Uncaged Book Reviews

ISSUE 55 |FEBRUARY 2021

2021

*Made by request for eligible ads

n o te fr o m t h e edit o r

F

ebruary 2021 - starting this month, there will be a new column each month. Called “A Life in Motion” - and it will chronicle my life on a small farm, sometimes hilarious, sometimes overwhelming and always a lot of work. I used to share everything on separate social media platforms, but that seems so disjointed, so I’ll write about some DIY I may do, some country crafts I may do, gardening, the adventures with my critters, what I found to be great to watch on the streaming channels, and since our family is into cooking, I’ll even share a recipe a month with step by step pictures.

I hope you will enjoy the column. The pictures that will be featured above this column on this page, from this month forward, will be pictures that are taken around the farm and property.

We are starting with a short story this month, “Ignition Point”

by Jami Gray will begin running this month, and we will publish a chapter a month until it’s complete. This novella is a jumping off point for the Arcane Transporter series by Jami Gray. Urban fantasy lovers will love this one.

Uncaged Book Reviews readership is still up dramatically.

New readers are finding the magazine and discovering new authors.

Uncaged will continue to bring the best possible content as usual.

We will be continuing with the “Buy 2, Get 1” promotion we’ve been running. It really does help from a marketing standpoint, to have an advertisment run three months in a row - to repeat in the readers mind. You don’t just see a commercial on TV one time and remember

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it, right? So we will continue to try and provide the best bang for your buck and get the most eyes we can on your work. Uncaged is supported through advertisements, but the prices will not increase in 2021.

You may now fill out a form on the Requested Reviews Page on the website for your book to be on list for a review. I cannot guarantee a review date for the book, but it will remain on the lists. The tables on the Review page will be revamped in the coming weeks.

If you’d like to be a Feature Author, you can also fill out a form on the Reviews/Feature Info Page to request a Feature in 2021. Put in your top 3 choices and this is normally first come/first serve, but I do move around months to keep a good selection of genres in each issue. Soon I will also put up forms for Catch Up Features - these are for past feature authors that have a new book releasing, and we can do a shorter feature, and also a Short Story Submission form.

Any author submitting an approved short story receives a full page ad in the same issue. The new form for Short Story Submissions has been added, and a Catch Up form will come next.

Enjoy the February 2021 issue of Uncaged Book Reviews.

X cyrene

Issue 55 | February 2021

contents feature authors J.P. McClean 12 ghost suspense 22

Linda Lappin

32

Helen Henderson

48

V.P. Morris

60

FangFreakinTastic 130

paranormal thriller

short story

76

ghost historical fantasy

fantasy romance

historical mystery/crime

Ignition Point, part 1 urban fantasy - Jami Gray

authors and their pets

54

psychological thriller

Kim Carter

Hunter Blain

Uncaged’s Feature Authors introduce you to their devoted writing buddies, and the devotion goes both ways.

showcase

58

Kenneth Fuerstinger The Adventures of Pinch and Nardo

66

Bruce Wetterau

82

Christina Berry

42

90

Peter C. Mitchell

COVER IMAGE ©PIXES2013 & PNG IMAGE ©STUX

mystery/suspense

contemporary romance

non-fiction/philanthropy & charity

102

Emily Royal

110

Lancelot Schaubert

120

Lillian Marek

historical romance

A Life in Motion

4 7 142 148 152

Monthly column chronicling life on a small farm. Monthly recipe for February: Easy Chicken Parmesan

Note from the Editor Contributors|Partnerships Uncaged Reviews FangFreakinTastic Reviews Amy’s Bookshelf Review

19th century fiction/humor

Uncaged on Instagram

victorian historical

Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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Contributors | Partnerships

Follow Uncaged on Facebook

Paranormal lover’s rejoice. Uncaged review contributors.

A blog for horror fans. Uncaged review contributors.

A little bit of everything. Uncaged review contributors.

If you’d like your banner here, please email me at UncagedBooks@gmail.com Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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upcomingconventions Starting in October, Uncaged will start listing conventions for 2021 since so many have been canceled or modified for 2020. Uncaged will watch for any cancelations or modifications for the 2021 season.

Liberty States Fiction Writers Conference April 10, 2021 Clark, NJ http://www.libertystatesfictionwriters.com/conference/

Coastal Magic Convention - VIRTUAL February 18-21, 2021 https://coastalmagicconvention.com/

BookCon TBA, New York City, NY https://www.bookcon.com/Home/

Book Lovers Con-POSTPONED TO DECEMBER April 8-11, 2021 Orlando, FL https://www.bookloverscon.com/ Lori Foster’s Reader & Author Get Together (RAGT) June 2–5, 2021; West Chester, OH http://readerauthorgettogether.com/

Interracial Romance Author’s Expo April 22 -24, 2021 Daytona Beach, FL https://www.irauthorsexpo.com/

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​ oas & Tiaras Afternoon Tea B June 12, 2021; Allen, TX https://www.eventbrite.com/e/boas-tiaras-afternoontea-with-kristan-higgins-tickets-81400355655

feature authors

ghost suspense | fantasy romance

J . P. McLean

Linda Lappin

Helen Henderson

J . P. Mc L ea n

J

P (Jo-Anne) McLean is an urban fantasy and supernatural thriller author best known for The Gift Legacy series. The first book of the series received Honourable Mention at the Whistler Independent Book Awards. Her short story, Boone Park, won Honourable mention from the Victoria Writers’ Society. Reviewers call her writing addictive, smart and fun. Her books include endorsements from Ethel Wilson awardwinning author Jennifer Manuel and bestselling author, Elinor Florence. The series has been described as fantasy light and is a good introduction to the genre for the uninitiated.

JP lives on Denman Island, nestled between the coast of British Columbia and Vancouver Island.

Raised in Toronto, Ontario, JP has lived in various parts of North America from Mexico and Arizona to Alberta and Ontario before settling on Canada’s west coast.

Stay Connected

jpmcleanauthor.com Uncaged welcomes J.P. McLean Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Can you tell readers more about your series, The Gift Legacy?

How many books are you planning for this series?

The series is complete with six books. The seventh book is a companion book and a retelling of the first book from another character’s perspective.

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The Gift Legacy is an urban fantasy about a young woman named Emelynn Taylor, who develops an unnatural ability to snap free of gravity. Unfortunately, she can’t control when gravity snaps or when it decides to return. As a result, she suffers painful falls, most of them from the ceiling of her mother’s condo, but when the episodes begin to happen outside, Emelynn realizes she’s in big trouble. She knows it’s not natural and if someone discovers her, she’ll probably be locked up and studied.

Desperate for a solution, Emelynn returns to her family’s abandoned seaside cottage, where she determines she will either learn to control her condition or die trying. She nearly does die trying when she falls from the sky. The fall puts her in the hospital and it’s there that she finally catches a break. The ER doctor who treats her recognizes the second lens in her eyes that marks her as one of them, a Flier. He places her in the care of others like her who teach her how to control her gift, which turns out is the ability to fly.

But as wondrous as flying is, it’s not all sweetness and light and this secret society of Fliers hide a troublesome truth; they are hunted for their gift, Fliers have gone missing, and Emelynn has a target on her back.

Uncaged: On your website you have “Discussion Questions” for each book. What is the goal of these questions?

The discussion questions are for readers who want to explore the deeper story. They prompt readers to consider the characters’ motivations and limitations beyond the written word. They’re also meant to stir readers’ imaginations by asking them to consider different outcomes and which celebrities they would match to the various roles. Personally, I find a book’s discussion questions give insight into what the author considered when she/he wrote the story – it’s a bit of insider scoop.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

Going off-island for dinner isn’t out of the question, but with the ferry schedule, it makes for a rushed affair.

Eating out! Hands down. We have a café on the island which has remained open for lunches and coffee, but our favourite public evening eatery had to close, and dinner-parties at friends’ homes have been off the table—pardon the cliché—for ages.

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Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

Absolutely. I’ve cut scenes as well as characters that, in

| J.P. MCLEAN | me cry. I was probably eight or nine when I read it. I cried for weeks – nearly gave up reading.

The first book that made me laugh out loud was The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe

by Jane Wagner (I’d always thought it was written

by Lily Tomlin, but I stand corrected).

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

Reading would be way up at the top of the list. I’ve been known to stir a pot with one hand and hold a book with my other. I also enjoy trying new recipes and that is followed closely by gardening (though I much prefer cutting flowers to the hard work of weeding.)

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write?

On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

I write 3-4 hours on sane days, but that ramps up when I’m in the heat of a story. I can easily double that and more when I’m on a streak and inspired. On average, it takes me a year to produce a full novel, which includes the writing and the editing.

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

I don’t have a preference between ebooks or physical books—they each have their advantages, but I haven’t yet caught on to audiobooks. Right now I’m reading The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss.

Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you? hindsight, don’t add enough to the story. If the scenes are good enough, I share them with readers who have signed up for my newsletter. I like to offer subscribers something they won’t get anywhere else.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

Heidi by Johanna Spyri was the first book that made

I’d like to say thanks for reading, thanks for sharing your love of these books, and thanks for reaching out! Getting a note from a reader makes my day.

Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR |

Enjoy an excerpt from Secret Sky Secret Sky J.P. McLean Ghost Suspense Everybody wishes they could fly – until it happens.

When Emelynn Taylor wakes up in the emergency room, her injuries present Dr. Avery Coulter with more questions than answers.

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Who is this guarded young woman? Why was she found in the middle of Sunset Park? How can she have injuries consistent with falling from above the tree line? Seemingly from nowhere?

And, more importantly: Why is she lying about it?

The truth is stranger than anyone could have imagined - least of all Emelynn herself.

Nine years earlier, during the same summer she’d lost her father, 12-year-old Emelynn accepted a ‘gift’ from a mysterious woman called Jolene.

| J.P. MCLEAN | Now, as she recovers in Dr. Coulter’s emergency room, she’s left wondering if that blessing was really more of a curse.

Jolene’s gift planted the seeds of incredible power within Emelynn - but what’s the point of such abilities if you can’t control them?

Her emerging gift of flight, for example, nearly killed Emelynn when it sent her plummeting to the sidewalk in Sunset Park. Next time, she might not be so lucky.

But Emelynn is determined to master her abilities, and returns to the seaside cottage where Jolene had once granted her this ‘gift.’ There, Dr. Coulter guides Emelynn in uncovering a secret society of others just like her, who inhabit a mysterious world-within-aworld that challenges everything Emelynn thought she’d known.

But the more she uncovers, the murkier the truth becomes. Soon, Emelynn is left questioning the motives of those she’d trusted the most - and is forced to rely on her barely-mastered powers in a desperate fight for survival.

Excerpt Can you tell me your name?”

“Emelynn.” I closed my eyes to dampen the cresting wave of nausea.

“She’s nonresponsive.”

No, I’m not. I forced my eyes open. The man’s face was a blur. “My name’s Emelynn,” I repeated but, oddly, I couldn’t hear my voice.

“Did you find any ID?” Nearby, a siren wailed. Had it rained? The damp air smelled of worms and wet earth. I lost the fight with my eyelids.

“No, and no sign of her shoes or transportation either.

Are you ready to move her?”

“Yes, she’s immobilized and secure. On three . . .”

The world tilted at a dangerous angle. Flashing lights throbbed, breaching my shrouded eyes.

“Female, early twenties, BP’s ninety-eight over fifty . . .” The man’s voice trailed off as I melted into the pleasant reprieve of a quiet darkness.

I liked the soft, fuzzy quality of the darkness. I felt comfortable there, but loud voices and harsh lights dragged me back and dumped me into a boisterous room. The clatter hurt my ears. I desperately wanted to shush these people, but that would be rude. A hazy face pressed in, but my eyes wouldn’t focus.

The man behind the face flicked a sharp light in my eye. So . . . inconsiderate.

“Can you tell me what day it is?” he asked, as if I were an idiot.

It’s . . . hmm . . . What day was it? And why couldn’t I move? An overwhelming desire to curl up and go back to sleep tugged at me. The man finally let me close my eyes. I pulled against whatever held me in its grip, but I didn’t have the strength to fight it.

“Let’s get a CT scan, spine and head, stat, and run a panel in case we have to go in.”

Even though my eyes were closed, the room was too bright—and noisy. A cacophony of electronic beeps, bells and sharp voices assaulted my ears.

I wanted to ask everyone to leave me alone, but my voice wouldn’t come. They jostled me and I dipped into that blissful darkness again—the one that pushed away all the noise.

The darkness soothed me until the man with the snap-on gloves interrupted the calm again, his sharp light piercing my eye like a knitting needle.

“Can you tell me in what city you live?”

Did he think I didn’t know? I almost said Toronto, but that wasn’t right, was it? Didn’t I just move to Summerset . . . or was that a dream? Why was I so confused? God, my head hurt.

“Any change?” he asked.

Was he talking to me?

“No. She’s still hypotensive, but stable.”

I guess not.

“Pupils are equal and reactive,” he said, and then he sighed. “It’s been six hours. Do we know who she is yet?”

“My name’s Emelynn,” I said in defeat, knowing he couldn’t hear me.

“No, the police searched the park. No purse, no ID.” “What was she doing in the park at that hour?” someone asked.

“The police haven’t ruled out that she might have been dumped there, but she was wearing workout gear so she could have been hit while jogging.”

“It would have been late for a jog in the park, wouldn’t it?”

Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | “Maybe she works shifts?”

Listening to the conversation exhausted me. Before I could figure out what it meant, the darkness claimed me again. If only they’d let me stay there, but they were relentless with their light.

This time when the stabbing light woke me, the thought that perhaps I was dying flitted through my mind. Was I supposed to go toward the light?

Maybe I wasn’t doing it right.

When the light retreated again, I slept fitfully and had the oddest dream. It was the dead of night. A powerful storm was gathering strength. Gusting winds blew across the crests of angry waves, creating whitecaps that seemed to glow in the dark.

Towering cedars and firs rained needles as they bowed to the wind. The great, crooked trunks of old arbutus trees groaned and twisted, spewing glossy leaves into the breeze.

And I had a bird’s-eye view of it all.

Home was here in the dream, somewhere. I sensed it calling out to me, drawing me toward its warmth and safety. I knew the small cottage so well but couldn’t find it. The storm would stop if I could just get inside, but the wind blew me out over the treetops, farther and farther away. And then I was falling . . . falling . . . falling through the night sky, careening out of control, crashing through the tree canopy until that blissful darkness put an end to the terrible fall.

The pointy light woke me. “Can you tell me your name?” The man peeled back my eyelids and flicked that damn light.

“Emelynn,” I said, relieved to hear the sound of my voice. But the relief was short-lived. My head exploded in agony when I turned away from the light.

As the pain hit a crescendo, I heard him remark “I’m losing her” and I surrendered to the peaceful darkness where pain didn’t reach me.

“Emelynn,” the man said, the next time he woke me with the flicking light. “Emelynn, don’t struggle—we’ve immobilized your head. Do you know where you are?”

I squinted, straining to bring the face behind the glasses into focus. “The hospital?”

“Good. That’s good, Emelynn. I’m Dr. Coulter.

You’ve had an accident.”

“What accident?” Car accident? I don’t have a car. No, wait, I think I do have a car. Why was this so hard?

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“You don’t remember?” He pressed his lips into a thin line and furrowed his brow.

I tried, but the dream was all I could think of. “Did I fall?”

“We don’t know. We were hoping you could tell us.”

“My head hurts.”

“You have a concussion. I can’t give you anything for it yet. Can you tell me what you were doing in Sunset Park last night?”

“I live there,” I said, but that wasn’t right either. Why was I so mixed up? Sleep once again tugged at me.

He seemed to share my confusion. “We’ll talk again later.”

I folded into the darkness, and when it faded, it revealed an airport scene that looked vaguely familiar.

I drifted toward a young couple with a little girl and watched as the man leaned in to kiss the woman.

“I love you,” he said, pulling away.

My heart stopped when I saw the man’s face.

He turned to the little girl and mussed her hair. “Be good for your mother. I’ll only be gone a few days.”

Oh, god, no. I knew what this was. I had to stop him.

“No! Don’t go!”

He put his big tackle box on the luggage cart beside the bag that I knew held his fishing rods. “I’ll be back Tuesday. Don’t forget about those peanut butter cookies you promised me.” He smiled down at the girl, then turned and walked out to the float plane tied to the dock.

“No!” I cried, as he ducked into the plane, oblivious to my presence. “Please,” I begged. Then someone called my name.

“Emelynn. Emelynn, that’s right, look at me. I’m over here.” A woman in scrubs moved her face into my line of vision. I blinked up at her.

“It was a dream, that’s all, dear. You have a concussion. Your head is braced. Try not to fight it. You were thrashing in your sleep.” She adjusted the blankets and checked the IV. Pain returned with my awakening and ramped up quickly. It wasn’t just my head anymore. My entire left side was on fire. A moan escaped my throat.

“I’ll get Dr. Coulter,” the nurse said, hurrying from the room.

Time crawled while I played a miserable little game of Which Body Part Hurts Most. There was no clear winner.

Dr. Coulter arrived at a gallop. He and the nurse succinctly exchanged statistics at a rapid-fire clip. BP? One oh six over sixty. Urine? Clear. Orientation? Im-

| J.P. MCLEAN | proving. With a clipboard in hand, he checked a number of beeping machines.

“Can you tell me your name?” He put the clipboard down with a clatter and pulled that damn penlight out of his breast pocket.

“Emelynn,” I said, as he held my eyelid captive.

“Good,” he said, distracted by his light-flicking exam.

“Do you have a last name, Emelynn?”

“Taylor,” I responded with trepidation. What kind of trouble had I gotten myself into?

He repeated the light exam with my other eye. “Very good,” he said, and then he finally saw me, not just my eyes.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“Cliffside Avenue.”

He smiled warmly. “Glad to hear you’ve moved out of the park.”

“Excuse me?” My head throbbed in time with the beat of my heart.

“During one of our earlier discussions, you said you lived in Sunset Park. I’m just happy to see that your memory is coming back. What do you remember about your accident?”

“Accident?” I mulled over his question, holding out for some clues. He wasn’t offering any and my dreams were all mixed up with reality. Had I dreamt that I’d fallen through the trees or was that real? My head kept pounding. I drew my right hand up and followed the path of the tube sticking out of the back of it up to a dripping IV bag.

“Late Monday or early Tuesday?” he continued, bringing my atten¬tion back to his question.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” I said, distracted now.

“How long have I been here?”

“You came in on a 911 call at”—he checked the notes on the clip¬board—“oh-one-thirty on Tuesday.”

I tried to process the information.

“That’s one thirty in the morning. You were found in Sunset Park. Do you remember why you were in the park at that hour?”

“The park is right beside my house.” I tried to recall the details that would make sense of this scenario, but they escaped me, and the pain made concentration difficult. “I don’t remember.”

“Okay. Let’s give it a few more hours. Memory loss isn’t uncom¬mon with this type of brain injury. It may be temporary.”

“May be?”

“It’s still early. We need to give it more time.”

“It feels like I’ve been here for days.”

“I’m sure it does. We’ve been waking you on the hour since you arrived. It’s standard procedure for concussions. Unfortunately, your blood pressure is still too low and you’ve been unconscious more than not during your stay here in the ICU, so we’re not done yet. How’s your pain?” he asked. “On a scale of one to ten.”

“Nine hundred,” I said, closing my eyes. “What happened to me?”

“I don’t know, but it was particularly hard on your left side.” I heard him pick up the clipboard again.

“You’ve got ten stitches in the back of your head plus seven or eight in your left ankle, and a whole host of contusions and abrasions, including some nasty-looking road rash on your face, but I don’t think it’ll scar.” He flipped up a sheet of paper.

“There’s no evidence of sexual assault, but you sustained an injury to your kidneys. The blood has already cleared from your urine, so we’ll remove the catheter in the next few hours.”

I heard him set the clipboard down on the table again, and I opened my eyes when he took my hand. “I can give you something for the pain, but I’m afraid it won’t help much,” he said. “It’s important that we’re able to rouse you at regular intervals for the next six hours. Do you think you can hang in there?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He gave me a crooked smile. “I’ll order your meds and check on you in a few hours.”

The nurse returned with a needle and stuck it into the IV line. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

A thick fog rolled in around me. I dreamt again, but not of the family at the airport or the terrifying fall through the tree canopy. . . . I was nine or ten years old and beachcombing with my father. He had that tool in his hand, the one he used to break open fist-sized geodes searching for the crystals hidden inside. When I got close, he called to me and turned over a flat piece of shale.

He laughed as I shrieked and ran away from the tiny crabs that scrambled to find fresh cover.

My heart quickened as the nurse woke me and the memory faded. She assured me it had been an hour. When she left, the thick fog came back, pulling me under. . . . A blonde-haired woman in a wide-brimmed hat whispered my name. She held her hands palms out, inviting me to a game of patty cake, and I lifted my hands to mirror hers. She spoke in a quiet voice, Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | repeat¬ing a haunting refrain while keeping watch over her shoulder, and when shadows approached, she vanished.

The nurse woke me again. I had dipped in and out of fog so often that my perception was all mixed up, making it difficult to sort out what was real and what wasn’t. “What time is it?” I asked.

“Just after six in the morning,” she said, pumping up the blood pressure cuff. “Wednesday.” She paused to listen to her stethoscope. “You’re in the ICU, and I’m happy to report that your blood pressure is improving.” The Velcro made a ripping noise as she removed the cuff.

“Good morning, Emelynn,” Dr. Coulter said, as he crossed behind the nurse to retrieve the clipboard.

“Your vitals are looking better. How’s your pain level?”

“It hasn’t improved with time,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Have you remembered any more details about your accident?” His expression was hopeful.

“No,” I said. The lie came easily; I was good at lying.

I’d been hiding my secrets for a long time.

Dr. Coulter raised his chin and glared down his nose.

“Well, keep trying. You’re out of the danger zone, so I’ll give you something more for the pain now. Maybe you’ll remember more after you’ve rested.” He frowned in disappointment as he left my room.

He didn’t believe me, but he didn’t press me either, which was a good thing: I could fill the room with what I was withholding. Because unfortunately, I now remembered all of it. Every last detail.

DON’T MISS THESE TITLES:

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L i n da lappi n Uncaged welcomes Linda Lappin Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Your latest book, Loving Modigliani: The Afterlife of Jeanne Hébuterne, released in December. Can you tell readers more about this book and what inspired you to write it?

L

inda Lappin is the prize-winning author of four novels: The Etruscan (Wynkin deWorde, 2004), Katherine’s Wish (Wordcraft, 2008), dealing with the last five years of Katherine Mansfield’s life, Signatures in Stone: A Bomarzo Mystery (Pleasureboat Studio, 2013), and Loving Modigliani: The Afterlife of Jeanne Hébuterne (Serving House Books, 2020). Signatures in Stone was the 2014 overall winner of the Daphne Du Maurier prize for best mystery novel. She is also the author of The Soul of Place: Ideas and Exercises for Conjuring the Genius Loci, (Travelers Tales, 2015), which won a Nautilus Award in the category of creativity. A former Fulbright scholar to Italy, she has lived mainly in Rome for over thirty years

Stay Connected

lindalappin.net 22 | UncagedBooks.com

The historical person of Jeanne Hébuterne was a headstrong young girl with a big dream – to become a painter, almost unheard of in her time, when painting was not considered a suitable profession for women.

