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Fall Book Bash

Reality is just a dream

December 7, 2015 By Barbara 2 Comments

~~~FALL BOOK BASH ~~~ FALL BOOK BASH ~~~ FALL BOOK BASH~~~

So many terrific authors have dropped by this fall to share excerpts from their books in The Fall Book Bash. I love reading bits from so many different genres and finding things I probably would never have picked up otherwise. My to-be-read list has definitely grown in the past two months, but I’m planning to take care of that over the holidays by reading as much as I can. I hope you have been able to find some great holiday reads and gifts as well.

Today, Beth Honeycutt is sharing an excerpt from her young adult novel, What Dreams May Come. So if you love young adult novels or if you know someone who does, check out the excerpt below and find your next great book.

New-Ebook-Cover-Design2-alt~He knows her darkest secrets, sees into her dreams. Math class will never be the same.

Reality is overrated. Or so Ellie Cross believes. She greatly prefers the dreams she shares with her imaginary friend and lifelong BFF, Gabe, to the nightmare of her real life. And okay, so yeah, lately Ellie’s noticed that Gabe’s kinda hot. Make that incredibly hot. But that doesn’t mean she’s crazy or anything. So what if she happens to have an itsy-bitsy crush on her reality-challenged friend? Who’s it hurting, really?

But when the hot new guy at school walks into her math class, Ellie finds herself staring into eyes remarkably like the ones she’s been dreaming of all her life. To make matters worse, the new guy seems to know things about Ellie that he shouldn’t have any way of knowing. Has Ellie finally lost it, started confusing dreams with reality? Or is there something else going on, something she never could’ve imagined, even in her wildest dreams?~

WHAT DREAMS MAY COME (excerpt)

Ellie handed a menu over to Gabriel. “You have to try a piece of pie,” she instructed. “You can’t miss it—their pie is the best. And I bet I can find just the kind you’d like,” she said, pointing to a small blurb on the back of the menu entitled, The Psychology of Pie. “You can learn a lot about a person from the type of pie they like,” she teased.

“Oh really?” Gabriel returned, joining in the lighthearted fun. “I’ll take that challenge. I bet I can pick out the kind of pie you like best, too.”

“You’re on,” Ellie challenged. “You order the pie you think I’d want and I’ll do the same for you. Then we’ll see who knows the other best,” she finished smugly, sure she was going to win. She’d been thinking about this for a while now.

They both studied the menu until the waitress came over to take their order. She was a middle-aged woman who looked tired from the long day and, no doubt, the long evening of dealing with teenagers.

She was quick and efficient taking their order and returned in just a couple of minutes with the pie and their drinks. She placed their respective refreshments in front of them and laid the bill to the side, then went back to the front.

Gabriel pushed the plate that was in front of him toward Ellie. It held a single slice of cream-colored pie with a slightly darker, golden-yellow top, all supported by a delicate crust with fluted edges. He took his fork and cut off the tip of the pie, putting it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed and nodded to himself, satisfied. “Sugar cream pie,” he said, supremely confident that he’d pegged her favorite.

“Interesting,” she responded, refusing to give anything away just yet. She wanted to hear his reasoning first. “Why that one?”

“It just seems like you.” Gabriel shrugged. “Light, unpretentious, with a delicate crust that’s not too thick or too thin. There’s hidden depth to the flavor that you aren’t expecting. It’s sweet, but not so rich that you can only take it in small doses. You could eat a whole pie and still want more. And it’s a classic—good for any occasion, any time. The perfect pie.” He held her gaze as he listed the attributes and she found herself blushing again at the message in his eyes.

It was probably ridiculous to feel so complimented, being compared to a piece of pie, but she did. He forked up another bite and held it out to her, waiting for her to take a taste. She did, closing her eyes at the creamy texture and light sweetness nestled within the flaky crust. It was the perfect piece of pie.

When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her closely. His eyes were dark and kept straying to her lips, making them tingle. She decided a change of topic was in order, so she pushed the piece of pie she’d chosen out to the middle of the table. It had a thick coating of nuts on top, with golden-brown, gooey filling hidden beneath. Its crust was thick and firm. Like he had done, she forked up a bite and ate it slowly, testing it on her tongue, thinking through what she wanted to say. She swallowed and took a drink of her water. “Pecan,” she declared decisively, pleased with her choice.

“Oh, really?” he asked, one brow raised. “And why is that?”

She smiled impishly. “Tough and strong on the outside, gooey and sweet on the inside. Oh, and a sturdy, dependable crust. And maybe just a little nuts,” she added with a smirk. She forked up a bite for him and held it out, her eyes alight with good humor.

He rolled his eyes, but leaned forward to take the proffered bite. He chewed carefully and swallowed. “Not bad,” he conceded.

“Oh, come on!” Ellie protested. “You know you loved it!”

“What about you?” he challenged. “How was the sugar cream?”

“You’re right, it is my favorite,” Ellie admitted. Though she put on a good show, she was secretly thrilled that he knew her so well. “How’d I do with yours?”

“Truthfully, I’ve never really had a favorite kind of pie,” Gabriel said, sounding almost apologetic.

“Pie’s not something I’ve had a lot of.” Ellie felt her heart squeeze at this reminder of how very different his upbringing had been from hers. But then he grinned, face alight with happiness. “I gotta say, though, I think pecan is my favorite now.” His gaze on her was warm. “Though let’s not let that ‘gooey and sweet on the inside’ stuff get around, all right? I mean, pecan pie has a reputation to protect, yeah?”

Ellie burst out laughing. “I’ll do my best to keep a lid on it,” she promised, eyes twinkling.

