pencil, you will be Poe in no time. Don’t forget the raven for your shoulder or to carry.

These are just a few of the many possible options. How about you? What would your favorite literary Halloween costume look like?

ABOUT THE BOOK

The ladies (and man) of the Bibliophiles Book Club are back! This time the spotlight is on Catherine. Catherine Elbert has never been good at making decisions, whether it was choosing an ice cream flavor as a child or figuring out what she wanted to be when she grew up. The only thing Catherine knew for sure was there had to be more to her life than being stuck on her family’s farm.

So Catherine became enamored with the complete opposite of the flat farmlands of Burkesville, Wisconsin – the ocean, lobsters, and rugged coast of Portland, Oregon. Despite her parents’ threat to disown her and her brothers’ bets on how many days until she comes home Catherine heads for Peaks Island, off the coast of Portland.

She is finally free. Or so she thought. What Catherine forgot was that you can’t run away from yourself!

Watch for my review in the coming weeks.
Read my review of A Scream To A Whisper here.

THE SERIES

THANKS TO AUTHOR, KAREN WOJCIK BERNER,
I HAVE ONE (1) COPY OF UNTIL MY SOUL GET’S IT RIGHT TO GIVE AWAY.
EITHER A PRINT COPY (U.S. RESIDENTS ONLY)
OR EBOOK EDITION (OPEN TO ALL)

WANT A CHANCE TO WIN A WHISPER TO A SCREAM?
THEN HEAD ON OVER TO KAREN BERNER’S WEBSITE TO ENTER HERE

CLICK HERE TO BRING YOU TO
THE GIVEAWAY ENTRY PAGE.

DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,
in exchange for my honest review.
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.