Her meeting at the age of eighteen with the magnetic Modigliani plunged her into a love affair from which there was no untangling. She became his favorite model, soul mate, life companion, and the mother of his child. When Modigliani died of meningitis in January 1920, Jeanne, unable to bear the idea of living without him, fell from a window and died. Their love story has been told before in novels and films, which often, however, have omitted an important point—that Jeanne was a very gifted artist whose talent blossomed during her time with Modigliani and for many reasons she may be considered an icon of her era. But after Jeanne’s death, her artworks were confiscated by her family and shut away, so that in following decades, the memory of Jeanne as an artist faded from public knowledge.

Then, in the year 2000, her sketches were featured in an art exhibition in Venice, together with works by Modigliani and other artists in his circle. It was the first time in eighty years that her work was on display, and by chance I was able to attend the show. I was immediately captivated by Jeanne and her story and began researching her life – though not much information was available at the time. In the twenty years that have followed since that show, Jeanne has achieved an almost rock-star status, and her sketches, once considered as memorabilia – now sell for tens of thousands of dollars at Christie’s.

The genre of this book is historical fantasy – because the first part of the novel is narrated by Jeanne’s ghost.

That wasn’t my original plan at all. The novel actually began as a straightforward historical fiction narrative, a diary kept by Jeanne starting at the age of sixteen.

But I soon ran into a hitch because I could only get so far before the heroine dies. Moreover, the conclusion of the novel could only be tragic and I didn’t want to write a tragedy, because despite all, alongside the immense pain, there was joy in this story.

Joy in loving Modigliani, joy in making art, and being part of an unrepeatable moment in the history of painting, of which I believe Jeanne Hébuterne was fully aware.

Also, I was interested in how Jeanne’s reputation changed in later decades, and in her re-evaluation as an artist in her own right within the circle of Montparnasse artists -- in her afterlife, as it were.

Uncaged: What are you working on next that you can tell us about?

I am currently involved in three major projects.

I am working on the reissue of my first novel, The Etruscan, which was originally published in Ireland

in 2004, but never in the US in a print edition. It is a suspense story of a woman, Harriet, an artist who travels to Italy in 1922 to photograph Etruscan tombs for the Theosophical Society. She makes a life-changing encounter with Federigo del Re, who claims to be nobleman descended from the Etruscans, but is not what he seems. There is a strong romantic plot in this book and a dash of the paranormal.

I am also writing a sequel to Signatures in Stone, A Bomarzo Mystery, (the overall Daphne Du Maurier Award Winner for Excellence in Mystery and Suspense Writing in 2014) ---in which my heroine, the sleuth Daphne DuBlanc, is summoned to an Italian island to help locate a missing Italian aviator. This novel draws on the myths (including mermaids) associated with the Etruscan area of Lake Bolsena, near my home in Italy.

My third project is a complete rewriting of my very first unpublished novel, Prisoner of Palmary, dealing with the history of a prison colony on a minor island in the Gulf of Gaeta, featuring a female Caliban.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

I am looking forward to traveling, visiting friends and family, holding dinner parties, going to the Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | theater, frequenting bookshops and cafes, attending readings once again, and teaching writing workshops in person.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

I don’t edit out large sections of text from my novels in the editing process. I tend to write fairly compactly. When I make extra content available to readers through my website, www.lindalappin. net it’s usually in the form of audio or video files, readings from my novels or my short stories, and occasionally pdfs of essays.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

I can’t remember specific episodes of laughter or tears – what I remember most is being enthralled by the reality created by certain books. I loved the Andrew Lang fairy tale collections which my mother brought home from the Kingsport Public Library; the books by Laura Ingalls Wilder; Half Magic

by Edward Eager and its sequels; and Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, which was absolutely brilliant.

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I love traveling and studying foreign languages. I have worked for years as a literary translator from Italian, so I am fluent in that language, and also study French and Modern Greek. Reading, walking in the countryside or on the beach, swimming, and just being near the sea are ways I replenish my energies. I also enjoy cooking and baking. And I love making short videos about my books and my travels. I am fascinated by old houses and their furnishings.

My husband and I restored a very old house in Italy, in a village between Rome and Tuscany.

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| LINDA LAPPIN | It’s furnished with odds and ends, cast offs, handme-downs, and hand-crafted things of all kinds –so there’s always some on-going project– restoring a piece of furniture, mending a carpet, rewiring a lamp, etc. But it’s a pleasure to see old things come alive again, and to find new ways to repurpose objects which otherwise might have just been tossed out. Nearly every object in my house has a story to tell – as I discuss in my creative writing book The Soul of Place in which I try to give suggestions on how to find inspiration for writing and artistic projects in your environment.

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write?

On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

I don’t keep to a daily schedule for my creative work. When I am involved in a long fiction project, I will work 3-4 hours, sometimes more, writing, re-writing, editing, etc. I prefer mornings, but I can work at any time as long as I have an adequate corner where I can concentrate. My two novels set in Italy, The Etruscan and Signatures in Stone, took about 18 months from initial idea to the polished and edited manuscript sent to print. Katherine’s Wish, a novel about the life of Katherine Mansfield and Loving Modigliani both took longer, because they were the fruit of research that I had carried on for over a decade.

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

Who doesn’t love rows and rows of books displayed on shelves reaching up to the ceiling? They create atmosphere, and when you gaze up at them, give you a sense of who you are and where you have been. However, when you have worked forty years as a writer, teacher, reviewer, and reader, you can become overwhelmed and weighted down. I love my kindle paperwhite. Right now I am reading Patrick Modiano’s Black Notebook and The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab on my kindle. In hardback instead I am reading the collected novels of James Baldwin.

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Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

cal and online book clubs, and just telling their friends about books they enjoyed.

I am delighted with the response Loving Modigliani has received from readers who seem to be as fascinated with Jeanne Hébuterne as I am. I deeply appreciate the reviews and comments I have received.

Like my other novels, this is a small press title from an independent publisher. Small press books struggle to find their way in the world. Readers’ support is vital to their survival. Readers can show their support for independent presses and the authors who publish with them by posting reviews on blogs and bookseller sites, requesting library purchases of small press titles, recommending and reviewing books on Goodreads, following small press authors on social media, suggesting small press titles to lo-

I’d also be delighted if readers would like to connect with me on social media. I have a website at www. lindalappin.net which includes a sign-up page for my newsletter which I send out only twice a year, with updates about my new releases and free content.

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I keep a blog at www.magiclibrarybomarzo.wordpress. com where I discuss writing topics, review books, and publish posts about my daily life, travels, and ongoing research for my books. I am on instagram at linda_lappin_author, and FB https://www.facebook.com/LindaLappinAuthor Hope to see you there.

Enjoy an excerpt from Loving Modigliani Loving Modigliani Linda Lappin Ghost Fantasy PARIS 1920 Dying just 48 hours after her husband, Jeanne Hebuterne--wife and muse of the celebrated painter Amedeo Modigliani and an artist in her own right -- haunts their shared studio, watching as her legacy is erased. Decades later, a young art history student travels across Europe to rescue Jeanne’s work from obscurity. A ghost story, a love story, and a search for a missing masterpiece.

Inspired by true events and the early death of artist Amedeo Modigliani’s common-law wife Jeanne Hebuterne, Lappin’s atmospheric novel takes a unique approach to exploring what might have become of the woman who was a talented artist in her own right but who was largely forgotten by history. From the first page to the last, I was swept away by the imaginative adventure that spans more than a century.

Excerpt The Notebooks of Jeanne Hébuterne: 1 Saint-Michel- en-Grève, July 19, 1914 I like to sit here on this rock and look out over the ocean as I scribble in my notebook. I could spend hours, gazing at those inky clouds, drinking in the colors with my eyes and my skin. I love the ocean in all weathers, even like today when the wind is raw and the salt stings in my throat and the mud from the field clings in globs to my shoes and dirties the hem of my cape.

I’ve always been attracted to storms. When I was still very small and we were on holiday in Finistère, I’d slip outside and ramble over towards the headland whenever I heard the wind rising. As soon as Maman saw I was missing, she would send my brother An-

| LINDA LAPPIN | dré out to find me. He always knew where to look: perched as close to the edge as I could get. Shouting my name into the wind, he’d run to me through the scrabbly heather.

“Come away from there, Nenette, you’ll fall!”

Gently, he’d draw me away from the precipice.

But I knew how to keep myself steady: I’d just look down at my shoes on the salt-frosted furze and feel my feet in the earth. Hand in hand, we’d squint out at the waves of steely water. I kept hoping we’d see something burst up from the foam. A whale or a seal. A sunken ship up from the deep, dripping seaweed and barnacles from its sides, a skeleton at the helm!

I can’t explain why I keep watching the horizon, but I feel that my real life is waiting for me out there somewhere across the water. Who am I? Who will I become? Maman says I am going to be beautiful – but that my hips are too round, my face too full, and when I am older, I will have a double chin, like hers. But my eyes are the color of southern seas in summer, changing from green to gold to turquoise. I have seen those waters in the pictures of Gauguin, who is my favorite painter.

I am J.H. and I am sixteen. Everyone has an idea about who I am and what I shall be. For Papa, I will marry an engineer, or perhaps a doctor, like Rodolphe, the young country doctor who treated his grippe last winter, and become a proper wife and mother, accomplished in music, bookkeeping, and domestic skills, like turning tough chunks of old beef into edible stews.

Maman would rather I marry Charles, the son of the neighborhood apothecary, Thibideau, in Rue Mouffetard. He is a friend of André’s and when he comes to visit, he always brings Maman licorice or lavender pastilles, but he is not beautiful like André and doesn’t know anything about art or poetry. He spends hours in the laboratory helping his father make pills and suppositories, and his clothes and hair smell of ether, valerian, and cod liver oil.

Maman opens all the windows after he leaves. I cannot imagine living with such a presence, much less being touched by those fingers.

Sometimes after dinner, when André has gone out with his friends, Maman and Papa discuss the Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | merits of both, debating which one would suit me better as a husband. I sit there smiling as I listen, sketching or sewing a hem.

“A doctor is a fine addition to any family,” says Papa.

“But an apothecary will do just as well and if he owns his own shop, why he’ll be richer than a doctor,” says Maman.

They are both so absurd--they never ask me what I think. How can they imagine I’d ever be caught dead with someone like Rodolphe or Charles? The man I marry will be someone special. An artist or a poet. And he must be as beautiful as a god.

Papa thinks women should not work outside the home unless economic circumstances require it.

Maman says that teaching is a respectable profession for a young woman if she wants to do something useful in society. She thinks I could be a teacher – of English, perhaps, so she is always making me study English grammar. But I find it hard to concentrate on English verbs. I’d much rather learn Russian. But what I love to do most is paint. It is a passion I share with my brother.

André is studying at the Académie Ranson in Rue Joseph-Bara in Montparnasse, where the Maître, Serusier, says he is very gifted. Over the bed in my room back in Paris, I have hung a painting he made of a poplar tree which he copied from a postcard when he was only sixteen. There is life in that tree, you can feel the leaves flutter as the summer wind shatters the heat and makes shivers run up your arms. When a painting makes you feel, hear, smell and taste, the artist has talent, or so Serusier says.

On every excursion to country fairs or old churches here in Brittany, I buy more postcards for André to copy so he can develop his talent. André plans to become a professional artist -- though it’s a secret between us! Papa and Maman don’t know yet that what they believe is merely a hobby will be his career.

André thinks I have talent too. After every lesson at the Académie, he teaches me something new, and this week it’s been about landscapes, but I’d rather paint people than cornfields. In any case, the human body is a sort of landscape. I like to study how our bodies are made, the waves of muscles 28 | UncagedBooks.com

and hair and the textures and colors of skin. The dimples in elbows and knees fascinate me, like the labyrinths in ear whorls and fingernails. I also like the way clothes fit on bodies and the crisp turnings of caps and collars like the Breton women wear and soft draperies in long clean lines and a bit of fur on a jacket cuff.

André says I should become a clothes and costume designer because I have a way with fabrics. And I love making clothes for myself, though Papa and Maman think my turbans and ponchos are too fanciful. This dress I am wearing I designed and sewed myself, inspired by a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Sometimes I wear my hair in two long braids all the way down to my hips, with a beaded bandeau around my forehead, just like an Indian princess. Other times, when I want to look older, I let it flow loose, under a black velvet cap.

I made a promise never to cut it and when I am old enough to have a lover, I will wrap him in my hair and keep him safe.

July 22, 1914 Here in Saint-Michel, every day André and I go out painting morning and afternoon. But if it is raining, he stays home and reads or sketches, but I get restless and have to go walking for an hour or so along the beach, and up to a spot on a cliff where an old paysan keeps his goats. I watch the goats for awhile, then traipse home through the sand and mud, clean my boots, hang my cape in the doorway, and shake the rain from my hair. Tomorrow Papa goes back to Paris and we will follow a few days later. Although I love it here, I admit, I am starting to miss Paris too!

I go straight to the kitchen where fresh sole are sizzling in melted butter and thyme in a skillet on the stove.

Maman is grating celery root into a big blue enamel bowl and Celine, the girl who helps in the kitchen, is whipping up crème fraiche and mustard in an old stone crock. The leather-bound volume of Pascal lies closed on the sideboard. Papa has stopped reading aloud for the edification of the ladies and is now absorbed in his newspaper, but I can see the news is upsetting: His pink mouth scowls above his gray goatee. André sits on the edge of a chair, long legs crossed, puffing his new pipe by the open window, reading a book of poems.

“War is coming,” Papa says, rustling his newspaper.

“André will have to go.”

“I am not afraid,” André says. His voice, so determined and grown-up, makes me feel proud and scared.

| LINDA LAPPIN | “But I am,” says Maman, “I don’t want my son to go to war. Against the Germans.”

She grates the root vigorously. Flakes fall like snow into the bowl.

“I won’t wait to be conscripted, I will sign up and defend my country,” says André.

Papa stares at him, proud and apprehensive, then folds the newspaper and puts it aside.

“And you, Achille?” my mother asks.

“All able-bodied men will be mobilized,” my father replies.

Mama puts down the celery root. I can feel she is sick with fear. We always have similar reactions. Our minds work the same. I go over to her and take her hand. Her fingers are cold and damp from the celery root; her wrists are threaded with fine lavender veins.

I cannot believe that both my father and brother will be sent to war, though I know all over France, men will be leaving their families. I squeeze her hand to give us both courage.

We eat our lunch in silent dread. The food tastes like ashes in our mouths.

July 23, 1914 Why am I a person of such extremes? When I am here in Brittany walking in the wind, I am happy for an hour or two, but then I feel gloomy and begin to miss the little alleys around Rue Mouffetard, the noise and turbulence, the bookstalls, street vendors, and cafes.

But once I am back there again, soon enough I feel I can’t breathe, even the Luxembourg Gardens seem like a prison to me, and I long to escape to the seaside.

It’s always back and forth with me, I never can decide which place makes me happier. But now that we know that André and Papa will have to go war, I don’t want to go back to Paris at all. Why does André have to enlist in the army? I asked him this afternoon while we stood on the rocks above Ploumanach where we had come to spend the day painting the pink cliffs.

“A man has his duties, Jeanne. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be a man. Making a choice and sticking with it is what gives a shape to our life.” He was painting a brooding seascape in bold lines of cobalt, with a fine thread of yellow foam scribbled across the sand.

I added the last strokes to my watercolor. “I know I change my mind too often.”

“That is because you are only sixteen-years-old, Jeanne, and you don’t know yet what you want out

of life.”

“And you, aged philosopher? Do you know what you want out of life?”

“Yes, I want to paint! Doesn’t matter where. Here in Brittany, in Paris, maybe when the war is over I will go to Morocco or Egypt…”

“To paint blazing deserts, camels, exotic women in yellow silk veils?”

He laughed. “You would look charming in a yellow silk veil. But show me what you have done today.”

I step back from my easel to let him have a look at my work, holding my breath as I watch his face. I can guess his reaction by the way his mouth tightens at the corner and his eyes squint. He is never very generous with praise. But today he says -“Not bad, for a girl of your age. You have captured the lay of the shore in that sweeping line quite admirably. Your brushwork in the clouds here is a bit clumsy, but the colors are subtle. This violet, tangerine, and gray truly give the sense of an impending storm.” He holds up the picture to study it closer, then nods. “There is feeling and emotion in it.”

The ocean wind scrambles a loose strand of my hair, blowing it into my mouth and eyes. “Passion.” I suggest, brushing the hair from my face.

“Violet and tangerine are the colors of passion.”

André rolls his eyes. “Peut-être. But why not red, scarlet, orange, fuchsia? Besides what would you know about passion?”

I shake my head and do not answer, kicking at a stone with the scuffed toe of my shoe.

Finally, I say, “Who will teach me to paint if you go off to war?” But what I mean is, “How can we possibly live without you?”

“I know you are sad that I have to go. All of you.”

He blinks and turns away so I won’t see his face.

“They say a war can’t last long. I will probably be home again in a matter of weeks.”

We are silent for awhile, looking out at the ocean.

Far below the pinkish cliffs, we can hear the waves pounding the shore. Along the yellow beach, a little boy in a red jacket runs along the sand with a prancing dog. It must be the lighthouse keeper’s son and I wonder if the keeper will have to go to war, like André and Papa, and if the lighthouse Issue 55 | February 2021 | 29

| FEATURE AUTHOR | will be left deserted.

I swirl my brush in black and purple and daub some more paint in my clouds. “Perhaps I could enroll in a school to study painting while you are gone.” I say this partly to change the subject, but also because it is something I have been thinking about.

André looks at me, surprised. Clearly, it never crossed his mind that I might want to go to art school. Now he ponders the idea and says at last, “Why not? Many girls enroll in the School of Decorative Arts, these days. There are courses for decorators at the academy of Montparnasse in Rue de la Grande Chaumière. You might learn a skill you could practice at home.”

“But I want to paint portraits and nudes.” He raises his eyebrow at that. “I want to make art!

Not decorate teapots with rosebuds. I want to be a painter! A real painter.”

“Being a painter is a very hard life even for a man.”

“But Marie Laurencin and Susan Valadon, they are successful women painters.”

“Yes, but for a woman to be a painter, she must be rich and have an independent income! Or she must be the lover of a very important painter herself, and being a painter’s mistress or lawful wife is almost worse for a woman than being a painter.

I don’t say this to discourage you from painting.

But it cannot become your profession. Maman and Papa would never want you to lead such a life.”

“But you will lead an artist’s life,” I object.

“Girls don’t become painters for the same reason they don’t become soldiers, or chefs or the President of the Republic.”

“And why is that?”

André sucks in his cheeks and doesn’t answer straightaway. The granite cliffs seem to take on animal shapes as the violet dusk deepens around us. Overhead, screeching gulls reel back to their high nests. My brother puts away his paints and folds up his easel. It is almost time to go home.

“If you don’t know the answer to that question, it means you haven’t grown up enough.”

Why must he always treat me like a child? I turn 30 | UncagedBooks.com

on my heels and stalk off towards the old lighthouse, leaving my easel and paint box behind, forgetting, just like the child he accused me of being, that this might be our last lesson for a long time to come. I glance back to see him packing up my things, then gazing out at the ocean. He looks so miserable and lonely that I run back up to him and throw my arms around him.

“Let’s never argue my little Nenette!” he says, “You will be what you wish! The gods will decide.” He kisses the top of my head.

DON’T MISS THIS TITLE:

h ele n h e n ders o n

A

lthough the author of several local histories, and numerous articles on the topics of American and military history, antiques and collectibles, Henderson’s first love is fiction. Her work in the museum and history fields enables a special insight into creating fantasy worlds. The descendent of a coal-miner’s daughter and an aviation flight engineer, her writing reflects the contrasts of her heritage as well as that of her Gemini sign.

Her stories cross genres from historical westerns to science fiction and fantasy. She loves to hang out with mages and fly with dragons. In the world of fantasy romance, she is the author of the Dragshi Chronicles and The Windmaster Novels. Single works include the dark fantasy, Imprisoned in Stone, and Hearth and Sand, the multi-genre tribute to those of her family who have worn the uniform of the military services.

In her books, she invites you to join her on travels through the stars, or among fantasy worlds of the imagination.

Stay Connected

helenhenderson-author.blogspot.com

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Uncaged Welcomes Helen Henderson Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Your latest book is book four in The Windmaster Novels series, called Windmaster Golem. Can you tell readers more about this book and the series? Can they be read as standalones?

In the Windmaster Novels, fantasy, romance, sword and sorcery, and adventure combine in an effort to save the future of magic. A former instructor of the School of Magic is determined to be the sole wielder of power in the world. He not only threatens Ellspeth’s ship, Sea Falcon, but her own future. Revenge sets her and the archmage, Lord Dal, on the path to recover tokens lost in the mists of time, but prophecy controlled the journey.

Windmaster Golem continues the epic tale of Ellspeth and Dal as the next generation fights to save the future of magic. A rogue mage aims to rule everyone with the ability to wield magic, especially Kiansel.

He just needs to find the means to bring the army of clay soldiers to life and the secret to bend the will of others to his. And his special target was Kia, sister to the Oracle of Givneh. Her emerging powers force an impossible decision. For to have magic demands she turn her back on her family, her heritage, and the temple her family has served for generations. Her future complicates that of Brodie, master metalsmith and friend of Dal and Ellspeth. Brodie’s assignment? Protect Kia. But how can a man without any magic of his own fight a curse or protect a friend from an invisible stalker?

Each of the Windmaster Novels can be read as a standalone, especially Windmaster Legend which has different characters and is set in a different time than the other books. Windmaster Legend reveals the story behind the myth of the star-crossed lovers, Iol of the House of Cszabo and Pelra of the House of Pirri. A forbidden love. An impossible quest. The accusation of witchcraft.

Uncaged: You also have a series out called The Dragshi Chronicles. Is this series complete or are Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | you planning on writing more for this series?

The tales of the dragshi, two beings—one human, the other a dragon who share one body in space and time and are able to change forms with the other at will—are complete. The first four books in the chronicles relate the tales of the trader girl, Anastasia, and Lord Branin of the dragshi and his dragon soul twin, Llewlyn. Within each of the books in the series, a myth or historical figure is mentioned. The final volume in the series is a collection of novellas and short stories that present the full story behind the legends given only brief reference in the other works.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

Normally, our schedule is filled with local events such as concerts on the square; craft shows, parades and fireworks. Then there are the special events geared towards seniors or writers. The annual trip to the zoo was especially missed this year. More importantly, a trip to see the newest member of the family had to be cancelled last summer due to the pandemic. When the world settles again, I’d like to take my mother to see her newest great-grandchild who just turned a year old. And if everyone’s health allows, to take a long road trip to visit all her grandchildren.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

I am primarily a plotter. Although my outlines are not the normal Roman numeral style we learned in school, but more of a differently-formatted first draft. As a side note, I hated outlining in school.

More often than not, I wrote the finished paper or story, then reversed engineered the outline.

Because so much planning is done both before and 34 | UncagedBooks.com

during the actual writing process, I don’t usually edit out anything substantial. Cut scenes may be placed elsewhere in the manuscript, rewritten to a different point of view, or saved for another story.