A professional writer and editor, Beth has written everything from poetry and short storiesauthor-bio-1 to proposals for government contracts, science textbooks, and standardized tests (yes, you have her to thank for those!). Her real love is writing fiction, though, especially YA. She loves to travel and has been to nine different countries (more if you count layovers!). At home or abroad, she can usually be found with her head in a book or madly scribbling down ideas for a book of her own. She loves spending time with family, stories of all kinds, and happy endings. She firmly believes in the enduring power of love.

Connect with Beth online:

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Buy What Dreams May Come

Hope you enjoyed this excerpt. Please leave a comment or question for Beth below!

Barbara

Barbara is the author of The Fredrickson Winery Novels, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, Second Chances Series, the award winning thriller, Split Sense, and the Double Barrel mystery, Roadkill. She hangs out in Minnesota with her husband and their pups.
Barbara is the author of The Fredrickson Winery Novels, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, Second Chances Series, the award winning thriller, Split Sense, and the Double Barrel mystery, Roadkill. She hangs out in Minnesota with her husband and their pups.
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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Beth Honeycutt, excerpt, Fall Book Bash, What Dreams May Come, young adult fiction, young adult romance

A Steampunk adventure of zodgilla proportions!

December 4, 2015 By Barbara 2 Comments

FALL BOOK BASH ~~~ FALL BOOK BASH ~~~ FALL BOOK BASH

The Fall Book Bash wouldn’t be complete without some steampunk fantasy. So today we have author Ichabod Temperance sharing an excerpt from his latest adventure, The Seventh Voyage of Temperance.

Sit back and enjoy the ride…

voyagekindle“Leapin’ lizards, Miss Plumtartt, we’ve got big trouble, really big trouble!”

“Indeed, Mr. Temperance, for unethical experiments carried out in this remote locale, somewhere south of Nippon, has left this Monstrous Isle aswarm with uncanny creatures of titanic dimensions, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, and if we ain’t careful, one extra jumbo-sized mega-reptile is going to run rampant all over our unsuspecting planet!”

“Then let us gather what comrades we may, however unlikely they be, and face this, the greatest of your challenges: Ichabod Temperance versus the Monarch of all Monsters!”

The SEVENTH VOYAGE of TEMPERANCE (excerpt)

“You guys are in big trouble! Do you know who I am? I am the idol of every teenager in the range of my voice! You guys are like some kind of broadcast pirates! You g… Did you feel that? I felt the Earth shake. There it is again: one resounding Earth tremor after another. The Earth-shaking rumbles are growing with intensity. It is as if the ground were being pummeled by an impossibly huge weight. Now I can hear the approaching tread of trepidation! Oh, why does the sound grip my heart in an icy grip of nameless dread? Aieee! You guys were right! Look over there! It is a giant super-monster!”

“Oh my goodness, Jubei, it’s ZodGila! He is here already! ToeKey-Oh will never evacuate in time! What can we do?”

“Ichsa-bod, hurry and follow me back to the dyno-cycle!”

“Yessir!”

“Remove the port side stylish, aerodynamic foil stabilizer while I disengage the starboard side.”

“Wow! I didn’t know these big, pointy, aerodynamic stabilizers pointing rearward from the dyno-cycle were removable! I just thought they looked good and made the scooter look like it was going faster! That’s pretty neat! Oh, I see, these are really a set of those air service corps devices.”

“Hai, Ichsa-bod, Be sure it is strapped on as tightly as possible.”

“Yessir, Mr. Trevorgawa, sir. They sure do have a lot of straps to ensure a snug fit, don’t they, sir?”

“Hai, Ichsa-bod. Now, hurry, and follow me. We must quickly scale this broadcast tower.”

“What for, sir?”

“This will be our launching platform.”

“Launching platform? … Oh. Um, are these things difficult to operate?”

“Hai.”

“Hi! Oh, well, I guess this will be kind of like learning to swim. Paw-Paw just chucked me out in the middle of the river, and I pretty much learned how to swim quick.”

“Hai, this will be a similar experience, though it may be easier to liken it to a fledgling bird, leaving its nest.”

“Yessir, I reckon that’ll be the more appropriate analogy. Well, here we are, on the top of this high, broadcast tower that soars into the air overlooking this wide, harbour basin. Wow, this tower’s height is a lot more impressive from up here than on the ground.”

“Put on this leather helmet.”

“Yessir.”

“Now put on these goggles.”

“What for?”

“They complete the ensemble. Now, are you ready?”

“To jump off this lofty tower and hope that this crazy winged contraption operates? I reckon I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s get her accomplished!”

“Hai! Hadjame!”

“Gulp! Geronimo!”

“Quit thrashing about, Ichsa-bod, you are going to crash!”

“Woah-I’m trying, sir. Man, you weren’t kidding about these things being difficult to operate! Okay, I got my steel framework leather wings deployed in time to keep from falling to my death, so all I need to do is get them to flapping and maybe I can regain some altitude. Hey do you hear that? Oh, it’s Toshi Watusi. He has resumed his broadcast.”

~whump, bump, bump.~

~buh, duh, duh.~

~whump. bump. bump.~

~buh-duh-duh.~

~whump. bump. bump.~

~buh-duh-duh.~

~whump, bump, bump.~

~buh, duh, duh, whump.~

~wheer-rheel.~

~buh-duh-duh, whump.~

~wheer-rheel.~

~buh-duh-duh, whump.~

~wheer-rheel.~

~buh-duh-duh, whump.~

~wheer-rheel.~

“Pointed teeth,”

“ fill the grimace”

“of his terrible smile,”

“Our city is imperiled”

“by an uber-crocodile.”

~whump. bump. bump.~

“ZodGila!”

~whump, bump, bump~

~whump.~

“He picks up a ship,”

“and throws it back down,”

“His roar rips the air”

“with a terrible sound.”

~whump. bump. bump.~

“ZodGila!”

“Woah——-oah!”

“Good-bye ToeKey-Oh!”

“Crushed by ZodGila!”

“Ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo!”

“It’s time for us to blow!”

“Everybody in ToeKey-Oh!”

“Flee from ZodGila!”

“Ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo!”

~buh-duh-duh, whump.~

~wheer-rheel~

“History is indicative”

“again and again,”

“How nature points out”

“the silliness of Man.”

~whump. bump. bump.~

“ZodGila!”

“Ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo!”

~~~Purchase>  The Seventh Voyage of Temperance on Amazon

ickyandkitkaIchabod Temperance is a silly little fellow living in picturesque Irondale, Alabama, with his lovely, gracious and kind muse, Miss Persephone Plumtartt, and their furry pack family. His uncanny Trans-temporal-universo-scriptometer allows him to publish his adventures in our timeline.

Ickys Amazon page   Icky on twitter   Icky on facebook

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for stopping by and being a part of The Fall Book Bash. Take a moment and leave a comment for Icky below!

Barbara

Barbara is the author of the Fredrickson Winery Novels, the award winning thriller, Split Sense, The Second Chances series, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and ROADKILL, the 1st book in the new Double Barrel Mysteries. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and pups.
Barbara is the author of the Fredrickson Winery Novels, the award winning thriller, Split Sense, The Second Chances series, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and ROADKILL, the 1st book in the new Double Barrel Mysteries. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and pups.
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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Fall Book Bash, fantasy, fiction, Ichabod Temperance, Seventh Voyage of Temperance, Steampunk

Between the Lies on The Fall Book Bash

December 2, 2015 By Barbara 3 Comments

~~~ FALL BOOK BASH ~~~ FALL BOOK BASH ~~~ FALL BOOK BASH ~~~ 

Author Joy DeKok is sharing an excerpt from her novel, Between the Lies, with us today. I’ve read this one and I can tell you that it is an absorbing story. It would make a terrific addition to your Christmas gift selections for that book-loving friend or family member you have a hard time buying for… or a little holiday gift for yourself.

Joy2Joy has been writing since she was a little girl. Her dream of being an author was front and center in her mind and after years of hard work, she has several books in publication. She has been traditionally published, but is now an indie author.

Joy works part time for her husband and puts in as many hours writing as she can. She prefers writing in the solitude of her office, but can also be found in area coffee shops now and then where the voices and energy of the real world infuse the words on the page.

She’s been married to Jon for 38 years. They live on 35 acres of woods and field between Pine Island and Rochester. Joy loves riding their John Deere Gator with her dogs, Sophie & Tucker, taking pictures and enjoying God. Although unable to have children of their own, they love their nieces, nephews, and the children of their friends. And most of them are having kids of their own and don’t mind sharing them with Joy and Jon at all.

Her latest release is Between the Lies. It’s the first book in a mystery/suspense series. Joy took some risks with the main character. As a former “kept” woman, Olivia Morgan is not easy to like, but she’s the character Joy was given to write about. Writing is like that.

Connect with Joy online:  Facebook   Twitter  Google+  Tumblr  LinkedIn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BTLNorthernLightSeriesRGB1600x2400pxBETWEEN THE LIES (excerpt)

Security called to let me know the private elevator was out-of-order, and I was told to use the public elevator. That had never happened in the ten years I’d lived there, but then neither had the night ahead of me.

A black stretch limo waited at the curb to take me to the ball. And I did it all without a fairy god-mother. Who needed a fat little old lady with a wand and a warning? Not me. No way.

Not until I found the dead guy anyway.

Lloyd, the building security guy, called to tell me my ride was waiting. When the elevator doors whispered open, I stepped in with a practiced little swish. I say practiced, because I had taken three trial runs and added what I thought might be an elegant little entrance move.

The guy in the elevator didn’t notice. He stood in the corner with his chin on his chest and his eyes half-closed and with a Twins cap sitting off-kilter on his head. What a stiff.

When the doors shut, our descent began with a slight shudder, and the man lurched forward and fell face-down near my feet.

“For crying out loud, man, it’s too early to be so drunk,” I muttered.