Readers do receive special offerings on my website. A click on the cover in the banner provides access to selected excerpts and a free read of the first chapter. Short stories can be downloaded via the “FREE READS” button. Current offerings are in the science fiction and fantasy genres.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

A lady never tells her age, but once you’ve rolled past the double nickel, a “first” might easily be replaced

with the “last.” I was never into what used to be called “tear-jerkers,” but I’ll try to answer the question. They aren’t books, but the movies Ghost and Spartacus come to mind. Perhaps the earliest books might be Shane.

Two books that caused tears to flow both during the writing and almost every reading since are two of mine.

One’s emotional response comes from a personal connection. The scenes from a local-history are when a pastor leaves the congregation after seventeen years, and the other is the impact on the town and church of their losses on 9-11-2001.

The other is the novella “Forever Bound” in First Change, the last book in the Dragshi Chronicles. At first I thought the emotions were just an author’s grief over saying farewell to characters they had lived with for years. Then a reader told me as soon as a dragon-hater

| HELEN HENDERSON | picked up an iron marble, she knew what was coming and the tears started to flow.

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I used to walk around town or bike the Henry Hudson Trail. Since moving to a more southerly climate, other activities have taken precedence. Between caregiving, running a household, marketing and writing, there isn’t a lot of down time. Dabbling with photography to use as blog images, making jewelry as heritage gifts are creative outlets. Handicrafts including cross-stitch embroidery, crocheting and knitting keep fingers nimble for typing. An afghan for the newest grand-niece was just completed and work has begun on a new afghan with hopes to get it done before the grand-niece or nephews arrival this spring. During the pandemic a new activity, that of the digital game, Candy Crush, helps pass the late night hours. However, the things I love to do most are reading and research … And did I say, reading!

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write?

On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

I try to write about four hours a day. That time includes traditional writing activities such as plotting, drafting, and the editing, of manuscripts. That said, I am a 24/7 caregiver and caring for the family member can at times chase away the muse. More than one scene has been written during bedside vigils in hospital rooms. But, my favorite place to write is on the porch of a lakeside cabin in the mountains.

The amount of time to create a novel from first research through to final draft depends on life’s distractions, the amount of research required, and how long it takes the characters to take over the tale.

It has been as short a time as nine months and up to three years.

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | Although I have ebook reader software on my laptop, and recently acquired an ebook reader, I still prefer physical books both for research and for reading for fun.

I just finished reading When Tomorrow Comes by June Gadsby and Prophecy of the Mayan Undead

by Fiona McGier. I’m not sure what is next on the to-be-read list as I’m shifting into writing mode and don’t generally read when I’m actively writing, especially not in the genre I’m writing in.

Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

I always invite readers to join me on journeys to the past, the stars, and worlds of imagination. And I ask them, not just for myself, but for all authors, that if they enjoy a book to leave a review. That even if it is just a few words, that a review is the greatest gift a reader can give an author.

I love to hear from my readers. I can be followed at the links below. Additional means of staying in contact are on my website including following by email.

Enjoy an excerpt from Windmaster Golem Windmaster Golem Helen Henderson Fantasy Romance Kiansel, sister to the current Oracle of Givneh, is expected to one day assume the mantle and lead the temple’s followers.

Her emerging powers force an impossible decision. To answer the siren call of magic requires she turn her back on her family, her heritage and the teachings of the oracle.

Banishment to a remote village as healer, a posi36 | UncagedBooks.com

tion he despised, fueled Relliq’s desire for revenge.

The discovery of a mythical city and an army of clay soldiers provided the means to control all mages-including the one he wanted most—Kiansel.

Brodie, weaponsmith for the School of Mages couldn’t refuse the archmage’s request to act as escort for a healing team fighting a curse upon the land. But how can a man without any magic of his own fight a curse or protect a friend from an invisible stalker?

Excerpt Tendrils of fog clutched at Brodie’s ankles. The thick haze not only dampened the sound of the surf crashing against the cliff, it hid the trail along the cliff edge.

Not even the light from the gibbous moon showed anything other than shadows.

For several breaths he stood and marked his location on a mental map of the trail. Switchbacks and a sharp drop-off marked the downhill slope to the village. A tug pulled the long sword from the scabbard hanging on his back. “Good thing I have TânOer with me,” he told the night. He kept the weapon in his cottage in the main village unless being used in a lesson. “The short sword I usually carry while on the Isle of Mages is too short to be useful as a pointer.” The memory of why he had the enspelled long sword with him flickered into being. That afternoon he had shown the folly of hubris to a pair of second-season students and spent the rest of the day at the forge.

One final breath to center himself and he dragged the tip along the ground in a long arc in front of him. Step by step, he listened for the scratch of steel on dirt or the swish as the blade slid into the grass alongside the trail. Boulders filled the space from the grassy verge to the cliff’s edge, so a scrape on rock told he was no longer on the path. Every snick of steel on stone dropped him to the ground. On hands and knees he explored the area until he determined if it was a single rock or a pile of them marking a sharp turn of the path to warn the unwary to slow down.

| HELEN HENDERSON | His fingers didn’t meet more rocks, just open air.

“Too close for comfort,” he growled. Crawling to the right he found dirt. Once again he checked his mental map. “The bench is not too far ahead. Just a hundred steps.”

The slow exploration of the invisible world around him resumed.

Foot by foot, he probed and listened. The sword scraped on stone, and again when he moved it a foot higher. A screech, dampened by the fog, was quickly snatched away. Three more times he tested the rock face until the blade hit open air. Mental calculations revealed the stone was a head taller than his own considerable height. Only two people on the island were taller, the archmage and Murdo, the former mercenary who was now the head cook for both the mages and non-talented who lived on the island that was home to the school of magic and the council of wizards.

His hands scrabbled for purchase. I have to reach the metal. He forced his fingers to inch down the leather grip. Cold steel greeted his questing fingers.

Denai ... help … trapped … fog.

As it did with the sound of the crashing surf just a few lengths away, the fog snatched away the mental call. The ethereal noose around his neck tightened. Blackness narrowed his vision.

Fear added power to his call. His thought turned from a cast net to a silver thread tied to a dagger. A silent prayer to his ancestors to guide his aim and he threw the message towards the sleeping village below. Denai ... help … trapped … fog flew along the lifeline.

DON’T MISS THIS TITLE:

“I’m at the bench,” Brodie whispered. “Safe, at least for now.” The path grew steeper from there. It was dangerous even in daylight, now with the dew-slicked grass, near impossible to navigate blind. TânOer sheathed, he sat down with the weapon across his lap. No sooner had he stopped moving than his skin crawled from the cold. Only where his hand lay on the hilt of the sword did the chill fail to penetrate and the fingers remain warm.

The fog seemed to come alive. Icy fingers slid around his neck … and squeezed. More hands gripped his arm and trapped the sword in its sheath.

“No,” he moaned. “Magic is controlling this fog.” Yet again, he cursed his lack of talent. I may not be able to break the spell, but I can reach Denai. If she can’t help, she can at least contact her parents.

She will be a good one, hope said. She used TânOer this afternoon in practice and both metal and mage should retain their sense of link.

Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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A Life in Motion Life in rural Wisconsin is always

A Life in Motion.

A snippet of life on the farm with Cyrene.

| A LIFE IN MOTION COLUMN |

A Life in Motion – February 2021 Each month I’ll share part of my life on this small farm. Some fun, some serious, but always in motion. I’ll share my tips for gardening, show you my gardens and harvests, fixing and rebuilding areas in the barn, the new baby chicks that will arrive in the spring, adventures with my goats and horses and since I’m always cooking and trying new things, I’ll post a recipe that I thought worked out well each month with pictures. Hope you enjoy the column and get a glimpse of what life is like for us here in the country.

Life on a farm is always busy. There is always something that needs to be done. From fixing stalls that the thousand pound horses bump and kick on a regular basis – jarring boards loose to be hammered back together, to fixing fences that the goats decided was an easy escape route to the world beyond the fence.

There are chores to do in each season that have to be worked to aid the next season, for example, I’ll seed pastures in February-March right on top of the snow, to boost and renew the pastures for the spring that will feed the horses through the fall.

On top of all the farm work, I read a lot, and I still watch TV, mostly streaming channels these days and I cook and bake. So I will share shows I’m watching and food I’m cooking. From easy 30 minute dinners to all day roasting on a charcoal grill to some great ideas for baking cookies and breads. I used to post a lot of little snippets of my life on different social media outlets, and that just seems like too much these days. I’ve always had people ask about my gardens, my critters and my food, now we will just have it in one place.

I have lived my life in many different places. I’ve lived in a city, grew up in suburbia and of course, rural, and I’ve lived in houses, apartments and even a mobile home. And each of them had their pros and cons. When it came down to it, for me – rural country living is what works. It was probably horses that gave me that love of the country since horses have 42 | UncagedBooks.com

been a lifestyle for me and started when I got my first horse at age 9 (one day I’ll talk more about the reason I call horses a lifestyle).

So what has everyone been watching in the last month or so? Personally, I got stuck on The Mandalorian on Disney+ - mainly because I’m a big Star Wars nerd and I started on WandaVision – although I think it’s cute and funny, I’m waiting for the action that is promised as it goes. I also like the Netflix show Virgin River - but talk about cliffhangers! And multiples at that! No, I won’t spill the beans to those who haven’t seen it yet, but woah. Doozies.

I’ve also binged Bridgerton on Netflix. It’s funny, but I read the first two books in this series years ago, and I have to say, they weren’t that memorable – but

leave it to Shonda Rhimes to turn it into something so much more. I’ve even re-watched a couple of the episodes. And where has Regé-Jean Page (Simon) been hiding? Talk about swoon worthy. Him and Phoebe Dynevor’s (Daphne) chemistry leaps off the screen.

So my love of historical romances helped me to fall in love with this show, how many of you have binged this one? Now we wait.....for season two. *sigh* Many people have asked me if we ride horses in the winter. The answer is yes, maybe not as often, but as long as we can stay warm

| CYRENE OLSON | and it’s not real icy, the weather doesn’t affect the horses all that much. Right now they are like fuzzy bears with their winter coats. We have a young girl who takes riding lessons every week and has been coming out since summer. She’s doing so well and we are so proud of her progress. We have her riding Ana, our 21 yr. old Morgan/Tennessee Walker mare that is pretty much bomb proof. As long as we stay warm, we can ride.

Our young rider had always wanted to learn to ride a horse, probably picking up that pesky horse gene from her mother, who had a horse years ago – and never lost the love of them herself. But having a family and affording to keep horses is challenging, so when Katie’s (my daughter) best friend told her about her cousin, we were happy to share our love of horses with them. What have we gotten from this relationship? A new friendship – with truly wonderful people we may never have met and our horses get the love of

a young girl. Doesn’t get better than that. So bust out the blankets – grab some hot tea, and we are ready!

So enough about this month, but I have a wonderful, easy recipe this month on the next page. Hope you will give it a try and let me know what you think.

©Copyright 2021 Cyrene Olson www.uncagedbooks.com Cyrene@UncagedBooks.com At the publishing of this issue - the barn roof collapsed from heavy snow. The animals are fine, but the horses have been moved to a boarding facility until the roof is repaired because of below zero temperatures and for their safety. The goats are able to get into shelter and are doing well here at home.

Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| A LIFE IN MOTION COLUMN |

Easy Chicken Parmesan

5) Arrange the chicken in the skillet – and cook in batches, don’t overcrowd the chicken.

Ingredients: 3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts 2 TB or a bit more of olive oil (you can substitute your oil of choice) you’ll have to judge the pan if you need more or not 1 cup flour 1 tsp. salt ½ tsp. pepper 1 8 oz. bag shredded mozzarella cheese 1 cup parmesan cheese – grated 1 cup Italian style panko bread crumbs 2 tsp. parsley flakes 2 large eggs Marinara sauce or Italian sauce of your choice (can be from a jar or homemade – what you like is fine, we normally make a large batch from scratch and always have some in the freezer) 1 lb. of spaghetti noodles

6) Cook until golden brown on both sides (about 10 minutes) and transfer to a sided baking dish. Add oil sparingly as needed.

1) Heat the olive oil in a heavy skillet on the stove and preheat the oven to 425° 2) Clean and trim the chicken breasts, trimming off most fat. Cut each breast in half through the middle to thin them into 2 full pieces. Pound them with a meat tenderizer to tenderize them a bit.

3) Get out 3 shallow bowls. Bowl 1 – sift the flour and salt and pepper together. Bowl 2 – whisk the eggs until blended. Bowl 3 – mix parmesan cheese, bread crumbs and parsley.

4) Dip each piece of chicken into bowl 1, flour both sides – immediately go to bowl 2 and coat the chicken in egg on both sides, then dip the chicken into bowl 3 and evenly coat the bread crumbs.

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7) Arrange in baking dish, and add enough sauce to cover each piece of chicken, cover with mozzarella.

8) Bake at 425° for about 20 minutes, check the temperature of the chicken and make sure it reaches at least 165° with a meat thermometer.

9) While baking, cook the spaghetti noodles as the package instructs and make sure your sauce is hot.

10) To serve - spaghetti noodles on the bottom, spoon some sauce over the top of the noodles and then add a chicken breast on top. Should serve 4-6, depending on your eaters. I serve this with a salad and some garlic bread sticks. Let me know if you make it! I’ll see you all next month!

Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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feature authors

thriller | mystery | suspense

V.P. Morris

Kim Carter

Bruce Wetterau

Welcome to V.P. Morris Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Your debut novel, ShadowCast, will release February 25. Can you tell readers more about this book? What inspired you to start writing?

ShadowCast follows Dakota Kilroy, an out-of-work investigative journalist who is haunted by the disappearance of her high school best friend, Maddy Montgomery. When financial hardship forces her to return to her hometown of Santa Monica, CA, she starts ShadowCast, a true crime podcast that follows her investigation of Maddy’s disappearance. Little does she know, someone sinister is listening to the show and tampering with the evidence.

V

.P. Morris is an award-winning thriller and horror writer and podcast host. Her interest in true crime and criminal psychology inspired her debut novel, ShadowCast. When she isn’t writing, she is enjoying her time with her husband, son, and their rescue dog, Oscar.

Stay Co n n e c te d

I was inspired to write this novel because I am a huge fan of true crime podcasts. The idea struck me one day when a famous podcaster was discussing an unsolved case where the perpetrator was still at large and most likely very much alive. I realized that the investigator could be putting themselves in harm’s way if the guilty party ever stumbled upon their show.

Uncaged: You are the creator and host of The Dead Letters Podcast. Can you tell us more about the podcast and where we can find it?

The Dead Letters Podcast is an audio drama focusing on the lives of five women who, over the course of history, have received mysterious letters that warn of death and destruction if they don’t do exactly as the sender says. Season One is about college student Fiona whose life is turned upside down after she starts receiving her Dead Letters.

v. p. m o rris

You can find all of Season One on most platforms that host podcasts such as Apple, Stitcher, PodBean, Spotify and Amazon Music Podcasts.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

So many things! I miss being able to attend my local

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writers’ group meetings in person. I still attend over Zoom but it’s not the same as face to face. I also look forward to going to the movies again. I’m a big fan of horror movies so I hope I can see something in theaters by the time Halloween comes back around this year.

these overlooked places.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

I don’t write everyday. I don’t subscribe to the idea that you have to hit a certain daily word count to keep your skills sharp. Working in large chunks is easier for me. I completed ShadowCast’s first draft in 5 weeks, writing up to 5,000 words a day. When I get in the zone, I find it best to just focus and get it all out of my head versus pacing myself over a longer period of time.

Dakota receives help for her podcast by a mysterious wealthy sponsor named Sean Emory. I had a much larger backstory about him and how he earned his considerable wealth. However, I noticed it took away from the main story of finding out what happened to Maddy so I had to leave that behind.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

I can’t remember what was the first book to give me that type of reaction, however, reading “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” in my collection of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s stories made me immensely sad. I was at the beach with my friends from high school when I read it and I remember I couldn’t go about enjoying the beautiful day in the sand and sunshine after reading that ending. Even though Benjamin was able to escape the fate of getting physically older, he still had to die like the rest of us. There was something so human and painful in that ending that it haunts me to this day.

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write?

On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

Physical books are my first love. There is nothing like the smell of the pages, the weight in your hand and the sense of accomplishment when you can put it away on your shelf like a trophy. But I do like audiobooks and ebooks for their convenience and I certainly don’t shame people for liking those mediums better.

I just started “We Sold Our Souls” by Grady Hendrix. He is one of my favorite writers because he is great at weaving horror and comedy together. I’ve read “Horrorstor” and “My Best Friend’s Exorcism” already and I’m aiming to read every book he has out.

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

6. When I’m not writing, I like to listen to podcasts, watch horror movies and spend time with my family. I also have a hobby of visiting old cemeteries near where I live. In Connecticut, there are all of these amazing old grave sites with tombstones dating back to the Revolutionary period. They are usually in these hidden places along the road, covered in overgrown brush and it’s a little adventure seeking them out. It seems like it would be macabre or creepy but I find it moving to see that these people from long ago are still memorialized in

I hope my readers enjoy ShadowCast. I think it’s a great read for anyone who likes a good mystery with dark elements. It’s a good way to stay occupied during the pandemic too.

Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR |

Enjoy an excerpt from ShadowCast ShadowCast V.P. Morris Psychological Thriller Releases Feb. 25 Dakota Kilroy, a 28-yearold investigative journalist, is haunted by the unsolved disappearance of her best friend, Maddy Montgomery who went missing at the age of fifteen. When financial difficulties force her to move back home to Santa Monica, CA, she cannot take the unanswered questions anymore. Determined to find out what happened to Maddy, Dakota starts ShadowCast, a true crime podcast to publicize the case. But little does she know the man responsible for Maddy’s disappearance all those years ago is listening in and tampering with her investigation.

ShadowCast is a psychological thriller with pageturning suspense, a story that praises the value of friendship and the fearless pursuit of justice.

Excerpt Dakota found herself sitting in an army-green plastic chair that was bolted to the floor with metal legs. A white table, fastened down in a similar fashion, was in front of her with the number twelve printed on it. She had already been through the metal detector and the pat down. Now, she sat waiting with a visitor tag clipped to her shirt and a cup of vending machine coffee in her hands. A metal door to her left swung open. A guard escorted a tall, lanky man in prison blues to Dakota’s table.

“Twenty minutes,” said the guard, as the man sat down across from Dakota.

50 | UncagedBooks.com

“Who are you?” asked the man. He had a flat face and head of jet-black hair, cut close to the skull.

Dakota looked straight into his eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t remember me, Mr. Lawrence. I thought you’d remember the names and faces of every girl you had as a student.”

He looked down the frame of his glasses and said, “This again. Okay, areyou a family member or friend of Briana’s?”

She shook her head. “No, I have no connection to your victim. My name is Dakota Kilroy and I’m an investigative journalist and—” “Oh great,” he cut her off.

“And I was one of your students from 1998 to 2002.”

Dakota started again but she was interrupted once more.

“So, you’ve come here, six years after my trial and ten years after you graduated to harass me,” Mr. Lawrence leaned forward, his small eyes amplified by his lenses stared down at Dakota. A guard across the room took a step closer which caused Mr. Lawrence to draw back into his seat.

“No, if you’d let me get a word in, I’d tell you why I’m here.” Anger rose inDakota’s chest. She wanted to punch the bastard in the face, not because of what he did to his student or how difficult he was being but because of the possibility he had hurt Maddy.

“Fine,” he said, with his hand outstretched like he was the conductor of an orchestra beckoning the music to start with his command.

“I’m not looking into what you did with Briana. It seems like that case has been put to bed.” Dakota glanced at his prison uniform. “But there is another case I’m working on, and I think you might have a unique perspective on it.”

| V.P. MORRIS | “Listen. I’m not going to help you with some other ‘Hot for Teacher’ case, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said.

“It’s Maddy Montgomery,” Dakota blurted out.

He went deathly quiet.

Dakota leaned closer and made direct eye contact.

“From what I’ve found, the police never questioned you about Maddy. Not at the time of her disappearance in 2000. Not when you got arrested six years later. Detective Muldowney didn’t put two and two together. But I have. So, I’m offering you a chance to clear your name before I help him put two and two together and they drop a kidnapping or murder charge on top of your original sentence.”

“That would never happen.” Mr. Lawrence waved her off.

“Really? The man who had a relationship with his sixteen-year-old student was also the teacher of another teen girl who happened to go missing a few years prior? I mean, who else could have done it? The family, that’s unlikely. You might be thinking, it’s always the boyfriend. Wrong, she didn’t have one. Most other teachers at St. Philomena’s were questioned and ruled out. But you weren’t. You flew under the radar, somehow. From what I found in the papers, your student looked a lot like Maddy. Dark hair, light skin, small frame. The perfect victim. When this suggestion lands in Detective Muldowney’s lap, whose phone number I have on hand, he’ll be on you so fast. Sure, a jury may have reasonable doubt, but it’s common knowledge that child predators, especially ones serving time already for sex crimes, receive little mercy in the court of law. You think you’re out of here in three years? You could be looking at life. But...”

as he waited with anticipation for Dakota to finish her sentence.

“But, if you clear your name publicly by allowing me to record and broadcast what happened that night, then this could prove you innocent.” Dakota pulled her phone out of her pocket with the recording feature already opened and the portable microphone attached. “What do you say?”

He took a heavy sigh. “All right,” he said with a grimace.

Dakota pressed record.

“This is Dakota Kilroy recording on Monday, January 23rd, 2012. I’m here in a correctional facility in Southern California with Mr. Ryan Lawrence. Mr. Lawrence is serving a nine-year sentence for the statuary rape of a student in 2006. But he also was the History teacher at the time of Maddy Montgomery’s disappearance and was never questioned about her. Mr. Lawrence, would you please tell me where you were on December 7, 2000?”

“Um, well, it’s been about twelve years, so it’s hard for me to remember everything; but I remember that day for one big reason,” he smiled with an expression that said, ‘Gotcha.’

“We’ll get to that — just talk me through the day and tell me why you remember it when we get there,” Dakota instructed.

“I normally got to school half an hour before class starts, so that would be around 7:15 am. Then, I’d teach from 7:45 to 11:45, then have lunch in the breakroom if I wasn’t on lunch duty that day.”

“And were you?” asked Dakota.

Dakota paused. She took a sip of coffee while she stared at Mr. Lawrence.

His cocky and relaxed posture changed. He looked five inches shorter and his face hung in a deep frown

“No. No, I was not,” he laughed. “I believe I was scheduled only on Mondays for lunch duty, but anyway, I had ordered Chinese food two nights before and brought the leftovers in for lunch. Well, Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | two hours later, my Kung Pao chicken was kicking the shit out of my intestines, literally. I had to go home with an hour left in the school day.

By the time my wife got home, around five that evening, I was extremely sick. So sick in fact, she took me to the emergency room, where I was on IV fluids until early the next morning.”

Dakota didn’t like what she was hearing. “Do you have anything that would back this up?”

“My ex-wife hates me, divorced me four years before Briana, but I’m sure she remembers it. It was one out of two times I’d ever had to go to the hospital in my life and the only time during our marriage. Plus, there must be records with her or the hospital or the insurance company that shows I was a very sick boy that night,” he chuckled.

“Good. I’ll check on this. Is there anything else you’d like to say?” she asked, wanting to end this interview after being caught off guard by his chicken story.

“Yes. I didn’t do it,” Mr. Lawrence started.

“Yeah, I like young girls — most men do but don’t have the stones to say anything about it or act on it. But I wouldn’t abduct or kill anyone.