When the doors opened, I called out to the head of security who was seated at the front desk, “Can you help me with this guy?”

Lloyd, a former marine, rolled the man over, then jumped back. “Olivia, this man is dead.”

I gasped and stared at the guy and noticed his eyes were empty—devoid of life. His face, neck, and scalp were severely scarred. His cap now lay on the floor beside him. I assumed he used it to cover his face which looked tight and melted.

Instead of screaming or fleeing I went to my secret place; the one deep inside me I’d discovered the first time my father came to my room. I hadn’t been there in a long time, but I let the calm flow over me as I shut the door to my feelings. Besides, I had someplace to be, and losing it was not an option.

“Lloyd, I have to get going. You can handle this, right?”

“No. You are a witness and may have evidence on your dress or the bottom of your shoes.”

“Can you please get me out of here?” The body was blocking my exit, had ruined my elegant entrance into the foyer of the building, and was going to make me late for the evening.

Lloyd raised his hand as I tried to explain why I had to get out. He was already on his cell phone, telling someone Mr. Lyons would not appreciate it if the St. Paul police department didn’t send someone over “pronto.” When he hung up he looked at me and said, “Stay put.” He left no room for argument so I stayed with the guy. The very dead guy.

Within minutes, a swarm of police and other officials had the area cordoned off with yellow tape, and hustled around like bees in a hive. At first glance, it seemed chaotic, but their movements were strategically choreographed.

And there was a coroner. I’d always pictured people who work with the dead all looking like old Dr. Frankenstein: gaunt and grisly. This guy was movie-star handsome. “Hello. I need your corner.” His voice sounded so warm it could melt an iceberg. “Would you mind stepping onto these slightly sticky sheets of paper? They will catch any particles from your shoes we might need.” He offered me his hand and helped me step over the dead guy onto large sheets he placed on the elevator floor.

I have no idea what came over me, but I heard myself say, “Thank you, kind sir,” and I curtsied. Maybe it was the dress.

Whatever it was, it must have been contagious because he bowed slightly and said, “My pleasure, lovely lady.”

“Olivia, are you okay?” Lloyd’s bushy eyebrows nearly met in the middle as he narrowed his eyes at me. His voice sliced through the air, ruining a fun moment, and I felt myself stand a little straighter. I squelched the urge to salute and swallowed a giggle.

Instead, I took a deep breath and said, “I suppose I’m a little shocked, but this night is important. I have to go. Please help me . . . it’s for Jillian.”

Lloyd walked over to an officer in regular clothes and pointed at me. They talked for awhile and she made a couple of calls. When she hung up, she walked over to me and said, “I’m detective Harper, Homicide Division. I understand you have an important event to attend tonight. I’ve talked to my boss, and Mr. Alan Lyons, who vouched for you. Both said you can leave if you allow me to inspect the bag you are carrying. I also want to meet with you tomorrow at time decided on by me. Do you agree with these stipulations?”

“Sure,” I agreed.

After she inspected my clutch and tucked a card into the pocket, the detective said, “Your driver is waiting.”

I walked toward the handsome doctor of the dead and heard him say, “The body is still in the elevator. I’d like to get it out of there so your team can look for evidence.” I noticed him look in my direction. As I turned, my dress swished just so. Funny the things that matter at a crime scene and when a handsome man might be watching.

The driver who held my door open looked familiar, but I had no idea from where. He wore reflective sunglasses that wrapped around his eyes almost to his temples.

Something about him made my nerves jangle. Just like the homeless guy did at the cemetery. I wrote it off as anxiety from looking into the eyes of a dead man.

I opened my clutch and took a moment to apply powder to my face and freshen my lipstick. The little beaded purse held those two items, along with a credit card, my key cards, and my cell phone. I looked at the card the detective had tucked inside. On the back was her cell phone number under the words, Talk to you soon. ~~~

Purchase Between the Lies:  Amazon