Especially Maddy. She was such a good student and so pleasant to be around. You don’t get a lot of kids like that, nowadays. But I swear, I have no idea what happened to her.”

Dakota turned off the recording device.

“Sorry I disappointed you. But I didn’t lay a finger on her,” he insisted.

“I’m not disappointed. I’m trying to find out what happened. And the only way to do that is to rule people out. I just hope everyone else isn’t as snide as you,” said Dakota as she stood up.

“I really do hope you find her remains and whoever killed her. I really mean that. I want the fam52 | UncagedBooks.com

ily to have closure,” he said.

“Her body? You think she’s dead?” Dakota asked, thinking the perverted teacher was just caught giving away more information than he should have if he was innocent.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “After living with these animals in here for the last six years, I know what some men are capable of. If someone like them got to her, there’s no chance she’s still alive.”

Dakota’s heart sank. She pulled off her visitor’s pass and left without looking back at Mr. Lawrence.

CHECK OUT THE DEAD LETTERS PODCAST:

V.P. MORRIS & Oscar

EMILY ROYAL & Twinkle, Laurence & Bono

This is my dog, Oscar. He is a bagel hound which is a beagle and basset hound mix. I think he is a very special dog because of the heart shaped spot on his side, his helicopter tail that spins around a full 360 degrees when he is happy and his generally sweet nature.

He makes for quite the writing companion too when he curls up on the couch next to me and my laptop.

LANCELOT SCHAUBERT & Echo

click to play above Echo is an eleven-year-old English Cockerspaniel. She snags more pizza than pizza rat and often throws bagels into the mix.

She can catch large toys out of the air, dance on two legs in order to get more peanut butter, and often asks simply to sit at the table like a human in a chair while we eat. Just to be present with us.

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Twinkle (full name, Apollo Maximus Twinkle) is a Suriname red-tailed boa constrictor. He’s very friendly and loves to be out having a cuddle. He’s my constant writing companion and while he might look a little scary, he’s very good at winning people round. We took him to our younger daughter’s school and all the children loved him, even the ones who’d said they were frightened of snakes.

Laurence (full name, Mr. Laurence Noodle) is a Common boa. We adopted him from a rescue center near Edinburgh. He loves to come out for a cuddle, but he’s quite big, so he usually needs two of us to manage him, and if he’s determined to stay out, getting him back into his vivarium can be quite a logistical exercise! As the photo shows, he likes to steal my seat while I’m writing. He’s really chilled and will curl up on my lap for hours.

Bono is our rescue lurcher. He had a horrible history before we adopted him and he was very

A U T H O RS A N D T H E I R P E TS Pets and companions come in many shapes and sizes. From furry to feathered to hairy and scaley - there is a place for all of them. Authors have a special relationship with their pets - whether they remind them to get up and take a break or they inspire their writing. Meet the critters that share their love and devotion to Uncaged Feature Authors.

nervous when we first brought him home. But he’s now full of confidence and loves to play! We all pamper him to make up for his past. He loves to guard the turn of the stairs and you can’t go up or down the stairs without paying him a toll, in the form of a cuddle, a biscuit, or just a bit of attention.

Often when I’m writing he comes and sits on my feet, or budges my elbow when he thinks I’ve been spending too long on the computer.

Isla says hello. (Cyrene’s 10 old month kitten) Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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showcase Kenneth Fuerstinger The Adventures of Pinch and Nardo

friendship between an inchworm and a bullfrog. They clearly do not look alike. But they share other things.

They accept each other despite their appearances. To them, what matters more are respect, trust, and care for each other. They are the best of friends.

Their journey details their search for their purpose in life, while still being able to stand beside each other, ready to lend support at whoever needs it most.

And in today’s world, we could all use a lesson about setting differences aside and lifting friends up. Hop along the ride in The Adventures of Pinch and Nardo.

U.S. Review of Books “Pinch entered the never-ending forest with one only thing on his mind—what his parents said.

‘Pinch, you must find your special purpose in life.’”

The Adventures of Pinch and Nardo Kenneth Fuerstinger Children’s Fiction When does friendship happen? At any time, at any place, and at any point in one’s life. For Pinch and Nardo, it came early, organically.

And while most people worry about not looking the same as others or not having the same likes or dislikes, Pinch and Nardo show that there is more to friendship than just sharing the same things.

The Adventures of Pinch and Nardo tells of 58 | UncagedBooks.com

In this vibrant children’s book, Fuerstinger takes his readers on several adventures with Pinch and Nardo—both strangers to one another at the beginning of the book—who become the best of friends by the end. Pinch, an inchworm, embarks on a journey to find his purpose in life after losing his parents. Despite his small size, he braves the never-ending forest his parents had once told him would lead him to his destiny in life. Surrounded by the unknown, Pinch has no way of knowing which way to go or what exactly his parents had in mind.

By chance, he meets Nardo, a frog who helps him when he’s stuck. Nardo eventually joins Pinch on his journey, hoping to also find his own special purpose in life. Along the way, they recognize their differences and similarities, both of which strengthen their bond.

The colored pencil illustrations that accompany the story bring texture to the pages and are filled with bright colors that pop off the page like an invitation. Aside from the drawings, most of the tale is told through dialogue and easy-to-read language, making the book very approachable for both chil-

dren and any parents who wish to read alongside or for their child. Although the text would benefit from some additional editing, the errors do not detract from the story’s intention. Furthermore, although some parts of the dialogue can feel repetitive and awkward at times, there is a bit of humor to be appreciated when Pinch and Nardo talk to one another. They don’t just become friends in name but feel like it on the page with the easy way they speak to each other.

This easygoing friendship plays a lot into what the book is actually about. On the surface, it looks like Pinch’s mission—looking for a special purpose in life—is the point of the plot. However, Fuerstinger leaves several themes between the lines that define the book more than the initial mission that set everything into motion. As a result, the journey ends up holding more meaning than the destination. This is as it should be in holding up with the themes Fuerstinger explores. Among others, themes that he portrays are in the friendship between Pinch and Nardo, embracing diversity for those who look and are different than you, accepting yourself for who you are, extending the same acceptance to those around you, and that it is the differences that bridge the gap between people and that make diversity complimentary.

Though not as explicit as Pinch’s search for purpose, these positive messages make the book’s plot and characters as bright and playful as the colorful illustrations inside. Consequently, this

book opens the door for discussion between children and their parents about friendship, diversity, acceptance, etc. Lastly, perhaps the most positive and important message the book has to offer for both children and adults alike is the realization that people create their own purposes in life as well as their own destinies.

In addition to being an enjoyable adventure for youngsters, the author’s thought-provoking tale may foster some important discussions between parents and their children.

Author Kenneth B. Fuerstinger was born in San Diego, California, on November 5, 1964. He was a part of a video production company for eight years, until 9/11 happened. He suffered the loss of a job and then his parents, one after the other, afterwards. These had taken a toll on his mental health, but the only way to survive is to keep moving forward. As a child, he always wanted to draw. The Adventures of Pinch and Nardo is a fruit of his love for drawing and telling stories.

Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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ki m carter

K

im Carter is an award-winning author of suspense, mystery and thriller novels.

Kim’s writing career started after she suffered an illness that made her housebound for a couple of years. An avid reader of mystery novels herself, she embarked on writing as a means of filling her time. She began to share those early writings with friends and family who encouraged her to pursue writing professionally. Her health struggles and successes have been chronicled on The Lifetime Television in early 2000, The Atlanta-Journal Constitution, Women’s Day Magazine, and Guidepost.

Kim is a college graduate of Saint Leo University with a Bachelor of Arts in Sociology. She resides just outside of Atlanta, Georgia.

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kimcarterauthor.com Uncaged welcomes Kim Carter Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Your latest book, Dark Secrets of the Bayou released late last year.

Can you tell readers more about this book?

This book has truly been a labor of love and my first attempt at a historical mystery. It is set deep in the bayou of Louisiana and follows five generations 60 | UncagedBooks.com

of the Sinclair, LeBlanc, and Jackson families. It begins in the mid-1800’s before catching up to present day. Louisiana has such a rich, diverse, and fascinating history that I often felt I had bitten off more than I could chew as I became so immersed in the melting pot of cultures. But it was certainly worth it. When three brutal murders occur in the town of Kane, Louisiana, it is difficult for law enforcement to deny the unusual M.O. of the killers. Could a concealed crime from the 1800’s harbor keys to unlocking the past? The further the investigation gets, the more those involved question whether some secrets are best left buried.

Uncaged: You have a unique background as a correctional officer and writing in the genres of Mystery and Thrillers seems like it would be a perfect fit. Do you find your time in this profession helped your writing career?

Yes, I do, but not in the ways one would think.

Instead of learning more about the criminal element, I learned more about the considerable diversity among people, and yet the countless things we have in common. We all have stories, some self-destructive and some destroyed by others. A few have the strength to overcome adversity, yet some do not for various reasons. Then there are those individuals who are simply evil and find joy in ill-doing. I will never regret that part of my life as it taught me so much about how our surroundings and the fierce love or hatred of others can affect us.

Uncaged: You also have started a series, The Clara and Iris Mystery series, and the first book is out called Murder among the Tombstones. Can you tell us more about this series? Do you have a release date in mind for the second book in the series?

Oh! I LOVE Clara and Iris. They were first introduced in my novel Sweet Dreams, Baby Belle.

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nurse and very prim and proper, while Iris is a retired hairdresser and enjoys nothing more than sharing gossip and dropping a few ‘unacceptable’ words at all the wrong moments. They got caught up in a very intricate Ponzi scheme involving Clara’s boss and after discovering their penchant for solving crimes, they opened their own private investigation firm. Many readers have been under the misconception that this is a cozy mystery series, however, Clara and Iris get involved in some profoundly serious crimes, often putting their own lives at risk. But the comedic side of them remains as they struggle to bring themselves up to date with modern technology. I am working on my next Clara and Iris novel now and hope to have it out very soon.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

First, I’d love to visit my brother and sister-in-law in D.C. and then my friends in Biloxi.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

It is difficult for me to cut anything that I’ve written because I feel like it is a part of me, but when I do, I simply hit delete and never look back.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

Oh, my goodness, so many. My mother always enjoyed Erma Bombeck’s books and I’ve recently been reading them and realizing how much I am like Ms. Bombeck. I wasn’t the typical June Cleaver mom and I enjoy laughter more than anything! I recently lost my husband, literally the other part of my heart, and now try to stay away from anything emotional, either in books or movies. It just leaves me in a mess.

| KIM CARTER | your husband. I wish you peace in the coming months.

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I have found that working in my yard is such a stress reliever and one Mother’s Day I asked my husband to get me a push mower. (I highly recommend it, as it is cheaper than a gym and you get results physically and don’t pay a yard guy). My neighbor’s do tend to ride by and look at me like – she does realize she just cut the yard yesterday doesn’t she? It cracks me up! I enjoy spending time with my dogs, family, and friends, and am always down to binge a great show or series!

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write?

On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

This is the one question I’m always asked and wish that I had an answer for you. It really depends on the novel. I spend more time with it stewing in my head than I do actually writing. My favorite part is researching the novel – as I’m inspired by places, smells, any type of visuals. If I had to narrow it down, I’d say the raw manuscript is generally completed anywhere from six to nine months.

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

Nothing against ebooks, but I love a physical book.

I have little time for reading but right now I’m reading The Reckoning by John Grisham.

Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

I continue to be amazed that anyone would be interested in reading something that came out of my head! LOL! I’d love to say thank you for their continued support!

Uncaged Follow-up: I am so very sorry to hear about Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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Enjoy an excerpt from Deep Secrets of the Bayou Deep Secrets of the Bayou Kim Carter Historical Mystery/Crime Catherine “Tink” Mabry, an up and coming attorney, is shocked by her recent inheritance from her estranged family on the bayou.

After her mother died during childbirth, Tink’s father had quickly relocated them to the big city of Atlanta, Georgia. With no memory of her mother, she is determined to learn more about her lineage and decides to visit the bayou town of Kane, Louisiana. Candace, Tink’s co-worker and best friend, agrees to make the trip with her.

Before she has time to explore her family’s history or decide what to do with the declining property, local murders plague Tink’s homecoming. She quickly finds herself caught in the middle of a multiple murder investigation—and quite possibly, the prime suspect. When Candace retreats back to Atlanta, Tink finds support among an unlikely cast of characters and sets out to discover clues that have haunted and tormented her family for generations.

Could a concealed crime from the 1800s, or the family’s estate itself, harbor keys to unlocking the past? The more they learn, the more they question whether some secrets are best left buried.

Excerpt KANE, LOUISIANA, 1859 EMMANUEL SINCLAIR STOOD BACK and surveyed the sprawling plantation that had en64 | UncagedBooks.com

compassed his life for the past two years. He nodded with pleasure as if someone were there awaiting his approval. Placed perfectly amidst rows of river oaks, magnolias, and sycamores, the estate was breathtakingly beautiful. The well-designed landscape surrounding the home contrasted sharply with the bald cypress and coastal willows rising prominently from the waters in the bayou.

Emmanuel had no doubt, Lucretia, his soon-to-be bride, would be delighted with her stately new home.

Within the next twenty-four hours, she was scheduled to go by train from Baltimore to the Ohio River.

Lucretia would then travel by steamboat via the Ohio and the Mississippi to New Orleans, where Emmanuel would be waiting for her. Lucretia’s trip would be grueling, but she’d experienced many challenges over her eighteen years. Her grandparents had been part of the Expulsion of 1755 when the British ejected all French-Acadians refusing to pledge allegiance to the King of England. Originally settling in Maine, her family relocated to New York before putting down permanent stakes in Baltimore.

Young Lucretia longed for consistency, and it had been Emmanuel’s stability that’d won her over. By the age of thirty-five, he’d already made his fortune in the cotton business. His father had died seven years earlier, leaving Emmanuel a sizeable concession of land and a fledgling cotton crop, which, at best, kept the plantation self-sufficient. But it was the combination of Emmanuel’s business savvy, the increase of cotton production, and Louisiana’s strategic ports that’d quickly increased his wealth.

AS EMMANUEL HAD BEEN STEADILY BUILDING a prosperous empire, Thaddeus Jackson had been constructing a flourishing kingdom of his own, on an equally expansive plantation a few miles away.

Thaddeus had his father, Mathias, to thank for being born a free man of color. He had caught Andrew Jackson’s eye as a standout on the battlefield during the War of 1812. His grueling work ethic and leadership skills played pivotal in constructing breast-

| KIM CARTER | works, later referred to as Line Jackson.

Thaddeus had quickly tired of the story, even as a young boy, and considered his father nothing more than a yes-man who’d covered cotton bales with logs and mud to protect the white army. However, Andrew Jackson had been quite impressed— enough so, in fact, that he’d facilitated Mathias’s freedom. Not one to take any blessing for granted, Mathias had chosen to acquire Jackson’s surname out of gratitude.

Thaddeus had found much to dislike about his father, but he’d inherited many of his most admirable traits.

He was a powerful leader and quick learner with a sense of adventure. These characteristics had led to his success as a Mississippi River privateer. His tall frame and good looks didn’t hinder him either. Both his appearance and self-confidence had also captured Fatima Lambert’s attention.

Fatima came with quite the story of her own. With a shortage of white women in the state of Louisiana and laws forbidding interracial marriage, the institution of plaçage enabled her to be a mistress to the very wealthy, and incredibly old, William Lambert.

She’d been merely a teenager when he’d spotted her working his fields and had quickly arranged for her to be a kept woman.

Accustomed to hard labor and the unrelenting heat, she hadn’t objected to being at his beck and call and his bed when he’d insisted. Fortunately for Fatima, she’d only had to suffer through a few sessions of his sexual desires before he’d dropped dead of a heart attack at the ripe age of seventy-eight.

With William being a childless widower and having no other heirs with whom to split his fortune, Fatima had become the proud owner of not only his cotton plantation but his slaves as well. It wasn’t her attractiveness as a mulatto that’d lured Thaddeus to pursue Fatima; it’d been her property and the glorious cotton fields that promised a lifetime of financial security.

Once he’d set his sights on her, there was little Fatima could do but concede to his advances. After all,

who wouldn’t want a bright, handsome husband to take care of things?

A RABBIT SCURRIED beneath some underbrush, drawing Emmanuel’s attention to the cool, damp breeze and dark clouds promising an impending storm. He walked to the front porch, paused long enough to grab his oil lamp, and made his way inside. Emmanuel hesitated briefly to take in the magnificence of the grand staircase winding its way, like an ornate ribbon, up to the second and third floors. One of his slaves, who’d been trained as a blacksmith, had spent the past few months creating it, and he hadn’t disappointed.

It would surely take Lucretia’s breath away. Aside from a bed and some office necessities, the remaining furnishings would be left to Lucretia’s desires. Yet another of Emmanuel’s wedding gifts to her. Although it was midday, and the many windows gave way to ample light, thunder clouds had begun to darken the home’s interior. Emmanuel made his way up the stairs, down the corridor leading to the west wing, and entered his office.

He slid the mantel a smidgen to the left.

This released the mechanism holding the entire faux fireplace intact, enabling him to unlock the steel door leading to an array of complex tunnels, and ultimately, his concealed vault. THIS WAS where the lives of two greedy and shrewd businessmen merged.

This was the beginning of a tale older than time, filled with greed, lust, superstition, and murderous secrets they’d both take to their graves.

It was a story meant to be locked away forever...

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bruce wetterau

W

riting the Clay Cantrell Mystery series marks a new departure for me, what amounts to my third career. For my first, I spent over twenty years as a reference book author-eventually publishing eleven reference books.

Since then I’ve spent another twenty years buying and renovating old houses in Virginia. With Lost Treasure, published in 2012, I finally realized my dream of writing novels.

It’s been one of those long, winding roads to here.

Starting out on it many years ago, I was a young, would-be novelist looking for experience and the skills needed to write a novel. Now, well into my seventies, I’m just looking for time enough to write.

To date I have written three mystery-thriller novels for the Clay Cantrell series: Lost Treasure; Killer Fog--The Veil of Mist Shrouds a Deadly Conspiracy; and The Girl Behind the Wall--Edgar Allan Poe, the Girl, and the Mysterious Raven Murders. I am currently at work on a fourth, The Nine Lives of Harry Bellamy, Counterfeiter.

And, yes, I’m still renovating houses.

Stay Co n n e c te d

brucewetterau.com

Uncaged welcomes Bruce Wetterau Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! You write the Clay Cantrell Mystery series, and the latest book in that series, The Girl Behind the Wall, released in October. Can you tell us more about this book and series? Can these books be read as standalones?

With three mysteries in print now it finally does feel like a series! That’s just a start mind you, but Clay and Mac have settled into their role as amateur sleuths who won’t let go of a mystery until it’s solved, no matter how baffling or risky the investigation becomes.

The Girl Behind the Wall opens with them trying to solve a seemingly impossible two-hundred-year-old mystery--did Edgar Allan Poe murder a girlfriend years before he became famous? Then a modernday serial killer, who calls himself the Raven and who is obsessed with Poe, appears on the scene.

Those two apparently unrelated imperatives set up what is a signature feature of all Clay Cantrell mysteries: a modern-day mystery story that weaves back and forth between the present and a narrative taking place in the past. In each book that historical narrative ultimately bridges the river of time, so to speak, to reach forward in some way and effect the contemporary mystery Clay and Mac are trying to solve.

In the first Clay Cantrell Mystery, Lost Treasure, flashbacks to the last days of the Civil War eventually reveal how the Confederate gold came to be lost and become the source of a surprising revelation for Clay as well. But I shouldn’t say any more than that here. In the second book, Killer Fog, flashbacks to prewar America tell the story of a Nazi spy ring operating here and provide key clues to a deadly, present-day terrorist conspiracy Clay and Mac uncover and have to foil. And in the third book...Well, you can read that one now! You don’t have to read the first two beforehand though, because I’ve written each book in the series as a stand-alone mystery.

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| BRUCE WETTERAU | Uncaged: Your writing career actually started with reference books. But what inspired you to write in the mystery genre?

Probably television. In the years after I left college (and before I started editing and writing reference books) I read a great deal of the literary classics and some of the popular fiction of the day, but next to nothing in the mystery/crime fiction genre.

(Capote’s In Cold Blood was one exception.)

Then came the reference book writing, some twenty-five years in which I read almost no fiction and made only one serious (and unsuccessful) effort at writing a novel--a World War II action-adventure story.

During my first job out of college, though, I had covered the police beat for a small daily newspaper.

That may have encouraged my habit of regularly watching crime and mystery programs on television.

Like many people, I enjoyed the suspense and the solving of the crimes. So when it came time for me to decide on a direction for my novel writing I simply followed up on that long-standing interest to work in what had become a familiar genre.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing when it’s finally over?

A trip to the beach, definitely! Probably Nags Head or Chincoteague. And to once again spend time with friends and to visit the fine craft breweries we have here in Virginia.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

Because of the way I work--I focus on writing a detailed outline first--I rarely have to cut whole scenes or big blocks of text. Thankfully! I do most of the preliminary research in the outline stage as well as developing the characters, plot points, and scenes before I start writing the ms. I can think of Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | one case where work on the outline made me decide to put the book idea aside (a better idea occurred to me at the time!). You never know. I might go back to the original idea some day.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

I’ve had a lifelong love of carpentry and building things that morphed into a second career in renovating old houses. Even though I spend a lot of time working on houses these days, I still enjoy spending time in my shop repairing and refinishing furniture and doing the odd cabinetry job. Probably the most exotic project

Interesting question! We really are reaching back into the mists of time--my youth, that is. I honestly can’t think of a first book that made me laugh. But a magazine did--Mad Magazine had me in stitches as a young boy. A classmate and I in grade school art class even conned the teacher into letting us do our own version of it. Time has erased our juvenile effort--probably for the best--but Alfred E. Neuman, Scenes We’d Like to See, etc. definitely helped hone my sense of the absurd.

But back to books. In my school years I was interested in science. I remember being fascinated

by Jules Verne’s early science fiction stories, such as 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and H.G. Wells’s War of the Worlds. And for adventure and discovery, three books come to mind: Thor Heyerdahl’s Kon Tiki, the story of his adventurous voyage across the Pacific aboard a raft to prove contact between Asia and the Americas was possible in ancient times; William Beebe’s Half Mile Down, the story of the author’s daring, recordbreaking deep dives in the bathysphere and the strange undersea world he explored; and God’s, Graves, and Scholars, C. W. Ceram’s fascinating history of archeology and discoveries of the ancient world.

There is one book that I have not re-read in a long time that I think of now as somehow a seminal work for me: Earnest Hemingway’s short novel, The Old Man and the Sea. I can remember being struck by the novel’s iconic, fable-like quality and the sheer emotive power of both the story and the form. I just talked myself into re-reading it!

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

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I’ve tackled was building a floor-to-ceiling breakfront cabinet in a hundred-year-old house I had renovated.

I designed and built the cabinet pictured here from scratch using cherry lumber, some of which I had harvested myself some years before.

Though I’m not as adventurous (and strong legged) as I once was, I still enjoy hiking. I’m not one for tackling Mt. Everest, but I love the scenery and a hike in the woods is one surefire way to burn off the tensions

| BRUCE WETTERAU | of the day. Virginia has many well-known hiking trails, like Crabtree Falls (I’m at the top in the picture here) and Humpback Rocks (the view from the top is pictured here).

The nice views on my hikes helped get me started in another hobby, photography, and I’ve been hooked ever since. Finding and capturing a really good shot is like a treasure hunt. If nothing else the hunt gets me outdoors and looking at the world around me. I do a lot of landscapes, but as far as I’m concern anything is fair game.

I call the wind surfing shot here “Follow the Sun”. Another shot here captured the Washington Monument in the spring. The third shot captured the Rotunda at the University of Virginia. The Rotunda figures in The Girl Behind the Wall.

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write?

On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

I suppose my ideal schedule is to spend about a half day writing/researching and a half day doing physical work, like renovating, at least until I am well into the writing phase of a book. Then I’ll spend up to eight hours writing a day.

Admittedly, I’m not the fastest gun in town. It takes me anywhere from a year to a year and a half to go from initial concept through research and work on the extensive outline, then to a finished mystery novel of about 350 pages.

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

Physical books. Ebooks have a lot going for them but I was fortunate to grow up in a family that prized books and maintained a library of books at home. Copies of Half Mile Down and Gods, Graves, and Scholars were among them.

I recently finished reading William Martin’s bestseller, Back Bay, and re-reading Tony Hillerman’s Talking God. And now, I’ve finished re-reading The Old Man and the Sea. I’m a lot older now than when I first read it. A valiant effort ending in failure is much less a revelation or even a surprise now, but it always has been, and still is, troubling.

Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans?

I guess it would be Keep reading! My books, anybody’s books. Fiction or nonfiction, it doesn’t matter. We are awash in the age of video, but we must not forget books and the written word as a source of learning, experience, and personal growth.

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Enjoy an excerpt from The Girl Behind the Wall The Girl Behind the Wall Bruce Wetterau Mystery/Crime Did Edgar Allan Poe strangle his girlfriend, Annabel Lee, in a fit of rage in 1826, many years before he became famous? The Girl Behind the Wall by Bruce Wetterau follows Poe through actual events from the last months of his life, while weaving together a web of murder mysteries, past and present, tied to Poe and the girl.

The story opens in 1849 with Poe tormented by frightening visions about murdering Annabel.

Flash forward nearly two hundred years to the present. Clay Cantrell, accidentally uncovers damning evidence--Annabel’s skeleton and a locket from Poe--behind an old brick wall at the University of Virginia.

While the mystery of Poe’s strange visions unfolds in flashbacks, Cantrell and friends become self-styled history detectives, launching a seemingly impossible search of their own for the truth about Annabel’s death. But a new, possibly related murder mystery intrudes in the present day--a sexual predator and serial killer named the Raven claims his first victim, a UVA coed. The Raven is obsessed with Poe and stages his murders with ties to Poe’s works.

With young women suddenly turning up dead, Clay helps police unravel the Raven’s puzzling clues, drawing him into the hunt for the killer, a new and much more dangerous investigation.

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that readers don’t have to know about Poe’s life and works beforehand. For those curious about what is fact and what is fiction in the book, however, there is a timeline of the actual events included from the last months of Poe’s life at the back of the book.

Excerpt [TV reporter] Cliff Weston was still at his desk late the following evening at the WCRTV office in downtown Charlottesville, doing background research for a feature segment on the local food bank’s Christmas fund drive. It’s a worthy cause, he told himself, but in fact he’d done fluff pieces like this a hundred times before and was bored to death with them. How can they expect me to keep coming up with fresh angles on this stuff, he asked himself. In fact he was spinning his wheels on it and looking at his watch now, he decided to leave it until tomorrow. The thought of a couple of drinks at Guthrie’s vastly improved his spirits.

“Hey Westy,” Mike Duncan, the night shift reporter, called out on his way into the newsroom. “I found this taped to the door from the parking lot. Looks like it’s for you.”

The envelope that landed on Weston’s desk was addressed simply “To Cliff Weston” in typed letters.

Weston picked it up and looked at it suspiciously, wondering whether he should even open it. For sure this was from some nutcase, but it didn’t feel heavy enough to have a bomb inside. Maybe ricin, or anthrax, he thought. Jeez, being aware these days carries a heavy price of paranoia, he told himself. Screwing up his courage, he sliced the missive open with a letter opener--while holding it at arm’s length.

A single sheet of paper with a typed message, probably printed out on a computer, was all the envelope contained. But it spelled out a chilling warning: The cops are stupid. You are stupid. You waste your time on a bunch of bones. You think they have caught the Raven, don’t you? But all of you are fools!

I have the girl and I will kill her. Your only chance to stop me is to find her first--if you are smart enough to solve this riddle. I do not make jokes. The girl dies at midnight tomorrow.

| BRUCE WETTERAU | The Raven b;m ;)92 z! 7m32 4m830 374 !;m 4zm! ?m32?98 z74mm4 b;m !9!fzxz)7 19b a)2m ?m32?98 b;m 4))a 98389am Weston shivered. This was no joke, he was sure of that. He recovered seconds later as the journalist in him crowed: The Raven contacted me directly. What a story! The Raven must be watching my reports on TV. The thought excited him, then made him wonder for just a moment where this direct contact with a murderer might lead.

But the thrilling prospect of landing the big story rode roughshod over any thoughts of caution. More to the point, he immediately saw just how much bigger that story would be, if he could find the girl first. The problem was the Raven’s damned inscrutable riddle.

It wasn’t a riddle at all; it was some sort of code and Weston had no idea where to begin.

The ethical question intruded on his thoughts--a girl’s life was in the balance--so by rights he should go to the police with this. But as soon as he did that, he’d lose all control over the story. The cops would take the letter and completely shut him out of the investigation.

Weston decided he couldn’t let that happen. But what could he do? He impatiently drummed his fingers on his desk trying to think. Then it hit him. Clay and Mac. They were already working on that Annabel Lee skeleton. Weston was sure they’d jump at the chance to help him with this story too. He’d get them on board first, and then tomorrow morning turn this over to the police. Who knows, he thought, with a head start they might actually figure out where the girl is before the cops do. Wouldn’t that be a story?

Weston pulled out his notebook. He had made a point of asking Clay for his phone number before interviewing him for that story on Poe’s hair. Weston looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. He might just catch Clay at home. He did, and fifteen minutes later Clay was on the phone to Mac. “Mac, Weston just emailed me a copy of the letter and it looks like the real thing. I don’t think we can chance that it’s just a fake--that girl’s life may be at stake here.”

“What’s he sending it to us for? Shouldn’t the police

be handling it?” Mac asked.

“No argument from me, Mac. Weston wants us to try decoding the Raven’s clue, so he says he’s holding off on giving it to the police until tomorrow morning. I figure he’s just hoping he can find the girl first.”

“Maybe Weston’s willing to gamble with the girl’s life, but I’m not. Did you say you wouldn’t go to the police with it?”

“That’s what he wanted. But I only promised to think about it. I’ve thought about it and as soon as I get off the phone with you, I’ll call Lt. DeMarco and Det. Watkins. I don’t want to get nailed for impeding a police investigation.

“But once I report it, there’s no reason why we can’t help out. For starters, I think the Raven’s code is just a letter substitution code like the one Poe used in The Gold Bug. It’s the code Captain Kidd supposedly used to hide the directions to his buried treasure. Poe describes how to decipher it in the story. If that’s what it is, we can work on it here. Would you and Jimmy come over here tonight? I’ve still got the library book with Poe’s collected works, so we can check The Gold Bug for Poe’s system for decoding.”

“I’ll be there in under an hour.”

“Good. Will you call Jimmy while I’m calling DeMarco? Susan is putting on a pot of coffee.

We’ve got work to do.”

DON’T MISS THESE TITLES:

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shortstory Pt. 1

| SHORT STORY | This story will continue in consecutive months.

Ignition Point

by Jami Gray “AS YOUR OFFICIAL BEST FRIEND, it’s my sworn duty to tell you this is a bad idea.” Lena wasn’t wrong, but desperate times, desperate measures.

“It was your idea to begin with,” I reminded her, using my shoulder to hold my phone in place as I undid my seat belt.

“Yeah, I know.” Her sigh came through my phone loud and clear. “But, Rory, are you sure you want to do this?”

The seat belt slowly recoiled, and I reclaimed my phone with one hand. No? Yes? Yes. My mental gymnastics caused a tiny twitch near my right eye. I pressed my thumb on it, hoping the twitch wouldn’t spread. “Want to, maybe not. Need to? Well, unless some psychic owes you a favor, preferably payable in lotto numbers, it’s my best option.”

it. “You know I’ve got my own job tonight.” Genuine regret echoed in her voice. “I can’t promise an immediate response.”

Crap, that was right. I’d forgotten about that. “The hex job at the university? Is that tonight?”

“Yeah, it’s a complete cluster of mismatched curses and botched spells, so there’s no telling how long it’ll take to unravel. Especially since none of those involved can remember exactly what they did to create this mess in the first place.”

“You’re going to have your hands full.”

“Tell me about it.” Her voice held the grit of frustration. “Frat parties should be outlawed. As if mixing magically inclined, testosterone-driven idiots with alcohol is ever a good idea.”

I grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sure the university’s Board of Regents would love to agree.”

“They might, but a couple of the kids belong to families with deep pockets, so you know the university won’t want to piss off their checkbooks.” Her voice was heavy with cynicism.

“You can still walk away.”

It was tempting, but the one-time job offer had required an immediate response. Plus, “The deposit already hit my account,” I said. One-third of the promised hefty paycheck to be exact. “Can’t back out now.”

“You know they only called the Guild in so they can keep the situation quiet.” She sighed. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and be able to finish up early.”

The hopeful note in her voice made me smile. “No one’s that lucky, babe.”

“Only because you’re a stubborn bi—”

“Pessimist.”

“Look,” I said, cutting her off before she could get her rant rolling, “I’m just asking you to be available in case I need an exit strategy.”

“Optimist.” Years of friendship made my response automatic.

“Honestly, Lena, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“And that right there should make you pause,” she muttered.

Maybe it should, but the minute I admitted that out loud, she’d be all over it. Fortunately, she dropped 76 | UncagedBooks.com

“Are you sure?” Her serious question held no hint of her earlier humor.

| JAMI GRAY | “It’s a simple delivery run.” Maybe if I said it enough, even I’d believe it.

signment. This job was my initial foray into a side hustle, and the money was hard to pass up.

Her snort was far from delicate. “The six-figure paycheck says otherwise.”

Which was obviously the point.

She had a point, but again, admitting it to her would only make her worry. Well, worry more. Her focus needed to be on her upcoming job, not me. “I’ve got to go.”

“Since you don’t know who or what you’re dealing with, please tell me you have a fallback option.”

I thought of the Walther CCP tucked in a holster under my jacket. “Yes, Mom, I’m covered.” If confronted with a pissed-off mage, my nine-millimeter might not even the odds, but the nine rounds might make them think twice and give me a chance to beat a hasty retreat.

Her exasperation was clear. “Call me when you’re done so I know you’re still breathing.”

That I could do. “Deal.”

I thumbed my phone’s screen and hung up. Sitting in my car, I stared through the growing dusk at the unremarkable building across the street and wondered what in the hell I was thinking taking on this job.

Lena was dead right. A sixfigure paycheck said this was far beyond simple and straightforward. I could list innumerable reasons why a private, off-thebooks delivery job would carry a paycheck like that. None of them were good, and all of them involved some level of concern. The most critical explanation topped the list: it wasn’t sanctioned by the magical mercenary storehouse known as the Arcane Guild, which meant it slid right through the world of good and right, tore through shades of gray, and landed smack in the center of dark and dirty. Although the Guild did not look favorably on private jobs, taking one didn’t violate my contract. But if anything went wrong tonight, I was on my own. No backup. No last-minute rescues.

Especially considering Lena was tied up with her as-

I pulled in a deep breath, held it, then let it go. It wasn’t that working for the Guild was a bad deal, per se. They were the largest employer of the magically adept, and they paid well—a must, since some of their jobs blurred the line between legal and criminal. Yet after ten years of working as a premier driver, also known as a glorified delivery runner of packages both magical and mundane, I was tired of answering to someone else. It wasn’t just the thirty-five percent commission the Guild collected from any job you did.

It was their seemingly never-ending repayment plan for your training loans that was killing me. Granted, the Guild’s specialized training was highly coveted in both the private and public sectors, and once free of the Guild you could pretty much write your ticket on future offers. The tricky part was getting to that point of professional freedom.

At my current pay rate, I had roughly six years of payments left on my training loan, which meant six more years of taking orders and making lower commissions. The paycheck promised for this job would take my six years down to nothing and fast-track my future plans of being my own boss. Despite my second and third thoughts on this job, my greed won in the end.

Now that I was here, sitting across from the corporate center known as Duenas Park, idle curiosity made me wonder which of the Arcane businesses housed inside was behind this request. Not that it mattered because, as a Guild member, you had one unbreakable rule to follow—complete the job you were hired to do. That rule dominated my professional life and kept my services in high demand. As this was, I hoped, the first of many private clients, breaking it now was not an option.

My anonymous employer had been a bit scarce with the details. Pick up the vehicle containing the packIssue 55 | February 2021 |

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| SHORT STORY | age at Duenas Park and deliver the vehicle and package to an address to be given en route. All nicely vague but not unexpected. Not with the paycheck they were offering. Even the unknown destination wasn’t a deal breaker, because Guild clients pulled that one on occasion. But, in a case like this, in which things were clouded with a bunch of question marks, it was hard not to be concerned. My biggest worry was that this job might skirt uncomfortably close to crossing my personal lines of right and wrong. What worried me even more was that I wasn’t sure which side I’d land on.

Yet, here I sat. I checked the time on my phone and grabbed my driving gloves from the glove box. Time to go.

I pushed open the door of my 1968 Mustang Fastback, a recent acquisition from a street-race win, and stepped out. Underneath the parking lot’s amber light, I tucked my gloves into the inside pocket of my tailored suit jacket. Normally, I’d leave the jacket behind, especially since September’s heat competed with the muggy threat of an incoming monsoon, but tonight I needed it to disguise the fact I was carrying a gun. Using the Mustang’s tinted windows as a faux mirror, I ran a critical eye over my outfit. I considered my work clothes an investment. The deceptively simple lines of my black pantsuit were broken by the slash of amber of the lightweight silk shell. I fastened the jacket’s button and twisted to make sure there were no unsightly bulges. Everything looked good.

I turned away as the wind ruffled the dark waves of my chin-length hair. Tucking a few renegade strands behind my ear, I scanned my surroundings. A scattering of cars dotted the parking lot, and behind it stretched Medina Memorial Plaza, a sprawling park commemorating one of the initial Arcane families that settled the southwest. Even in the fading light, the lawn was a carpet of lush green defying the natural order of the desert while offering an oasis in an otherwise bland landscape. I left my pretty baby locked in the lot, crossed the quiet street, and headed toward the collection of five-story buildings that made up Duenas Park. Each building was constructed in clean lines and accented with long, rectangular windows that broke up the pale exterior. Carefully manicured greenery strategically placed in between 78 | UncagedBooks.com

structures tried to bring nature into the innately urban site.

Dusk had deepened into night, triggering the outdoor lights as I climbed the stone stairs to the double glass doors. The sound of dry leaves tumbling along concrete followed me up to the mirrored surface of the doors. I had no way to tell what or who waited on the other side, so I kept my expression polite but empty and reached for the handle. A soft buzz sounded, followed by a click, and when I pulled, the door opened.

The lobby was done in typical corporate style. Muted colored walls, silk plants strategically placed, plush chairs paired with magazine-strewn end tables, and framed abstract splashes of color on the walls. The thick heels of my dress boots hit the tile, the sound snapping through the quiet. I headed for the guard standing behind the desk sitting to the right of a bank of elevators. His hands were hidden behind the high counter. Unsure of what he had back there and to be on the safe side, I angled my approach and stopped a few feet away. I gave him a polite smile. “Evening.”

His gaze swept over me from head to toes with a swiftness born of practice. He was probably trying to determine if I was a threat. “Good evening, ma’am.

Can I help you?”

“I’m here for a pickup.”

“Name?”

“Rory Costas.”

He stepped back, spine straightening as his hand shifted to his hip. “Can I see some ID?” Keeping my movements calm and measured, I handed over my license.

He took his time studying it.

I waited, wondering if he was going to write my name down somewhere. There was a fifty-fifty chance it was a possibility, even though I got the impression someone was doing their best to keep any record of this job invisible. I was betting he would, since in my experience most security liked having a name to assign blame to when questioned by their bosses. Anonymity won the day, and no signature was

required. Yet his extended study made me think he wouldn’t be forgetting my face or name any time soon.

He grabbed a package and handed it, and my license, over. “You’ll want to take the elevators to your left to sub-level 2.”

I gave him a small nod as I put my license away.

“Thank you.”

Once safely ensconced in the elevator, I opened the padded envelope and upended it. A key fob hit my palm. Seeing the emblem, I couldn’t help my burst of excitement.

Nice.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid silently open, revealing an underground parking structure. It wasn’t hard to spot the wheels for tonight’s job. The car was a stunning combination of sleek lines and power.

The anticipation of driving the four-door Maserati Quattroporte GTS momentarily overrode my nerves.

Mesmerized by the automotive beauty before me, it took me a second to register the man standing by the partially opened rear passenger door. My anticipation dimmed, and caution took its place as his attention shifted from the car’s interior to my approach. He straightened and turned toward me.

I folded up the empty envelope and tucked it under my arm. I dropped the key fob in my interior pocket and pulled out my gloves as I walked forward. At first glance, he appeared to be fairly average. Brown hair cut short, the longer lengths on top brushed to the side, his lean frame covered in dark-gray slacks, white shirt, and silver tie. Throw him into the hustle and bustle of downtown Phoenix at midday and he could be any office drone. But the closer I got, the more my steps slowed until I stopped, leaving a good distance between us.

He took a single step away from the car, only to stop, as if reluctant to get too far away from the vehicle.

What? Did he think I’d hop in and steal it? Granted, the Maserati was tempting, but sheesh.

“Ms. Costas.” Unlike his physical appearance, his voice reverberated with unnerving depth.

“Yes.” I fought to keep my anxiety hidden as I tugged my gloves in place.

“Thank you for being prompt.”

Wrapping my professionalism close, I kept my gaze steady and dipped my chin in acknowledgement.

“And you are?”

He smiled, but if it was an attempt to reassure me he was harmless, he failed miserably.

“You can call me Mr. Jones.”

The End, Pt. 1 © Copyright 2020 Jami Gray All rights reserved.

Published with permission.

A simmering aura of magic spread like an invisible cloak, staining the area near him with a disconcerting intensity. To have that clear of an impression indicated a powerful mage. Powerful enough to make me leery. It lapped at the edges of my quiescent magic, as if trying to determine my taste. A shiver of apprehension crawled over me with a primal warning.

I did not want to tangle with this man.

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feature authors

contemporary romance | non-fiction

Christina Berry

Peter C. Mitchell

c h risti n a berry

B

orn in Tulsa, Oklahoma, Christina Berry has spent most of her life in Austin, Texas where she lives with her husband and two robot cats. A student of history and a citizen of the Cherokee Nation, Christina created the All Things Cherokee website where she publishes Cherokee genealogy, art, and cultural content.

In her free time, she helps her husband with a never-ending home remodeling project and chronicles the adventure in a dramedy blog

Stay Co n n e c te d

christinaberry.com

Uncaged welcomes Christina Berry Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Your new novel, Up for Air will release February 11 and is the first book in a series. Can you tell us more about this book and the series? When will book two release?

Up for Air is the first book in the Lost in Austin series, which centers on three friends and lovers who are each on a journey to find their happily ever after.

Up for Air is the story of Ari, a 29-year-old woman who comes to realize she’s not happy. She suggests to her husband Greg they open their marriage. Surprisingly, he agrees. What follows is an adventure of self-discovery through the bars and bedrooms of 82 | UncagedBooks.com

Austin, Texas. But what is she to do when she falls in love with another man?

Book two, The Road Home, tells the story of Ari and Greg’s best friend Jake, who is on a journey to succeed in his musical career when he’s forced to face his anger over the tragedy of his past. All the while, he’s trying to determine what his future looks like as he falls in love with a badass roller girl.

In the first two books, we see Greg struggle in a downward spiral. Book three, After the Storm, is his phoenix story. Set in Austin and New Orleans, postKatrina, Greg mends his broken heart through acts of service as he helps a theater owner reopen. But is he ready to fall in love again?

I’m excited that Black Rose Writing is publishing The Road Home on August 5, 2021, so keep an eye out this summer. After the Storm is still a work in progress, but I’m hoping to get my act together and have it ready for a 2022 release.

Uncaged: You also are the owner/operator of the website, All Things Cherokee – which helps the genealogy and history/cultural information for the Cherokee Indian nation. Can you tell us more about this site and some of what it has accomplished?

All Things Cherokee started as a personal genealogy page back in the 1990s, a project I did in order to teach myself HTML. In 2000, I realized the site was actually getting quite a bit of traffic for the genealogy links I provided, so I branded it All Things Cherokee, and opened up the art gallery section.

For years, I provided genealogy research services, but have recently stopped doing so in order to focus my time on transcribing all of the Cherokee rolls (the documents used for tribal enrollment). My goal is to have all of the Cherokee rolls available to search for free on one Cherokee-owned site. And on the other end of the website, I’ll soon launch an interview series where I plan to feature Cherokee creatives (artists, writer, filmmakers, etc.) in an Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | effort to introduce them and their craft to a wider audience.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

Hug! I miss hugs. Since March, the only person I’ve hugged is my husband. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great hugger. But I cannot wait for that first family reunion and that first friends gathering where I’ll be able to hug everyone for about half an hour a piece.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

I edit tons. My first drafts are like word clouds, semi-coherent chaos on a page. I save everything I cut, in case I want to add something back later.

As far as making that available, there is one scene that I cut from Up for Air which I’ve considered publishing to my blog. It’s the “wannabe vampire” sex scene, which I reference multiple times in the book. The scene is funny and pretty ridiculous with a helicopter and some gothy vampire puns, but it wasn’t needed for the story so it got the axe. Maybe I will share it; give people a taste of what’s in the book.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

I’d say To Kill a Mockingbird had a pretty profound effect on me as a kid, in terms of developing a strong sense of empathy. Whether I actually laughed or cried, I don’t remember, but that book and movie stuck with me long after the assigned reading in junior high.

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Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

While it’s not exactly relaxing, one of the things that consumes a lot of my time is an epic DIY home construction project which is entering its fifteenth year. My husband and I bought a fixer-upper back in 2006 and gutted it, then moved it. We’ve spent the bulk of our relationship building it back and building it better. And, incredibly, we still like each other. If anyone is interesting in reading about the DIY construction saga, I’ve been blogging the whole thing at pleasantvalleyranch. net.

Currently, we’re finishing out my creative space. It’s a second-story studio with tons of sunlight and prisms in the windows for extra rainbows. It’s a wonderful escape

for writing.

As for actual relaxation, I love to swim at Barton Springs Pool. That place is heaven on Earth. I like to go in the mornings when it’s mostly empty— just me, some lapswimmers, and a group of old-school Austinites who’ve been gathering there for half a century. It’s glorious. I love it so much, I set a scene there in Up for Air.

| CHRISTINA BERRY | Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write?