~~~

Thanks for stopping! Did you enjoy this latest excerpt? Leave a comment or question for Joy or myself below.

Barbara

Barbara Ellen Brink is the author of The Fredrickson Winery Novels, Split Sense (winner of the Grace Award), Running Home, Alias Raven Black, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and Roadkill.
Barbara Ellen Brink is the author of The Fredrickson Winery Novels, Split Sense (winner of the Grace Award), Running Home, Alias Raven Black, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and Roadkill.
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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Between The Lies, excerpt, Fall Book Bash, Joy Dekok, mystery, womensfic

Politics as usual…

November 30, 2015 By Barbara 2 Comments

It may be the last day of November, but The Fall Book Bash continues with another great excerpt, this time from author Paul Cwalina. Reviewers of Paul’s first novel, DROPPING STONES, have used the words gripping, emotional roller coaster, disturbing, and literary classic to convey their appreciation of his story. Many of them hoped for a sequel. Well here it is! Today Paul is sharing an excerpt with us from the second book in his Dropping Stones series, KINGMAKER.

0bf6549f-0134-4dc0-8fb4-ab3f96b3b129-large~~After a man destroys his own life, where does he go from there? Lost and confused, the mayor starts over, his new life a delicate balance between mourning and moving forward. A second shot at a political career comes to him, so he pursues his dream of becoming part of the Washington, DC power scene. Just when he thinks he’s getting it together, the balance is threatened as a woman bearing the fruit of his sinful past confronts him and demands accountability. Her determination and uncompromising ways force him to choose between what he wants and what he needs. He thinks he’s finally got it right until another equally determined woman relentlessly pursues him. She may have the ability to deliver his dreams and more, but at what cost? He squandered his first chance at success and true love. Will the siren call of power politics be his down fall again? ~~

Born and raised in northeastern Pennsylvania, Paul Cwalina is the grandson of immigrant

61bcamfKK-L._UX250_coalminers. By day, he is a marketing executive and an economics geek, as well as a politics junkie.

Citing Ernest Hemingway’s “Farewell to Arms” as the spark that ignited his desire to write, the author is now turning his long-dormant passion and hobby into a way to tell a story to the world.

“I don’t write ‘comfortable’ stories. I want my readers to be affected and to think; to get out of their comfort zones just a bit. The biggest compliment I receive on ‘Dropping Stones’ is that the story stays with a person long after they’ve read it. To me, that says ‘mission accomplished’.”

Paul lives with his wife and children in Drums, Pennsylvania. 

Connect with Paul online:  Facebook  Twitter   Amazon author page

KINGMAKER (excerpt)

The doors to the elevator opened as soon as I got back and we stepped in.  The doors closed and I was still processing what I had just seen in the restaurant when Jennifer stepped in front of me and poked her finger into my chest.

“Don’t you ever try to stop me from speaking my mind again.  I’m not some accessory you’re going to wear to cocktail parties,” she said.

With the back of my left hand, I swept her finger away.  “Don’t give me that I-am-woman-hear-me-roar garbage.  Do you have any idea what you cost me in there?”

“What I cost you?  Excuse me?” she said in a raised voice.

“There is no way he’s going to put someone on the White House staff who has a loose cannon for a spouse!” I yelled back.

She stopped and stared hard into my eyes.  Her anger melted into disappointment and hurt.  “White House staff?  You lied to me.  You’re still planning to work here.  To live here.  You’ve been lying to me this whole time.” She stopped me cold. I was so consumed with anger that I unwittingly revealed what I had to keep hidden from Jennifer: that I never gave up on moving to DC.  I put my head down and exhaled hard.  “I wasn’t lying.  I was just hoping you would change your mind.”