On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

I wish I was that disciplined. I’m more of a feast or famine writer. I don’t write every day, but on the days when I do write, it’s like I’m possessed. As for how long it takes for me to write a full novel, that’s hard to gauge, too, because I tend to be writing three novels at a time. There are always characters wondering around in my head, telling me bits and pieces about themselves, so I’ll jot down little scenes for novel X while I’m trying to finish novel Y. If I do the math: I started writing in 2010 and in that time I’ve completed two novels, gotten a third to final draft, and have four others in advanced stages of development. So that comes out to… I’m just kidding, I suck at math.

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

I prefer ebooks. I like having a whole library and bookstore at my fingertips. My Kindle fits in my purse, so I take it everywhere I go. Currently, I’m reading Gary Rivlin’s Katrina: After the Flood and Colleen Hoover’s Layla.

Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

Just the idea of having “fans” makes me giddy as a schoolgirl. So, I’d like to say, “Hi!,” and thank you for reading what I write. It’s a dream come true to get my ideas out into the world. Honestly, I’m the fan here, a fan of the readers. Y’all rock!

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| FEATURE AUTHOR |

Enjoy an excerpt from Up for Air Up for Air Christina Berry Contemporary Romance Releases Feb. 11 At a funeral on her 29th birthday, Ari takes stock of her life and comes to a startling conclusion: she’s not happy. Mired in a relationship that’s gone stale, she approaches her husband Greg about opening their marriage. To her shock, he agrees.

Ari throws herself headlong into an adventure through the bars and bedrooms of Austin. For the first time in her life she’s living in the moment - sex and kink, karaoke and drink - new friends, new lovers, new boundaries to cross. It’s all just innocent, no-strings fun...until she meets Alex.

Alex changes everything. While Ari and Greg grapple with their changing relationship, Ari struggles to control her heart. During hedonistic self- discovery, has she stumbled across love?

Excerpt As I walk up the sunny street, past closed door after closed door it becomes abundantly clear that I’ve screwed up. I’m early. What should I do? I could walk over to Red River Street, to the venue where Jake is playing tonight. But if I do that, then I’ve failed. If I go to the boys, it will be in surrender, and it’s far too soon for that.

I continue up the sidewalk at a march, a woman on a mission. Finally, when I’m less than a block from Red River—my point of surrender—I find my salvation, a bar that’s open. Hesitating at the door, I take a deep breath and step inside.

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It’s dark. I have to pause and let my eyes adjust. When I can see again, I glance around with an “oh yeah, I’ve been in here dozens of times” air of nonchalance, trying not to look so new. I take a step toward the bar, but trip on a misaligned tile and stumble awkwardly into one of the tall red barstools.

Hello, world!

Fortunately, my embarrassing entrance goes largely unseen. The bar is completely empty, except for the bartender, who ambles my way. He holds his hand up in the shape of the letter “c.” I stare at him, dumbfounded as I try to decipher his cryptic sign language.

Finally, he grows impatient and gives me a hint. “I.D.” Oh. Why didn’t he just say that? I hand him my driver’s license and he scrutinizes it before handing it back.

“What can I get’cha, Ariana?”

Oh crap. A pop quiz. Beer, but which kind? The few beers I’ve had all tasted kind of gross, and more or less the same. I look at the taps in front of me and chirpily spit out the first name I recognize.

He grabs a glass and starts to pour. I use the opportunity to take in the room: a long, skinny old repurposed store front with high ceilings and a second-floor balcony. Weird demonic gargoyles with glowing red eyes dot the walls and overhangs, and a naked female bust extends off the end of the upstairs balcony like the figurehead of a ship. Lined along one of the roughhewn stone walls are black velvet portraits of naked women, and on the opposite side, a life-size mural of Betty Page is painted onto a piece of plywood.

I turn my attention to the man before me, holding my glass at an angle as he fills it. He’s dressed for summer in December, wearing a pearl-snap shirt with the sleeves ripped off, cut-off jean shorts, and he’s got a beat-up black cowboy hat to match his beat up black cowboy boots. He’s covered in tattoos, full sleeves on both arms, and a few designs dot his legs and neck too. His nose and eyebrows are studded with silver, and there’s a pair of large blue carabiners that dangle from the distended holes in his ears.

He mumbles something, too quiet to hear, as he slides the beer to me.

“What?” I inquire.

“Nothing. I’m Manic.” For a moment, I think he’s explaining his mental state until I realize that’s his name.

| CHRISTINA BERRY | “Nice to meet you, Manic.”

“So what brings you in here, Ariana?”

It’s weird to hear my full name. Only my grandma and Aunt Cece call me Ariana, but I don’t correct him. “I’m just checking out the Sixth Street experience.”

He grimaces and gestures at the empty bar. “This is not a typical Sixth Street experience.”

“Usually more crowded?”

“There’s that. Also, most Sixth Street bars are run for douchebags, by douchebags.”

“And this bar is the exception?”

“Actually, no. We’re douchebags too.”

I smile. So does he. He has a nice face, like he used to be happy once, but time and life have worn their weary wrinkles into his skin. And his eyes, a moody blue, are too deep, oceanic, bottomless. He mumbles something to himself again, then enunciates when he asks me, “What are you shooting?”

Shooting? Crap, another quiz. While I panic, he grabs two shot glasses and sets them on the tile between us.

I bluff, “Whatever you’re having?”

Manic nods with approval, moves to the wall of liquor behind him and grasps the neck of a long, slender bottle. “Bushmills,” he says as he pours.

Bushmills? I have no idea what that means.

Without a toast, Manic lifts his glass and swallows the entire drink in one gulp. I do too. It burns. It burns a lot. I gasp and my breath comes out like fire. Tears well up from the back of my throat and perch at the edges of my eyes. He chuckles, and I think he can tell I’m green, literally and figuratively.

With an alarming jolt, the door swings open, flooding the darkened space with the harsh light of the afternoon sun. Two women decked out in 80s goth garb step inside, laughing loudly. They remind me of the types of girls I emulated in high school, but it’s a look I could never quite pull off. Their voices echo between the stone walls, and Manic flinches as the shrill sounds pierce his eardrums—probably the only parts of his body not yet pierced.

Manic pushes a portion of the bar surface up like the door of a DeLorean and comes out to stand at the jukebox. After a few clicks of the keys, a David Bowie song starts. When Manic returns behind the bar, he

sings along as he tops off my beer, then goes to pour drinks for the newcomers.

The day grows dark, and the bar begins to fill.

Manic is increasingly busy, and I watch the incoming tide of patrons fill seats and tables around me. It seems strange to be surrounded by people, yet alone. I don’t know what to do with myself, so I try to look busy, tracing my finger along the grout lines of the tile bar top and thumbing through a copy of the Austin Chronicle.

“You alone?”

The deep rumble of those three syllables practically vibrates through me, interrupting my perusal of the Chronicle personal ads. I look up to find a pair of translucent blue eyes focused on me.

I mumble something incoherently.

A small array of fine lines fan out along the shores of those Caribbean eyes and the voice rumbles again. “I’m sorry, bad phrasing. I only meant, is anyone here?”

There are about forty people here. Why is he asking me that?

I blink and try to focus on something other than his eyes. He has a scar that cuts a jagged line through his left eyebrow, like a lightning bolt. I widen my focus. His dark auburn hair shimmers like fire in the candle light. There’s a sharp-asglass jawline beneath his five-o’clock shadow.

And he’s gesturing at the empty seat beside me.

Oh! My brain cycles back online. “No,” I croak and have to clear the frog from my throat. “No one is sitting there. It’s all yours.”

He slides onto the stool and smiles at me, then he smiles at Manic and reaches across the bar to shake his hand. “Hey, man.”

Manic looks to me. “Is this guy bothering you?”

I shake my head, flushing red under the scrutiny of both sets of eyes.

“Alex,” Manic says to him as he crooks a thumb in my direction, “Ariana here is checking out the Sixth Street experience.” He uses finger quotes for that last part and I’m certain my cheeks flame three shades redder.

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peter c . m itc h ell In 2017, Peter returned to London to complete his research and begin the writing of “A Knight in the Slums.” The past was ready to be mined, and the future was assured. The present, however, took an unpredictable -and darkly ironic—turn.

A series of unfortunate events transpired, creating a perfect storm of calamities leaving Peter penniless and sleeping rough. He had unwittingly fallen victim to the same societal ailments John Kirk fought. That nightmare inadvertently provided him with an inside look into the current workings of these same systems put in place by his great, great grandfather, and others like him, put in place over a century ago. That experience frightened him more than the horrors of homelessness itself.

L

ondon born, Canadian raised Peter Mitchell was bumbling his way through a moderately successful career in business journalism when an investigation into a story on Corporate SocialResponsibility inspired him to look beyond profit margins and PR into the very real problems faced by society. This inspiration prompted him to dip his toes into a self-confessed Sanity/Vanity project of a biography of his great, great grandfather, Sir John Kirk.

As Secretary of The Ragged School Union, John championed the causes of children, the disabled, and the working poor in Victorian-era London.

His influence extended beyond the city limits, and his life proved more interesting than previous biographies revealed. Dust-buried references have surfaced in the most obscure locales, showing the consequences—both good and bad—to the ragged and crippled children John Kirk devoted his life to help.

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Armed with the scars of this unexpected, but disturbingly relevant, knowledge Peter continues to work on “A Knight in the Slums” with renewed insight. John Kirk created solutions over 100 years ago that are still in play today. Times have changed; yet the solutions have stagnated, and proven to not be solutions, but mechanisms that perpetuate the cycle of poverty: a Hell’s Carousel funded by well-meant individuals and institutions blinded by the brand of “charity.” New systems need to be developed; new solutions need to be found.

Uncaged welcomes Peter C. Mitchell Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Can you tell readers more about your novel, Rude Awakenings from Sleeping Rough?

It is important to stress this is not a novel. It is a firstperson account of my real-world nightmare with homelessness and the charities that purport to help. It is not a work of fiction.

I originally returned to England to complete the research for “A Knight in the Slums;” a biography of an ancestor who received global acclaim for his work among the poor in Victorian London. I tend to be a “jump into the deep end with both feet” kind of guy, and in this instance that resulted in the most spectacular belly flop of my life. I didn’t do much in the way of planning or preparation, and subsequently found myself caught up in a series of events so unfortunate Lemony Snicket would give me pride of place me on his speeddial. I ended up homeless in the streets of London, but my experiences within the charity system proved more horrific than the homelessness itself. I’m still trapped in the nightmare they needlessly forced me into three years later.

As I have since discovered, my experiences are not unique, and not limited to England. My purpose in writing the book is to inspire governments to investigate the actions that occur behind closed charity doors and introduce strict regulation to prevent the abuses that are inflicted not only on the homeless, but on the benefits system themselves.

Uncaged: This book is an account of your being homeless on the streets of London and your experience with different charities. You say that the charities were worse than the actual state of being homeless.

Did you come across any charities that were a better help than others? What can people do to help right now?

Of course there are. That is true of any industry or sector. Not every charity subjects their “clients” to sustained campaigns of mental and emotional abuse to force them into decisions that are not in their best interest. Not every charity is content to turn a blind eye to homeless women being raped by a volunteer in the hope the problem simply moves elsewhere so they don’t have to accept responsibility for it. Unfortunately, these scenarios are too common, and can only be prevented through strict governmental regulation. Most charities agree.

What people can do is invest their donations wisely.

Don’t simply make a contribution as a knee-jerk re-

action to a promotional sob story. Treat it as you would a business investment. Do your research.

Find out exactly how that money will be used. How much is going to salaries? How much is being spent on “feel-good” but impractical mindfulness sessions? I spent one afternoon colouring in a child’s colouring book with crayons for crying out loud.

Even as a homeless man my time could have –and should have– been better spent. That funding could have –and should have– been better spent.

Speak to the homeless themselves –not just the carefully groomed “pets” parroting the message the charity wants them to repeat. Sadly, I was willing to be one of those “pets” on more than one occasion.

Yet not once did it lead to any practical assistance in moving out of this nightmare. And when I stopped serving as their parrot until some progress had been made in my situation, their interest in “helping” died. The responses weren’t all as extreme as I detail in the book; but in every single case, once I stopped “performing”, I was persona non grata.

They were more interested in the “writer”, not the person.

It’s a very fine line to cross, and not one that is always crossed intentionally; but it is easy for a charity to allow its interests to take precedence over the interests of the people they are trying to help.

It does not always result in the extreme situations I describe, but it is still a risk that could affect their work in smaller, detrimental ways. And I’m finding it is a line many charities themselves encourage others to point out. It’s easier to see the line after you’ve crossed it than before; and it’s easier for others to see that line before you do. Don’t be afraid to draw attention to that line.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

Oddly enough, the pandemic hasn’t really had an effect on my current situation. I hesitate to infer a universal truth from that; but I suspect this may be true for many living below the poverty line.

If you read the book, you’ll see I expand on these Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | living conditions in great detail. It’s hell. Every day is a struggle to get through with your sanity intact.

From the claustrophobia of spending your days and nights in a room so small there is no space for a table or chair; through the depression of living in a property that is for all intents and purposes a slum; to the daily aggravation -and frequent fear- of sharing that property with tenants suffering from alcoholism, drug addiction, mental illness, or some combination of the three; every waking moment is spent walking a tightrope between depression and anxiety. Even the lockdowns have had minimal impact because the truth is I, and many others I’m sure, can’t afford to go out anyway.

That was life before the pandemic. That is life during the pandemic. And that will be life after the pandemic. The pandemic, and its lockdowns, have not changed that in the slightest.

That said, I’ve been lucky –extremely lucky –luckier than most, to have been born a third-generation journalist, and to have developed those skills in my previous career. I have used the time to write this book, get it published, and taken steps to ensure it winds up in the correct government hands with the hope it inspires the legislative change that is so badly needed. That goal I have successfully achieved.

My personal goal is to use the sales from the book to raise the money to move out of this horrendous accommodation and support myself long enough to find sustainable employment. Early sales have been disheartening to say the least.

It would have been quicker and easier to throw a crowdfunding page on the internet and watch the money add up. I know of many people within the homeless community who have done that as a scam, and they have raised hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars almost overnight. Some charities have also used it as a fund-raising tool, and while I admit I may be in the minority; I find it a questionable tactic at the very least. Again, I implore people to think before they throw money at any person or organization in blind faith. Do some research and find out exactly how your money will be spent.

I’m not asking for hand-outs or donations; I’m asking people to buy a finished product. That’s basic Capitalism 101. And though the sales have not yet 92 | UncagedBooks.com

reached the levels I need, I’ve used that realization to come up with a couple of strategies to improve those sales, and the current lockdown conditions to take the time to implement those plans.

It’s not the end of the pandemic that’s going to allow me to resume my former life; it’s how I’m using the time during the pandemic that will bring normality back.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

Again, I’m a former journalist; not a novelist. A different set of rules apply so any advice I can give may not necessarily transfer smoothly from one realm to the next. Any professional writer will tell you that the re-writing is more important than the writing itself; and that is a state of permanent editing. Making cuts is one of the most important, and often most painful parts of that process. That’s why copy editors are crucial. You need a separate and objective pair of eyes to stand firm and tell you when a passage you love and adore has to go.

Even in terms of “Rude Awakenings from Sleeping Rough,” entire chapters were cut throughout the writing process for a myriad of reasons –mainly journalistic ones. Because of its importance I had to apply the highest standards of journalism to its writing –then strive to achieve a standard higher than that.

It was painful enough re-opening those fresh wounds and laying them bare for the world to see. It was just as painful ultimately deciding which freshly poked wounds had to be left on the cutting room floor. The book could easily have doubled in length, but the quality would have suffered, and its messages would have lost their impact.

I have agreed to make that unpublished content available to the government here in England, but I see no value in making it available to others. The points that needed to be made have been made; and the book is harrowing enough without adding more. Anything more at this stage would just be peddling poverty porn, and any interest in that is, frankly, ghoulish.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

I was too young to remember the actual reading, but I can state definitively it was “If I Ran the Circus” by Dr. Seuss.

My parents read to me at bedtime every night, and that apparently was the first book I connected with on a deeper level than simply listening to the comforting sound of my mother’s voice as I fell asleep. “Circus McGurkus” became a short-hand point of reference between my mother and I to signalize any person or situation absurd enough to be made part of its show.

That in-joke resurfaced again and again for more than 30 years until she passed away in 2002.

It ignited my love for reading; my love for the endless possibilities of the imagination; and most important, my love for the absurdity of life. It laid the foundation for a unique sense of humor I carry with me 50 years later, often at the most inopportune times. That humor saw me through a lot of darkness. It will never die.

It also gave me a love for words themselves: their sounds as they reach your ears; their feel as they leave your mouth; their very playfulness as you string them together. At that tender age I decided I wanted to be a writer, not so much because I wanted to be like my parents –both journalists– but because I wanted to be like Dr. Seuss. I wanted to share in his obvious joy for life; and share that joy with others, preferably with a smile or, on a good day, a laugh.

That dream, and that ambition, will never die. Homelessness stripped me of my dignity, my confidence, my self-respect, even my sanity; but it never stripped me of my sense of humor. It was humor, more than anything else, that carried me through the nightmare. And for that I can only offer the late, great Theodor Geisel a well-deserved posthumous thank you.

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I’m a natural explorer, and that manifests itself in different ways. There’s the obvious love of travel of course. Even then, I have no real interest in ticking off the tourist attractions. I prefer straying off the beaten path; exploring the areas three blocks away from the

| PETER C. MITCHELL | holiday-making hubs and discovering the “real” city and the “real” people.

I hated history throughout school, but as I grew older the explorer’s spirit started manifesting itself in a love for historical research. It began when I started looking into my family tree and uncovering the stories of the people behind the names on the genealogical spreadsheet. I’ve made some pretty astounding discoveries. My great, great grandfather shared lodgings with a young boy who grew up to be a Jack the Ripper suspect. My grandfather had a brother who died shortly after serving in the First World War. His name is listed on several monuments in the Isle of Wight, but he was buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave. No-one in the family knew of his existence for 100 years until I stumbled upon his name in an old document. He literally was the Mitchell family’s “Unknown Solider.” During my homelessness I made my way down to the Isle of Wight and managed to track down his unmarked grave. It was the perfect combination of travel and research; a combination I hope to pursue again.

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write?

On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

There is no definitive answer to that question. In one sense, when you’re deep in the process, writing is a 24-hour activity. There is far more to it than the hours you spend pecking away on a keyboard.

The time spent away from “Writing” is often more valuable than the writing itself. It occurs when you allow your subconscious to whittle away while you’re engaged in other activities. More often than not, that is when the real writing occurs. That is when the inspiration strikes; when the right turn of phrase springs to mind; when a story or idea takes an unexpected turn.

The trick is to leave yourself open, and more importantly, prepared for when those moments come.

I’m sure I’m not the only Shakespearean wannabe who has bemoaned the loss of his greatest “To be or not to be” moment for lack of a pen and figuratively thrown Yorick’s skull at the wall in foul-mouthed frustration. No matter how hard you try, if you don’t Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | record those little eureka moments right away, you will lose them forever.

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

Call me a caveman but nothing will ever replace that feeling of snuggling under the bedsheets with a good hard book. Reading to me is a cozy, tactile, full-bodied experience that simply can’t be captured through any other medium.

Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

That is something I’m struggling with right now to be honest. I’ve never been comfortable with the concept of “celebrity.” I’m the type of writer who is more comfortable being the fly on the wall rather than the elephant pole-dancing in the center of the room for attention.

Unfortunately, “Rude Awakenings from Sleeping Rough” is that elephant. It’s big. It’s loud. It leaves nothing to the imagination. It demands attention.

And it gets it. Unfortunately, not all that attention is positive. And the subsequent reactions are invariably directed to me. Sometimes those reactions are worrying, disturbing, even frightening at times –and not always out of fear for my own well-being, but for the well-being of those reaching out to me. It is affecting people deeply; particularly those who have had loved ones suffer the same abuses, and not survived. It’s humbling; it’s heart-breaking; it’s hard.

So I’m a fly who has given birth to an elephant – something much larger than myself. And yeah; it was a painful birth –a very painful birth. But like any good parent I have given it a purpose, and successfully sent it down the path to achieve that purpose. Unfortunately, it needs to take a few more spins around the pole first, and I’m in danger of being squashed like the fly I am by its gyrations.

So for those reasons I have been hesitant to offer a website or any kind of forum for people to contact me. All the attention should focus on the book, not the author. And all reactions should be directed to 94 | UncagedBooks.com

people’s respective government officials to bring about any legislative change needed to prevent these abuses from re-occurring.

I’m not a hero; I’m not a villain; I’m not a victim; I’m not an antagonist. Like any writer, I’m simply the messenger. The message has been delivered, and my role has been fulfilled. I am now superfluous to requirements, and any attention I receive detracts from a message far more important than I am. These abuses need to end. Please help make that happen.

Enjoy an excerpt from Rude Awakenings from Sleeping Rough Rude Awakenings from Sleeping Rough Peter C. Mitchell Non-fiction/ Philanthropy & Charity This is a story that the charities don’t want you to read. This is the fate that can befall any of us that you don’t want to acknowledge.

For years you have passed them on the streets, as much a part of your routine as your morning shower, your half-hearted scan of the world’s news — fake or otherwise — and the barista who artistically crafts the £4 cappuccino with soya milk, three drops of vanilla, and a flutter of chocolate sprinkles that has to be made just right or it throws your day off in ways that nobody else understands.

You see them as often as you see your own family.

The disenfranchised. The rough sleepers. The homeless. Camped out and befouling the sidewalks and alleyways of your daily commute, their worldly possessions, such as they are, spread around them —as dirty and worn out as the sleepers themselves, but as valuable to them as your £100 brogues are to you.

| PETER C. MITCHELL | Occasionally you get the urge to throw some loose change at them as a gesture of magnanimous humanity, but when push comes to shove you would rather tip the honest, hard-working barista who ensures your day gets off to a proper start. Better to support the successful rather than throw good money after bad trying to keep the great unwashed afloat.

You have conditioned yourself to look through them – allowing your eyes to pass over them without actually seeing them. A defeated acceptance of lives gone wrong; uncomfortable reminders of what can happen when the best laid plans of mice and men go horribly awry. “Thank god I’m not like them,” you think, sipping your £4 cup of liquid gold. “I could never let that happen to me.”

Until suddenly – inexplicably – it does. And you discover the life you have built was nothing more than a house of cards that crashed down around you with frightening ease. A spate of bad luck, a poor decision or two, and the ubiquitous ‘circumstances beyond your control’ conspire to create a perfect storm of events that leaves you cast away on the streets feeling dazed, disjointed, and damned.

This is Peter C. Mitchell’s story. But it could be your story. Not to mention the thousands of others, past and present, that have found themselves broken behind closed charity doors. Theirs are the stories that need to be heard. To be read.

Excerpt

disenfranchised. The rough sleepers. The homeless. Camped out and befouling the sidewalks and alleyways of your daily commute, their worldly possessions, such as they are, spread around them —as dirty and worn out as the sleepers themselves, but as valuable to them as your £100 brogues are to you.

Occasionally you get the urge to throw some loose change at them as a gesture of magnanimous humanity, but when push comes to shove you would rather tip the honest, hard-working barista who ensures your day gets off to a proper start. Better to support the successful rather than throw good money after bad trying to keep the great unwashed afloat.