Jennifer turned, stepped back to my side and leaned against the back wall of the elevator.  When the doors opened, she practically bolted for the door and kept walking.  With her pregnancy it was easy to catch up to her, but that clearly wasn’t what she wanted.  We were silent for the entire walk back to the hotel and the elevator to our floor.

“I’m going to bed,” she said as soon as we entered the room.  “Turn around so I can get undressed.”

I turned and stared at the wall.  I heard her slip out of her clothes.  “There’s a time and place for everything.  That wasn’t the time or place,” I said.

“And when would be a good time?  You keep telling me this guy is going to be president.  Should I wait until then?  Should I wait until he’s insulated and cut off from the real world and surrounded by a bunch of sycophants and yes-men?  I had the chance to point out the error of his thinking and I took advantage of it.”

“You embarrassed him.”

“His lack of insight did that, not me.  And if he can’t handle it, tough,” she said confidently.  “And if you can’t handle it, you know where the door is.” I heard her slip into bed.

“I certainly do,” I said, frustrated. I got undressed in the dark and collapsed into my bed.

I spent two restless hours trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep.  I thought about the dinner with Rick, but mostly about the tension between Jennifer and me.  I couldn’t tell which was more frustrating—our differences or the fact that I was falling in love with someone who wasn’t impressed in the least with my success or what I did for a living. 

~~~

Thanks for stopping! Leave a comment or question for Paul and make sure to pick up your FREE kindle copy of the the 1st book in The Dropping Stones series November 30th!

Barbara

Barbara is the author of the Fredrickson Winery Novels, the award winning thriller, Split Sense, The Second Chances series, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and ROADKILL, the 1st book in the new Double Barrel Mysteries. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and pups.
Barbara is the author of the Fredrickson Winery Novels, the award winning thriller, Split Sense, The Second Chances series, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and ROADKILL, the 1st book in the new Double Barrel Mysteries. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and pups.

 

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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Christian fiction, excerpt, Fall Book Bash, fiction, Paul Cwalina, political novel

An unforgettable love

November 22, 2015 By Barbara 1 Comment

Today’s excerpt makes an even dozen in The Fall Book Bash! So many great books to choose from and Christmas only weeks away. Paperbacks make great under the tree gifts, but ebooks can be terrific stocking stuffers. They don’t take up much room at all:) If you missed any excerpts, make sure and scroll back through the earlier posts. We’ve had lots of different genres and authors.

Author Marianne Sciucco is sharing an excerpt today from her novel, BLUE HYDRANGEAS. It sounds like a very intriguing and possibly heart-rending love story. But you decide. Read on for the blurb, excerpt, and a little about the author…

BlueHydrangeas EBOOK coverWhat if the person who knew you best and loved you most forgot your face, and couldn’t remember your name? A care facility is everyone’s solution for what to do about Sara, but her husband, Jack, can’t bear to live without her. He is committed to saving his marriage, his wife, and their life together from the devastation of Alzheimer’s disease. He and Sara retired years ago to the house of their dreams, and operated it as a Cape Cod bed and breakfast named Blue Hydrangeas. Jack has made an impossible promise: He and Sara will stay together in their beautiful home no matter what the disease brings. However, after nine years of selfless caregiving, complicated by her progressing Alzheimer’s and his own failing heart, he finally admits he can no longer care for her at home. With reluctance, he arranges to admit her to an assisted living facility. But, on the day of admission, Sara is having one of her few good days, and he is unable to follow through. Instead, he takes them on an impulsive journey to confront their past and reclaim their future. In the end, he realizes that staying together at any cost is what truly matters.

BLUE HYDRANGEAS (excerpt)

A chilly draft greeted him as he entered the kitchen and saw the sliding door to the deck was unlatched. Is Sara outdoors in this wretched rain? he thought. Has she gone for a walk? She never takes her walk until after her first cup of coffee. He noted the automatic coffeepot, silent on the kitchen counter, too early to brew. He ignored the rising panic in his gut and dressed for the weather, grabbing his jacket and putting on shoes before heading out the back door.

Jack circled the house, shouting her name. He didn’t find her in the cutting garden or in the back yard. He worked his way down the driveway, feeling foolish for panicking. She’d probably decided to take her walk before breakfast. Still, a troublesome thought in the back of his mind suggested this was not the case.

Sara had several routes to walk throughout the development. She used the established walking paths, but also traveled along the main streets, admiring her neighbor’s homes and gardens and stopping to chat with anyone she passed.

Jack took off along this route. He walked quickly and saw no one. With each step he tried to convince himself he worried for nothing, praying at any moment he’d turn a corner and see her coming toward him, a smile on her face, eager to tell him about a bird she’d observed or a new planting in someone’s yard. He didn’t see her.

As he approached the path to Falmouthport Beach, he paused, ready to turn back because Sara avoided the beach, complaining it was too breezy, especially when it was raining. Walking on sand was a struggle and she feared losing her balance. She preferred to stay on the road where the ground was level.

However, at the last moment something urged him to head for the shore. He quickly made his way there, the wind pushing against him. The tide was rolling in and the sound of crashing waves drowned out everything else. The beach was deserted. He shielded his eyes with his hands and searched the coastline.

She stood at the edge of the surf, her thick, white hair loose and flowing in the wind, whipping about her face, her legs splayed, her arms held out for balance. The open ocean rolled and churned toward her, making her seem small and frail. He raced toward her, screaming her name. She turned at his voice and stumbled, falling into the water, landing on her hands and knees.

He plunged into the water and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to her feet. “My God, Sara, what are you doing out here?” he asked, breathless from his efforts. He rubbed her arms in a desperate attempt to make her warm.

“I don’t know,” she cried. “I’m all mixed up.”

The frigid water soaked through his shoes and socks. She shivered against him, her thin, flannel nightgown plastered against her body. He covered her with his jacket and led her away from the water. They labored across the beach to the path that led home.

He draped an arm over her shoulders and they stumbled back to the house. It seemed to take forever. Sara shivered uncontrollably, short of breath, her chest heaving. Jack struggled with every step, winded by the exertion of holding her up and propelling her forward. The rain continued to pelt them, but it had subsided a bit and they were able to maneuver through it with little difficulty.

They finally arrived home. He guided her through the front door and into the family room where he removed her wet nightgown, covered her with a blanket, and led her to the couch, easing her onto the soft cushions.

She cried, making little gasping sounds and repeating, “I’m so mixed up,” in a pitiful voice that chilled him to his core.

He made coffee, brought her a cup, and held it to her lips. She sipped carefully and flopped back against the couch, her blue eyes shiny with tears.

“Oh, Jack,” she moaned. “What’s happening to me?”

Purchase BLUE HYDRANGEAS:  Amazon  Barnes&Noble

Now thru Nov 24th, get Blue Hydrangeas for just .99¢ and visit Marianne and her friends for a special Facebook event> AlzAuthors: Ending the isolation of Alzheimer’s