You have conditioned yourself to look through them –allowing your eyes to pass over them without actually seeing them. A defeated acceptance of lives gone wrong; uncomfortable reminders of what can happen when the best laid plans of mice and men go horribly awry. “Thank god I’m not like them,” you think, sipping your £4 cup of liquid gold. “I could never let that happen to me.”

Until suddenly –inexplicably– it does. And you discover the life you have built was nothing more than a house of cards that crashed down around you with frightening ease. A spate of bad luck, a poor decision or two, and the ubiquitous ‘circumstances beyond your control’ conspire to create a perfect storm of events that leaves you cast away on the streets feeling dazed, disjointed, and damned.

For years you have passed them on the streets, as much a part of your routine as your morning shower, your half-hearted scan of the world’s news —fake or otherwise— and the barista who artistically crafts the £4 cappuccino with soya milk, three drops of vanilla, and flutter of chocolate sprinkles that has to be made just right or it throws your day off in ways that nobody else understands.

“This is wrong,” you think. “I’m not like them.”

You see them as often as you see your own family. The

Your mind, unable to process the enormity of your

You don’t sleep the first night, nor the second. You wander aimlessly –a rucksack over your shoulder and a suitcase trundling behind you. Your remaining worldly possessions –a few shirts, socks, underwear, and toiletries– as valuable to you now as your £100 brogues were mere days before.

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | new world order, shuts down. Time crawls to the rhythm of your slow shuffle. You pass through your surroundings with the same unseeing stare you once reserved only for your fellow rough sleepers. You are unable to say where you’ve been; where you’re going; or what you are doing. You no longer lay claim to the right of moving from Point A to Point B. Your journey has no point. Your life no longer has a point.

As reality gains an ugly foothold, denial kicks into overdrive. This isn’t really happening. It’s a mistake. A hiccup. A very bad dream. Click your heels and chant, “There’s no place like home,” and all will be right with the world again.

But there are no wizards in the real world – you no longer have a home. Yet the fantasy of denial continues to entice with each stubborn wave of its magic wand . . . . . . until physical reality creeps in and breaks it.

Your body does its best to adapt to your new circumstances but fights a losing battle. Your sleep pattern changes – slipping away from the doctor approved eight hours per night to a restless series of two-hour micro-naps scattered across a 24-hour cycle.

You make a valiant effort to stay clean and presentable, but it too proves a battle you are destined to lose. You master the unique and time consuming art of public toilet bathing; hiding in a stall in your underwear waiting for the facilities to clear, then dashing to the sinks for a splash of water and squirt of soap, then dashing back to the stall to wash one body part at a time. Invariably, someone catches you mid-dash and you wince at the look of sheer contempt they throw in your direction. It is a look you grow to know well.

Despite your efforts, toilet bathing is a poor substitute for showering in the comfort of your own home. You grow increasingly unkempt; your 96 | UncagedBooks.com

clothes start to smell “well-worn”; and your skin begins to itch –a foreshadowing of the rashes that will soon follow.

Your limbs start to ache from the burden of endlessly wandering with your life hanging off your back. Your shoulders stiffen. Your legs seize up. Your knees become hubs of throbbing pain. And your feet –dear god your feet– nothing in life prepares you for the hell your feet inflict on you.

Your soles grow tender from the never-ending pounding of the pavement. Callouses form, then split, leaving ridges of sharp agony that sting with every step.

Blisters develop and burst. Your toes, confined to such tight quarters for such an unnatural length of time, begin to itch. And burn. The skin between them softens, then splits, adding the moisture of blood and pus to the itching, burning mess.

“It can’t get any worse,” you promise yourself.

The promise breaks. It gets worse.

One of the wheels on your suitcase breaks, and you discover just what it means to be a slave to your possessions –your only possessions– the pathetic final reminders of your once perfect life. Your overtaxed body is forced to add the weight of the suitcase to its already painful burden. You switch hands frequently, but both arms quickly succumb to the dead weight of your life dragging them down. The callouses that plague your feet spread to your palms with the same devastating effects. Your world shrinks even further as you are forced to confine your activities –such as they are– to one small area because the pain of movement becomes too great to bear.

The nights grow colder. Your body, weakened by lack of sleep, lack of nutrition, and lack of comfort, develops a deep, set-in-your-bones chill that even the warmth of day can’t erase. You are assaulted by random bouts of shivering that attack without warning, day and night. Your mind begins to flirt with the darkest of thoughts, contemplating the final option

| PETER C. MITCHELL | that would guarantee an end to your misery. But still, somehow, you solider on.

Then the final –unthinkable– horror strikes. In the wee dark hours of the morning you are woken by the call of nature –demanding more than the usual urinary sacrifice. The luxury of a common toilet is denied you as the public conveniences are inconveniently closed until the first light of day. You pray with a conviction never felt before that you can wait it out. But nature will not be denied. Discomfort turns to pain, and you realise there is only one humiliating option available.

You scan your immediate surroundings for a discrete make-shift lavatory. Nature itself provides the solution with dark irony, and you select a clump of bushes that will provide the minimum of privacy. Zombielike, you make your way to the place of ultimate humiliation, furtively scanning the sidewalks and roadways for any unwanted passers-by. You slowly take your position, and with a self-loathing you have never before known, void your bowels like a common animal –the most basic of bodily functions regressing you to your most bestial nature.

You make your way back to the bench that serves as your bed with the indignity of your actions fresh in your mind. Your body aches. Your feet itch, burn, sting. A fresh wave of shivering strikes. You shake uncontrollably. Your teeth chatter. Finally, you break.

Tears explode from your eyes, mixing with the phlegm that streams through your nose. Your breath heaves in deep wailing gasps. There are no wizards in the real world –you no longer have a home.

“This is wrong,” you splutter. “I’m not like them.”

“I’m not that strong.”

Somehow you survive the night. You find yourself hovering around one of the city shelters set up to help those the city has rejected; your preconceived notions preventing you from taking that final step.

you argue. “While the staff hold hands in a sharing circle quoting Bible verses and singing ‘Kumbaya’; oblivious to the scum and villainy that surrounds them. I’m better off on the streets. I’m not like them.”

Then a fresh wave of shivering starts and you find yourself crossing the threshold, wanting nothing more than a few scant moments of warmth. The warmth you receive is not the warmth you were expecting, and you find yourself momentarily surprised. As the staff listen to the story of your fall, you scan their eyes for a hint of judgment, but search in vain. Their eyes remain expressionless and their smiles frozen as they take copious notes relating to your fall. But the biggest surprise is yet to come.

Your fellow occupants admit you into their ranks without question. The very people you once dehumanised as generic ‘Homeless’ see the human in you. They offer a hand of acceptance you haltingly, hypocritically take because you are still not quite prepared to grant the same in return. Until, despite yourself, you start to see the human in them.

The earth mother that shines through the wreckage of drug addiction, one of the first to welcome you and make you feel comfortable. She makes sure everyone gets their fair share when volunteers pass through bringing warm meals and clothing.

The father figure that surfaces through the haze of chronic alcoholism –forbidden from contact with his own children, yet willing to share his parental wisdom– offering support, practical advice, and a guiding hand to those newly fallen into this strange new world.

The military veteran, scarred by the mental and emotional wounds of seeing things no one should ever see in the field of battle, who takes a protective view of his new “troop” and is the first to come to the defence of the weak and the bullied.

“I’m going to be robbed, drugged, and sodomised,” Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | For you have fallen into the only truly inclusive group of people in the history of civilisation. The story of everyone’s fall is unique and cannot be brushed away with dehumanising labels. There is no segregation; no discrimination; no distinction based on race, religion, skin colour, gender, sexuality, or age. Everyone is welcome to fall; and many do. Homelessness is the great equaliser, with many entrances but few exits.

Sadly, too many focus on the causes of the fall, and not the solutions needed to help the fallen regain their footing. They become clients, cases, numbers, ticked boxes, statistics. The person behind the statistics gets mislaid in “the process”.

If you truly want to understand that rough sleeper befouling the sidewalk in front of your favourite coffee shop; the answer is simple.

Ask their name.

Remind them they are a human being.

Just ask their name.

My name is Peter. Peter Christian Mitchell to be precise. I am happy to share my name with anyone who asks.

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feature authors

historical romance | 19th century humorous

Emily Royal

Lancelot Schaubert

Lillian Marek

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e m ily r o yal

E

mily Royal is a confessed mathematics geek and a hopeless romantic with a passion for alpha heroes. From an early age she dreamed about knights in shining armour, Medieval castles, Highland Heroes and Regency rogues. She lives in rural Scotland with her husband, children and menagerie of exotic pets, including Twinkle, an attention-seeking boa constrictor.

From an early age she devoured romance novels but set aside her passion to focus on university, work and raising a family. But after a long career in financial services she re-ignited her love of romantic fiction when she stumbled across the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s website and joined their New Writers’ Scheme.

Stay Co n n e c te d

five siblings, who were born into poverty, but are now wealthy, due to the hard work of Dexter Hart, the eldest brother. Dexter’s a driven man who had a tough childhood, and he’s not very likeable at first.

In order to elevate his family’s status in society, he plans to marry his siblings to titles. But it’s not an easy task when they include an outspoken feminist, a ruined woman, a spinster nearing thirty, and a scarred, embittered ex-soldier. Each book focuses on one sibling, but a recurring theme in the series is Dexter’s relationship with his family.

In the first book, “What the Hart Wants,” Dexter is trying to find a titled husband for his younger sister Delilah. But Delilah, a feminist and aspiring writer, has other plans. She loathes the aristocracy and at the start of the story, she smashes a vase over a Scottish duke’s head! But he’s no ordinary duke.

Having inherited his title unexpectedly, he’s using it to further his whisky business. He both infuriates and intrigues Delilah and they strike a bargain—in exchange for Delilah teaching him about her cause for social justice, he promises to give her five lessons in the art of pleasure.

Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Your latest solo work, Queen of my Hart, was released in November and is part of a series, Headstrong Harts. Can you tell us more about this book and the series? How many books are you planning for the series?

“Queen of My Hart” is the second book, and it’s Dexter’s turn to find a wife. His plan to ensnare a viscount’s daughter backfires when he’s tricked, during a game of cards, into marrying the viscount’s illegitimate daughter, Meggie, instead. Meggie has been living in poverty and disgrace, when her father arrives out of the blue and bullies her into marrying his enemy. Though afraid of her new husband and his stern demeanor, Meggie resolves to make the best of her situation, and she learns how to run a household. But she struggles with the customs and traditions of society and is painfully aware that her husband had wanted to marry another woman. Dexter’s a harsh man, but Meggie is able to teach him that kindness and compassion, love and forgiveness, can yield greater rewards than vengeance. However, Meggie herself needs to learn to trust her husband, especially as she carries a secret from her past.

Thank you so much for having me! I’m really excited about this series. Headstrong Harts is about a family of

The next book in the series, “Hidden Hart”, features the youngest brother, Devon, who was an inveterate

emroyal.com Welcome to Emily Royal

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | womanizer, until he sustained a horrific facial scar in a streetfight. He now hides from society during the day, and ventures out at night to dispense his own brand of justice on the streets. He’s hopelessly in love with a society beauty, but knows he can only admire her from afar—until his best, and only, friend asks for help in wooing her. I like to think of this story as a mash-up of Batman and Cyrano de Bergerac!

I’m planning at least four books in the series, and am currently writing the fourth, which will feature Dorothea, the eldest sister. Dexter’s given up on finding a husband for her. At thirty, she’s considered a spinster and too old for marriage. But she longs for a family of her own. A compromising situation at her thirtieth birthday party finds her entangled with a wealthy business associate of Dexter’s, who just happens to be the man she admired from afar when she saw him engaged in a bareknuckle fight.

But with a resentful daughter and a mystery surrounding his first wife’s death, is he the man to make Dorothea’s dreams come true?

The fifth sibling, Daisy, is already married when the series starts, and I’m going to write her story as a prequel, which will feature the Hart family before they were wealthy, and shed some light on Dexter’s past.

I adore the Hart family, and would love to continue the series to feature their friends and children, because I’d like to meet them all again!

Uncaged: You also have a series out, The London Libertines. Is that a complete series or are you planning on adding to that series?

At the moment, that series is complete, but some of the central characters have brothers and sisters, and I’d like to write their stories at some point.

The heroes in the stories don’t always behave well at first—Henry, in particular, from the first book Henry’s Bride—is a very bad boy! The other heroes make appearances in earlier books, often showing their flaws, but they redeem themselves in their own 104 | UncagedBooks.com

| EMILY ROYAL | stories.

There are some secondary characters—again, friends and siblings of the main characters—who I’d like to meet again.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

I’ve not struggled too much with being cooped up. Living in rural Scotland, I’ve been able to go for long walks in the fresh air to recharge, without having to drive anywhere. But I do miss travelling!

Before the pandemic, I flew to London and Oxford every other week for work, and the travelling time and evenings in hotels were perfect for getting writing done. I’m also looking forward to a writing retreat I’d booked with a friend, which we’ve been continually postponing since March 2020.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

I’m a planner, so all my stories are plotted out in detail before I start drafting. So I don’t often cut out whole scenes when editing. I do overwrite, and repeat phrases a lot during the first draft. So while my first drafts are usually around 90,000 words, the finished manuscripts are closer to 75,000 words, once I’ve picked through all the lines. But it’s more superfluous words, rather than whole scenes, which get cut out.

“I miss walking along the Embankment in London”

I will sometimes write extra scenes after finishing a novel, which I share with my subscribers, either as a whole story/novella, or teaser scenes.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | demonstrate his love for the heroine. I might get a bit misty-eyed, but I rarely cry over a book, unless I have to talk out loud about emotional scenes.

Bizarrely enough, the only novel which has made me cry out loud is one which, as far as I’m aware, was never published. A few years ago, I used to read manuscript submissions for a small press.

They were anonymized, so I had no idea of the title, or the author. One, in particular, set in WWI in England, made me cry out loud at the end, because it was heartbreaking, and beautifully written. I occasionally google the theme and the characters’ names, but have yet to find it, so must presume it was never published. It made me realize that there are many wonderful stories which don’t see the light of day.

It’s the same with laughter. Many books make me smile, but rarely make me laugh. The only book I’ve ever laughed out loud at, wasn’t even fiction, let alone a romance. It was Bill Bryson’s “Walk in the Woods” when he describes his fear-fueled reaction to a bear approaching his tent. I’ve always struggled with books that are billed as comedies. I think the expectation that it’s going to elicit laughter, has the opposite effect on me. Or maybe I just have a twisted sense of humor!

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

Writing is what I do when I’m not working on the day job, and they both take up a lot of time. I like to play the piano, and some of the music I play has featured in my stories. Henry’s Bride, the first London Libertines novel, features a piece I spent weeks mastering. I also paint, mostly landscapes with mountains, but I enjoy life drawing too, especially the detail around the hands and knuckles—their features are fascinating. I love the style of the artist Egon Schiele, though his subject matter isn’t to everyone’s taste.

During the pandemic, I‘ve been doing a lot more cooking and baking from scratch. I think the pan106 | UncagedBooks.com

demic has put me into a “must-provide-for-the-familyduring-this-crisis” mode! I sometimes share my favorite recipes, or those I’ve recently tried out, with my subscribers. I also took up running over the summer, though with the days getting shorter, that fell away at the end of the year. I enjoy walking, and we have plenty of beautiful places locally to walk, including a few small hills.

We have a real menagerie of pets in our house. I love spending time with our dog, a rescue lurcher, who is always good for a cuddle. We keep chickens, one of which is currently living in our kitchen, and my children have pet rats and hamsters. But my real passion is my pet snakes. I’ve almost always got one draped around my neck, or curled up on my lap when I’m working or writing. And while I appreciate not everyone likes our slithery friends, I find it really relaxing to cuddle a python, or a boa constrictor, when I’m feeling stressed.

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write? On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

This will depend a lot on the day job. If I’m drafting to a deadline, I’ll spend maybe 1-2 hours during the week and 3-4 hours at the weekend. But I tend to measure what I do in terms of wordcount, rather than hours spent, so I’ll aim for 2000 words each evening during a working day, and 5000 words on a day I’ve earmarked for writing. I don’t write every day, but I’ll always do something relating to writing, whether it’s editing,

proof-reading, writing newsletters or posting on social media.

Pre lockdown, I did a lot of my writing while travelling, snatching a quiet hour on an airplane, train, or hotel room, and I still write in fairly short bursts.

A first draft can take around 6 weeks to 2 months, depending on what else I’ve got going on. I once managed to write half a full-length book in a week, but it had been plotted out in a lot of detail beforehand. It was a pretty intense week, and I wouldn’t be able to do too many of those in a row!

Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books?

Are you reading anything now?

| EMILY ROYAL | book, I can instantly download it with my e:reader in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. But I do like physical copies, particularly if I want to check back on something earlier in the story, I find it easier to flick through a paperback. If a story really resonates with me, I’ll often buy a paperback as well as the e:book.

Right now, I’m reading a book for research. I’m planning a series based loosely on themes from old British folklore and fairy tales. I have a book from my childhood full of wonderful Irish, Welsh, Scottish and English tales, and it’s an absolute pleasure to read them again. And, with stories called Kate Crackernuts, Clever Oonagh, Childe Rowland and The Mouse from the Mabinogian, what’s not to love?

I love e:books, and the fact that if I like the look of a

“My pre-pandemic writing space. The lizard is my lucky mascot. I was travelling to an awards ceremony at the time, for which my debut novel had been shortlisted.”

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

I’m so grateful for anyone who reads and loves my books, particularly readers who are willing to embrace flawed characters, and give some of my bad-boy heroes a chance! I love the interaction with readers on social media, and via my newsletter. It always means so much to an author to get a little personal note from someone saying they enjoyed our books!

Enjoy an excerpt from Queen of My Hart Queen of My Hart Emily Royal Victorian Historical Born into poverty, selfmade banker Dexter Hart is now one of the wealthiest men in London. His ambition is to marry a title—and who better than the daughter of his enemy Viscount Alderley, the man who once whipped him as a boy, and on whom he vowed revenge? But Dexter’s plan backfires, and he finds himself tricked into marrying Alderley’s illegitimate daughter instead.

Margaret Alder has known heartbreak and betrayal, and has lived in exile and disgrace for eight years. When her natural father rips her away from her home, he bullies her into marrying a stranger. The marriage thrusts Meggie into a world she doesn’t understand, with a bridegroom even more reluctant than she—a world of society, traditions and etiquette, where even the servants don’t hide their scorn. But she soon learns that beneath her husband’s ruthless exterior lies a passionate man who renders her breathless with his fiery kisses and skilful touch.

Meggie rises to the challenge and proves herself an intelligent and kind-hearted woman, and 108 | UncagedBooks.com

Dexter wonders whether Fate chose for him a better wife than he would have chosen for himself. But when Meggie’s past returns to haunt her, she must decide whether she can trust the husband she’s growing to love—or risk losing him forever.

Excerpt This excerpt is the scene when Meggie sees Dexter for the first time—on the day of her wedding.

“Do nothing to disgrace my name,” Alderley said.

“Do you hear?”

He leaned forward. “I’ll hear you say it, girl.”

Wilkes gripped Meggie’s wrist until tears of pain stung in her eyes.

“Yes, Papa.”

Alderley’s eyes darkened at her flash of defiance. But if she were to be sold as chattel by virtue of being his daughter, then the devil take him if he expected her to address him by his title.

Wilkes released her and she slumped back in her seat as the carriage swayed to and fro, en route to the chapel.

For the past week she’d been living in a cottage on the Alderley estate, hidden from the main house. Wilkes attended her daily. Her ‘personal footman’, Alderley had described him. In reality he was her gaoler, threatening her with punishment if she tried to flee—a punishment he’d carried out with relish.

Instinctively she pulled her sleeve down. The delicate lace cuffs on her bridal gown almost completely obscured the bruise on her wrist.

Alderley had made it plain, that he’d have Mrs. Preston’s school burned to the ground if she defied him.

Even now, as the carriage neared the chapel where she was to become the property of another, might flames be engulfing the school? Had she sealed the fate of the

| EMILY ROYAL |

The carriage lurched to a halt outside the chapel.

Wilkes climbed out, pulling her with him, and led her to the chapel door.

sensual, creased into a scowl. Cold blue eyes fixed on her, anger in their expression, and she shivered, as if all the warmth had been sucked out of the air.

He looked as if he lived in perpetual shadow, as if a thundercloud hung continually above him.

“Give her to me, Wilkes,” Alderley said. “Remain by the door in case of trouble.”

In short, he looked the very embodiment of the devil.

He glanced at Meggie and she lowered her gaze.

What was the point in causing more trouble? It would only earn her another bruise.

A cold slab of ice solidified in her stomach and she caught her breath and stopped.

few friends she had in the world?

Alderley tightened his grip.

Alderley took her wrist and squeezed the bones together.

“Remember what I said,” he hissed. She nodded, and they set off down the aisle.

A lone woman sat in the front pew, dressed in a crimson gown and matching wide-brimmed hat. It must be Meggie’s half-sister, the honorable Elizabeth. She glanced over her shoulder, a sneer on her face, then resumed her attention on the front of the chapel.

Four men stood at the end of the aisle. The vicar, clad in a white surplice, stood, stiff and erect, an open bible in his hand. Meggie recognized the man to his left as Alderley’s steward. The other two men had their backs to her. As Alderley pulled her along the aisle, her feet tripping as she tried to keep pace, one of them turned and looked at her.

He had an open, expressive face, framed with light blonde hair. Soft, brown eyes crinkled into a warm smile, and she could have wept with relief. Her fears had been unfounded. Warm, welcoming, and kind— before her stood a man with whom she had a chance at happiness.

He nudged his companion who turned and stared at her.

The second man stood half a head taller. Thick, dark hair framed strong, angular features. Dark brows formed a slash across his face. His mouth, full and

“Do not disgrace me, girl.”

The devil’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed into a frown. His jaw gave a tic as if he clenched his teeth. Meggie bit her lip to control her fear, and resumed walking. He continued to stare at her, and her skin tingled as if his gaze burned. But she swallowed her fear and focused her attention on his companion. Surely he was the groom. The devil did not seem the type of man who’d be bested in a game of cards.

Or in anything.

The angel made no move.

The vicar coughed and the angel nodded and stepped aside, leaving her alone, standing beside the devil.

Dear god!

She had to crane her neck in order to see him. He had resumed his original position, body stiff, staring straight ahead, over the vicar’s head, as if the whole ceremony bored him.

But he was not bored. His body vibrated with anger—shoulders stiff, arms by his sides, hands clenched into fists.

She didn’t know what was more frightening—the fury he harbored, or his ability to suppress it almost to invisibility.

And in a matter of moments, she would belong to him.

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L a n cel o t S c h aubert wo excerpts of Lancelot Schaubert’s debut novel BELL HAMMERS sold to The New Haven Review (Yale’s Institute Library) and The Misty Review, while a third excerpt was selected as a finalist for the last Glimmer Train Fiction Open in history. (The New Yorker rejected a fourth, but they said there’s “much to admire” — bit of a masochistic win, but a win nonetheless). He has sold poetry, fiction, and essays to TOR (MacMillan), The Anglican Theological Review, McSweeney’s, Poker Pro’s World Series Edition, The Poet’s Market, Writer’s Digest, Space and Time, and many similar markets. Spark + Echo chose him for their 2019 artist in residency, commissioning him to write four short stories in addition to seven they’d already purchased. He has published work in anthologies like Author in Progress, Harry Potter for Nerds, and Of Gods and Globes — the last of which he edits, and has

T

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featured stories by Juliet Marillier (nominated for an Aurealis award), Howard Andrew Jones, Kaaron Warren, Anne Greenwood Brown, Dr. Anthony Cirilla, LJ Cohen, FC Shultz, and Emily Munro.