~~~

Marianne Sciucco, AuthorMarianne Sciucco is not a nurse who writes but a writer who happens to be a nurse. A lover of words and books, she dreamed of becoming an author when she grew up but became a nurse to avoid poverty. She later brought her two passions together and writes about the intricate lives of people struggling with health and family issues. Her debut novel “Blue Hydrangeas,” an Alzheimer’s love story, is a Kindle bestseller, IndieReader Approved, a BookWorks featured book, a Library Journal Self-e Selection, a 5-star Readers Favorite, and winner of IndieReCon’s Best Indie Novel Award, 2014. She also has two short stories available on Kindle, “Ino’s Love” and “Collection.” Marianne is currently working on a YA novel, “Swim Season,” about the new girl on the team who challenges a longstanding school record, to be released in 2015. A dedicated Swim Mom for ten years, you can find her during swim season at one of many Skyline Conference swim meets cheering for her daughter and her team. A native Bostonian, Marianne lives in New York’s Hudson Valley, and when not writing works as a campus nurse at a community college. She loves books, the beach, and craft beer, and especially enjoys the three of them together.

Connect with Marianne: Author website  Facebook  Goodreads  Creatspace  Youtube

Thanks for stopping by! If you enjoyed this excerpt, please leave a comment.

Barbara

Barbara is the author of The Fredrickson Winery Novels, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, Second Chances Series, and the award winning thriller, Split Sense. She hangs out in Minnesota with her husband and their pups.
Barbara is the author of The Fredrickson Winery Novels, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, Second Chances Series, and the award winning thriller, Split Sense. She hangs out in Minnesota with her husband and their pups.

 

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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: ageless romance, alzheimer's, excerpt, Fall Book Bash, fiction, Marianne Sciucco, medical love story

A hero in war, a coward at love

November 19, 2015 By Barbara 1 Comment

THE FALL BOOK BASH ~~~ THE FALL BOOK BASH ~~~ THE FALL BOOK BASH

We’ve had so many great excerpts this past month that my kindle reader is starting to bulge at the seams. But it’s not over yet! Today, author Naomi Musch is sharing an excerpt from her historical romance, THE LOVE COWARD. What a great title, right? I can’t wait to read this one. So let’s get started.

~~Naomi Musch is a multi-published, award-winning author who writes inspirational Cr2012women’s fiction and romance, while living as epically as God allows with husband Jeff and their expanding family in the pristine north woods of Wisconsin. The Love Coward is a vintage historical from Desert Breeze Publishing.

She invites readers to say hello and find out more about her stories, passions, and other writing venues at http://www.naomimusch.com or to look her up on Facebook (Naomi Musch – Author) and Twitter (NMusch). ~~

TheLoveCowardCoverArt72dpiWorld War II is over. Now that Burke Delgard is safely home, Tulla Johanson can finally quit the factory and become his wife. Together they can revive her family’s farm, while she cares for her aging parents. But seven years of dreams shatter when Burke backs out on their wedding day. Hiding her humiliation in the back seat of a Hudson, she is rescued by Burke’s war buddy and would-be best man Steven “Van” Vandreel. 

Home isn’t the same for Van since returning from overseas. He feels displaced, and he certainly doesn’t mean to get between Burke and his jilted bride, yet he can hardly help himself. When Tulla’s friend Walt pursues her, and Burke decides he wants Tulla back, Van is forced to face his own feelings and fears. Can he commit to her any better than Burke did, or will deep scars from his past prove him to be just another love coward?

THE LOVE COWARD (excerpt) by Naomi Musch

1947

Tulla checked her Red Majesty lipstick against the bright glare of the light bulb bouncing off the mirror. She tilted her head to see past the smudges and dust streaked across the glass, hoping she’d produced the advertisement’s “petal finish” and “inviting glow” that could warm a man’s heart. She snapped the lipstick tube closed and dropped it in her purse perched on the edge of a ceramic sink then brushed a hand over her navy skirt — again.

“You can breathe, Tulla.”

Oh. Tulla closed her eyes, let calming air expand her lungs, then exhaled and opened her eyes slowly. She glanced at her best friend Joan. “Keep reminding me. It still doesn’t feel real.”

“When Burke slides that shiny ring on your finger, it’ll feel real enough.”

Tulla sighed and fanned herself with her hand. The one small window of the tiny bathroom in the basement of the church was open, but little air circulated around them. Sunlight streamed in, however, highlighting dancing dust mites. Joan shouldered close to Tulla and leaned in toward the mirror while she clipped heavy, beaded earrings to the lobes of her dainty ears.

She turned to Tulla and smiled. “You look beautiful, sweets. He won’t even think twice when he sees you.”

“Oh, he’s way past thinking twice.” She turned back to the mirror and tucked away a dark strand of hair at the nape of her neck.

“Poo. He’s over all that.”

“I hope so.”

Tap, tap, tap. Both women jumped at the three staccato raps on the door.

Tulla’s heart fluttered. “Oh, no! Is it time? Joan, hurry, I don’t even have my veil on.”

Joan leaned her cheek against the women’s room door. “Yes?”

“It’s Van — um — Steven Vandreel. I have something for Tulla.”

Joan cracked the door open an inch and blinked through the opening. “You by yourself? Burke can’t see the bride you know.”

“Uh — oh, yeah. It’s just me. Give this to Tulla, will ya?”

“Oh, sure.” Joan grinned and smacked her gum. She reached through the opening and accepted a small folded square of paper. “A love note, huh? Can’t wait? Tullie, your lover boy sent you a note.” Joan closed the door and waggled her eyebrows.

“What?” Tulla took the two-inch folded square of dull notebook paper and turned toward the light. Burke wasn’t much of a love letter kind of guy, but maybe he was just a little bit excited today too. That or he forgot his tie or something. “What’s he up to?” She forced a smile at Joan to hide a sudden case of trembling.

Tulla, I need to talk to you. I know I’m not supposed to see you before the wedding, but it can’t wait.

~~Purchase a copy of The Love Coward at these stores~~

DBP   Amazon   Barnes & Noble   Christian Book Distributors

Hope you enjoyed this excerpt. Please leave a comment below! 

Barbara

Barbara Ellen Brink is the author of The Fredrickson Winery Novels, Split Sense (winner of the Grace Award), Running Home, Alias Raven Black, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and Roadkill.
Barbara Ellen Brink is the author of The Fredrickson Winery Novels, Split Sense (winner of the Grace Award), Running Home, Alias Raven Black, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and Roadkill.

 

 

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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: excerpt, Fall Book Bash, fiction, Historical romance, inspirational, Naomi Musch, The Love Coward

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