S t ay C onnec t ed lanceschaubert.org Uncaged welcomes Lancelot Schaubert Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Your newest book is Bell Hammers, is this your first full length novel? Can you tell readers more about this novel?

Yes indeed! Bell Hammers is the seventh novel I wrote, first published.

It’s a hilarious story about four generations of carpenters pranking an oil company out of Southern Illinois. Based on hundreds of hours of interviews with elders of Little Egypt — particularly my grandpa — as well as the historical record on huge events like the Bloody Williamson massacre during the coal

wars. Mostly it’s a picaresque: a series of seemingly unconnected vignettes that come together at the end, told one chapter at a time through the life of a man from 6 years old to 80. Lots of jokes, nostalgia, and people often realize that while we had horses and outhouses in Southern Illinois in the 40’s, New York was doing electricity, toilets, and taxis.

It’s a weird story, honestly, but folks who read it through almost always say it made them laugh and cry.

The exception to that are folks who are expecting a pot boiler legal thriller or who don’t like the dialect as it matches — precisely — the dialect of Southern Illinois.

Uncaged: For the most part, you’ve written short stories and been a part of anthologies. Can you tell readers more about Vale Short Stories series that you have written?

So Bell Hammers actually takes place in the Vale Universe. I started out selling literary short stories that involved characters, props, and events from other scifi and fantasy worlds in my universe: https://lanceschaubert.org/2018/02/27/introducing-thevale-the-universe-in-which-i-write/ Bell Hammers is no exception. Though a humor and historical novel that features real issues around a real oil company, it still features characters and props from upcoming fantasy novels and even a few magic systems disguised (for the rest of my readers: two instances of wombroving, a manmade meteor strike sent with a message inside, several instances of storyweaving, and a mindwhisper with a god). You won’t notice them as such, though, mainly because they just seem like weird tall tale events to the protagonist.

Vale short stories, however, shows a little more of my range.

Several of the stories were sold elsewhere, but to give you an idea the stories explore characters in fantasy, literary, sci fi, horror,

post apocalyptic, romance, mystery settings Uncaged: Can you tell us more about The Showbear Family Circus?

Kind of a fluke, really. I certainly never expected to receive literally thousands of submissions.

Backstory: I honestly hate self-promotion — after several breaks, I completely deleted my social media accounts in 2016 and haven’t looked back.

And therefore I almost deleted my website, but then I realized I could use it as a platform to promote other arts and sciences and maybe, one day, pay folks for it since academics seldom get paid to publish and artists don’t either. I set up a submission portal and submissions POURED in to the point I had to start contracting out editors just to read the stuff. We’re a couple years in and have probably published 300-500 pieces, I’m unsure how many.

Hoping to add a subscription service this year in order to be able to start paying writers.

If you want to submit something, we accept literally all genres and mediums, but we want stuff that bolsters moral law, virtue, and that extolls the liberal arts. We have published 100-page academic theses and beat poetry, symphonies and fiction in every genre except grotesquely violent and sexual, short films, art, photography, etc.

But yeah, there are two other authors who basically run the thing and I’m trying to figure out how to manage it so that it can pay the authors who publish there.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

Filming a documentary in Alaska is at the top of the list.

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | lanceschaubert@gmail.com and I’ll send you those.

If you order 10 copies for your family and friends, I’ll send you a gorgeous canvas-wrapped map of LIttle Egypt for your art collection as well as a hand-written letter with my red wax sealed monogram and a signed bookplate.

Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

We also hosted monthly open houses that went from 10am to midnight and served three square meals to folks.

Laugh? I used to get joke books from the Scholastic book fair. That or some slapstick thing in a Raggedy Anne and Andy golden book. Cry? Probably something like Where the Red Fern Grows or another golden book or Green Eggs and Hamm or some story in the Bible.

Actually probably the Bible for both answers, there are some hilarious scenes: Fat Cow was a very fat man is the literal translation of the first line of the Eglon story.

The death of Rachel is heartbreaking. Jesus’s story is both: hard to not laugh at the idea of someone trying to remove a bit of sawdust from the eye of his friend while having a railroad tie sticking out of his own. Hard not to cry if you truly take in the totality of what happens at a crucifixion. His pericardial sac ruptured from sheer stress: literally died of a broken heart.

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

Mostly. I do some watercolors: Wrote an album in the

We used to invite literally everyone we knew in NYC and encouraged them to invite everyone as well, but those got shut down a year ago and we’ve been dying to have people in our home ever since.

Also miss my family. Haven’t seen them like I like.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

Yes and yes. Deleted scenes and an alternate ending. If you order it today, shoot me an email to 112 | UncagedBooks.com

Vale Universe: https://open.spotify.com/ album/1QOE2t9zAKJjz8VySZJvRq ...so I like music. Tara and I play a ton of cards. I love Time Stories. Long walks through Brooklyn — talking something like 13 miles. Planting acorns in places folks tell me they don’t belong.

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write? On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

I write at least 2 hours but often 4 or 5 depending on what’s on the docket and the schedule. I have a lot of hats I juggle, so it’s difficult to say. At 2 hours a day, I’ll hit an average of 600 words, which will be a full novel in 100 days. Trying to pick up the pace so I can catch up to some of these guys.

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

| LANCELOT SCHAUBERT | Physical always. Ebooks are the pits for retention, notes, and basically everything but portability and I take so much stuff with me, I don’t care about portability.

I’m reading Latin Via Ovid (for my Latin class), book 5 of the Britannica great books (the greek tragedians), Edgedancer by Sanderson, That All Shall Be Saved by the Cambridge philosopher David Bentley Hart, started Prince Caspian for the first time. Just finished Troubled Blood, which was great, and several others.

Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

Hey thanks for checking out Bell Hammers and honestly for your support. Those of you who buy everything you can, you have no idea how much just even one purchase can give me momentum to write more that day. So thanks for that.

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| FEATURE AUTHOR |

Enjoy an excerpt from Bell Hammers Bell Hammers Lancelot Schaubert 19th Century/Climatology/Humor PRANKS. OIL. PROTEST. JOKES BETWEEN NEWLYWEDS. AND ONE HILARIOUS SIEGE OF A MAJOR CORPORATION. Remmy grows up with Beth in Bellhammer, Illinois as oil and coal companies rob the land of everything that made it paradise. Under his Grandad, he learns how to properly prank his neighbors, friends, and foes.

Beth tries to fix Remmy by taking him to church.

Under his Daddy, Remmy starts the Bell Hammer Construction Company, which depends on contracts from Texarco Oil. And Beth argues with him about how to build a better business. Together, Remmy and Beth start to build a great neighborhood of “merry men” carpenters: a paradise of s’mores, porch furniture, newborn babies, and summer trips to Branson where their boys pop the tops of off the neighborhood’s two hundred soda bottles. Their witty banter builds a kind of castle among a growing nostalgia.

Then one of Jim Johnstone’s faulty Texarco oil derricks falls down on their house and poisons their neighborhood’s well.

Poisoned wells escalate to torched dog houses.

Torched dog houses escalate to stolen carpentry tools and cancelled contracts. Cancelled contracts escalate to eminent domain. Sick of the attacks from Texaco Oil on his neighborhood, 114 | UncagedBooks.com

Remmy assembles his merry men: “We need the world’s greatest prank. One grand glorious jest that’ll bloody the nose of that tyrant.

Besides, pranks and jokes don’t got no consequences, right?”

Excerpt 1941 Buckass naked in hot, hand-boiled bathtub suds, playing with his tin New York dairy truck and some Spur Cola bottles, he heard old Rooney’s brakes set to squelching.

“Aww shit.” He was six years old. “Aw shitty shit shit.”

They didn’t have no school buses back then, you see, just one room schoolhouses dotting the countryside like peppercorns tossed sparingly over a pot of boiled taters. And if you weren’t gonna walk five miles to school one way, you’d better get your ass in line for old Rooney’s flatbed truck when it pulled up to your street corner when them brakes squelched out loud.

Remmy jumped up quick as a cat scared by a cucumber and ran out without drying himself. “Rooney!

Rooney!” Momma Midge cried after but it was of no use.

It started to go and all of his classmates and Elizabeth too stared at him with suds all down his naked body as he sprinted across that hot dirt road and it picked up on his feet till the soles went black and he caught the truck just barely and plopped buckass naked on the back with the rest of them.

The other kids stared. One snorted.

Rooney slammed on the brakes with a fresh squelch and craned his head out the window. “The hell, Remmy?”

“The hell, Old Man Rooney?”

“Don’t you the hell me, boy, you’re buckass nekked!”

| LANCELOT SCHAUBERT | The kids giggled then. Specially Elizabeth.

Remmy blushed a bit. He was naked, but not quite old enough to be ashamed. Not quite. “So?” “So you can’t go to Sunday school nekked, Remmy!”

“You can’t go to Sunday school without me, Old Rooney!”

“Well… well you’re nekked though.”

learning from Miss Witt in the one-room school.

Miss Witt said, “Well it looks like we got six students and four oil people today.”

The children of parents not employed at Texarco laughed and pointed at the rest. The children of oil parents blushed. That included Beth.

“Missing one oil person,” Miss Witt said. “Where’s Jim Johnstone?”

“Well so what? Skin and mind ain’t the same.”

“Probably painting himself black with tar,” Remmy said.

“Don’t get smart with me now. Don’t you start.”

“You quit,” Beth said to Remmy.

“Honest, Old Man Rooney, I’d rather go to school naked than to stay home covered but dumb.”

Rooney shook his head. “Go put on your britches.

I’ll wait.” Remmy scooted off the back of that pickup and got about five feet before he heard the kids pointing and laughing. He looked down — some of the limestone dust in the back of that flatbed had stuck to his butt, and now he had a white ass to offset them black soles. Full white moon and hooves of black. Like a whitetail buck.

But they got him to class, they did. Him and the others. He sat down and tried his best to wink at Beth.

He winked and he winked and fidgeted in his chair, the limestone working his buttcheeks like sandpaper.

Beth never did wink back no matter how much work Remmy’d put into winking her way. He’d give anything just to be able to fall asleep in the safety of her older, softer arms and wish the world and its scaffolding and fist fights away. Oh and its hate too, yup.

But she didn’t seem fond of that idea, the winking and the kissing and the holding, or even the noticing him, really, busy as she was with her maths.

Maybe she’d seen enough of him for the day, all things in mind.

Remmy’d been in the second grade at the time and

Beth being one of them oil people put him in one of them tight spot dilemma problems, it did. Remmy went to school there along with a few other kids, learning his grammars, how to make his thoughts into clean words, but mostly just winking at Beth Donder and hoping she’d wink back.

Fat. Chance.

She was five years older than him, which made her twelve or something. That combined with his oil people comments made it damned near impossible he’d get a wink out of her. He remembered the news came in on a Sunday morning in the middle of the Sunday school and the winking and her age.

Jim Johnstone came running in hot and sweating like a creek-dipped mink in his winter wear, that look on his face like he had bad news nobody else knew about and he’d only tell you once you begged him good and long to reveal his secrets.

Except it must have been extra bad cause he said, “Miss Witt! Miss Witt! Turn on the radio!” She turned it on.

“—C. Hello NBC. This is KTU in Honolulu, Hawaii. I am speaking from the roof of the Advertiser Publishing Company Building. We have witnessed this morning the distant view a brief full battle of Pearl Harbor and the severe bombing of Pearl HarIssue 55 | February 2021 |

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | bor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombs dropped within fifty feet of our KTU tower. It is no joke. It is a real war. The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and away from the Army and Navy. There has been serious fighting going on in the air and the sea. The heavy shooting seems to be—” Static cut off the broadcast. Then the voice went silent. The kids did too.

Remmy didn’t like how quiet it was so he got up and went into the corner of the schoolhouse and dropped his britches — which showed his limestone-white ass — and started peeing in the mop bucket.

Miss Witt shouted, “Good Lord, Remmy, what on earth! Why are you doing that?”

“Cause I got good aim,” he said. “Why else?”

The kids laughed.

Remmy turned his aim a bit while they was laughing and sprayed a little on Jim Johnstone’s notebook just cause that boy liked being the bearer of bad news. Miss Witt sent him home early and, though happy that he made the kids laugh instead of thinking about the new war, in later years Remmy would say to me, “I couldn’t believe I did that. I guess I always enjoyed the power of a good prank.”

They had rationing after that. You couldn’t buy sugar or coffee or gasoline or anything without a stamp, which you got from the ration board. It mattered how far you had to drive to work which messed up his Daddy John’s milk jug gathering, since Daddy John had finally saved up enough to ditch the wagon and get a la bumba of a car.

Forced Daddy John to take more time building homes and sheds and things for men in the oil fields. Daddy John wasn’t that close in to begin with, but Remmy hated the government for taking away his dad even further and hated Texarco 116 | UncagedBooks.com

for keeping him. It took away too his chance of one day having Beth to rock him to sleep safe away from shouting and wars like a good mother, curbing travel like that. See, you had to ride with somebody else wherever you went so you didn’t drive so many cars.

If you wore out your tires, you had to get a permit for another one — one at a time instead of a set.

Couldn’t get meat, so Remmy’d shoot squirrels and rabbits with his slingshot and cook them, and that’s no lie.

Remmy stole stories from the one room school house — for one, cause they were expensive, books, and for another, cause boys made fun of other boys for reading and so he needed to read in private, and for a third, cause if he didn’t like the book — say it tried to sound smarter than it really was deep down — and if rations got real bad, he could always use the front pages to wipe his ass.

They’d had themselves a farm — a peaceful place out away from the oil fields and out away from the milk driving, where at least one Saturday a month Remmy’d been able to play out in the yard with Daddy John. He missed the smell of that farm — the sweet corn and shitty smell of good fertile soil. But because of the travel curbing, they moved in from the farm. Moved in to the big city: Odin, Illinois.

Traffic was awful when you had a twenty-four street town. They sold most of it, his parents and the farm, but they brought a couple pigs along. Them pigs was an anchor for a while, keeping Remmy joined to that heavenly garden on earth. Other people had pig pens in the back. John David — Remmy’s Daddy — raised them so they could have some pork.

When the pig got turned into pork, the anchor was cut loose and he was free floating in Odin. Midge — Remmy’s Momma — kept chickens so they could have those, but they weren’t half the people pigs were. The chicken coops went in the side yard, and those chickens never really settled down either after the move. Remmy got it: foxes everywhere.

Shoes was hard to get all of a sudden. Hell, when

| LANCELOT SHAUBERT | he was on the farm he’d loved going barefoot, and as soon as he needed shoes to walk around town on account of moving into town on account of the war, he couldn’t get good shoes also on account of the war, which wasn’t fair no matter how he looked at it. Had to sole them and put heels on them over and over again, wishing he had Moses’ shoes that never wore out. Couldn’t buy hardly anything. So everybody dug in and did what they could do.

himself of the place: the old railroad, the groundwork of the truck stop, the shoe factory, and the bottle factory near the mine. He did. Because he asked The Good Lord, “Good Lord, will you help me remember this place?”

And The Good Lord said back, “Remmy, I will.

Remember me, Remmy.”

And Remmy said, “Good Lord, I will.”

They had paper drives. Remmy took his paper around to people’s houses and tied it in bundles and stuck it up on the wagon and sold it, hoping the money would help Daddy John not work so hard and then maybe have some time to the family. Never really worked, though. What’d they sell the paper for? Well for cardboard, for shipping crates for the war. Some of them crates had munitions, stuff for the war. Oh, yeah, they had a pants factory. Pants for the army.

Cause you can’t go to war with your horse running loose out of its barn, the other seven-year-olds boys all said. Specially the streakers.

Remmy had to admit that he knew something about that.

Yeah it was the big plant that’d done the bottled cola there, Spur Cola from Bellhammer, Illinois? Remmy watched that plant close one day in the war for the pants and watched them take all of those bottles — just a bunch of them — and he followed them out and saw people dump them into a specific mine shaft. Yeah, that cola plant’d shut down and turned into a place for making pants that kept the horses of the respective army men in their respective barns.

That and saltpeter.

Well when they abandoned that coal mine around the same time, everybody dumped their trash down in there, down in the mine. So it seemed right when the time came to do so to lower all those full and sealed Spur Cola bottles down that shaft. Remmy watched them do it just to make room for the pants, and he was just a little boy, so he wasn’t strong enough to go down in there and get them bottles, but he reminded

So Remmy memorized it and The Good Lord both. Some days he’d come back and mark the spot with his toe or a flag made of a stick and a rag or write his name in the dirt there with his piss just to make sure he still knew all them bottles were hid down in there. And one day he’d come back and dig up all those bottles, cause there wasn’t another Spur Cola in the world but in Bellhammer, Illinois, and therefore one day those Spur Cola bottles would be prime rare antiques, and so he’d dig up all of them and sell them one at a time on the big city auction block.

A regular old Sotheby’s, yes sir.

And then he’d have enough money to buy his Daddy John a vacation for just the two of them in some castle somewhere in Ireland or Germany or Camelot — somewhere where they have those old castles and throw jokes like jesters at all the dumb tyrants around the world. He wanted to build the biggest castle out of the world’s greatest joke. Best part about throwing jokes and pranking tyrants is that there ain’t no consequences for a good joke, and yet they change people’s minds.

Kind of like the joke he’d told about the castle he’d built the year before out of the Lincoln Logs in the back of the horse wagon, back when he’d gotten lost and Daddy John had shouted. That was before they’d moved in from the safety of the farm — their Little Egypt castle. Before everything went to hell and they’d treated each other like Bloody Williamson.

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L illia n m arek

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hen she retired after too many years in journalism, Lillian Marek felt a longing for happy endings and stories where the good guys win and the bad guys get their just deserts. Having exhausted her library’s supply of non-gory mystery stories, she started reading romance novels, especially historical romance. This was so much fun that she thought she’d like to try her hand at writing one. So she took her computer keyboard in hand, slipped back into the 19th century, and began.

She was not mistaken—writing romance novels is as much fun as reading them.

Lil lives on Long Island, in a house built in the 18th century, before the invention of closets.

It is far enough away from New York City for her to be able to pretend it’s the country (if you drive carefully and avoid highways and strip malls). Her back yard is visited by numerous squirrels and rabbits, neighbors’ cats, an occasional wild turkey, and a family of deer who live nearby. They are welcome so long as they don’t attempt to take up residence in the attic.

Stay Co n n e c te d

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Uncaged welcomes Lillian Marek Uncaged: Welcome to Uncaged! Your newest book, Debt of Dishonor will release on February 11. This is the second book in the series, Lords of Sussex. Can you tell us more about this book and the series? How many books are planned for this series?

Most of my books start with a scene or a bit of dialogue that pops into my mind. Then I have to figure out who these people are and how they got into this situation. For example, The Earl Returns started out with the sailing accident. A girl and a young man were out sailing, and suddenly the boat sprang a leak. The girl promptly sat on the leak and started bailing. (My heroines are never the sort to sit there wringing their hands when disaster strikes.)

The duke who is the hero of Debt of Dishonor is the friend of the earl, but the idea for the book didn’t start with him. It began with a young woman discovering that her brother plans to use her to pay his gambling debts. She is furious and runs off. But she is not stupid, and has somewhere to go where she can hide.

The heroine of the third book, which will be coming out in May, is the duke’s niece and takes place a bit later, when railways are just beginning to chage the world.

A slightly serious theme that runs through the books is the conflict between justice and the power of the aristocracy. That power can be used for good, but it is dangerously prone to abuse.

Uncaged: What made you want to jump into writing in the very crowded Historical Romance genre? What is your research like?

The first Historical Romance I ever read was Loretta Chase’s Mr. Impossible. Talk about starting at the top! Anyway, I promptly started reading more, and I was having such a good time that I thought it would be fun to write one. The long Regency period was easiest for me because when I was in graduate school, my concentration was Romantic Literature.

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | Lamb were old friends, so the attitudes and ways of thinking weren’t foreign to me.

I have to go back and fill in the gaps.

I love history, and for me doing research is pure pleasure. I start with the computer, of course, and it’s amazing how much stuff is available. You can start with Wikipedia and end up with someone’s memoirs of Brittany during the French Revolution.

There are so many original sources that have been put online that the problem isn’t finding information but deciding when enough is enough.

I remember laughing when my father told me bedtime stories because he made them funny. I don’t often cry over books, but I do remember crying over Little Women when Beth died.

Uncaged: Now that there may be an end in sight to the pandemic, what are you looking forward to doing that you haven’t been able to do when it’s finally over?

It may sound trivial, but I really look forward to going into a store without a mask on. I’ve always hated anything over my face, even a veil. I feel as if I’m suffocating.

And after the things everyone is longing for, like visiting with friends and family and getting back to work, I’d like to visit the Isle of Jersey, one of the British Channel Islands, and I’d like to visit Brittany. One of my earlier books, Lord Edward’s Treasure, was set it Brittany. A friend who used to live there said I got the setting right, but I’d love to see for mysef.

Uncaged: Do you edit out anything substantial in your novels in the editing process? Do you make that extra content available in any way to readers if you do?

I do a lot of editing as I go along, and I throw out about half of what I write. It’s not necessarily bad, it’s just not right. It’s heading in the wrong direction or someone is behaving out of character. Sometimes a scene is being told from the wrong point of view.

There may be people who can get it all right the first time, but not me.

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Uncaged: What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

Uncaged: What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I suppose reading doesn’t count, because I can always claim that’s part of working.

I love to cook. In fact, for years I used to write a cooking column for a newspaper chain. I don’t mean I love cooking three meals a day, seven days a week. In fact, ever since my children were big enough to pick up the milk and pour it on their cereal, they were on their own for breakfast. (I’m not at my best in the morning.)

But I like to try new things and experiment, something that makes my husband nervous. I made baked fennel one night, topped with butter and parmesan. I thought it was delicious, but, alas, he did not. (He would be perfectly happy to have meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas for dinner every night of the year.)

Aside from actually cooking, I love to read cookbooks and I’ve collected masses of recipes for things I’ll probably never make. There’s one recipe for a marjolaine that involves grating hazelnuts for the cake batter, making pralines and crushing them for one of the fillings, and making both plain and chocolate pastry cream. I know I’m never going to make it, but I can’t bear to throw the recipe away.

Uncaged: How many hours a day do you write? On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

Assuming that “write” includes research and plan, probably five or six hours a day. I always have music playing while I’m working, preferably classical or baroque. Nothing with words—they would interfere.

But the music somehow keeps me from getting tense.

It takes me at least a year or two to complete a book.

I know there are people who can produce three or four books a year, and I am in awe of them. I couldn’t possibly do that myself.

Uncaged: Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

I greatly prefer physical books, but I have to say that during the pandemic I have been so grateful for the ebooks I can borrow through my library. I’ve been trying lots of new-to-me authors that way and some of them I really enjoy. Audiobooks are great for long car trips, but I don’t much care for them at home. I get impatient, because I can read a lot faster than the narrator can talk.

| LILLIAN MAREK | Uncaged: What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

I’d love to hear from readers any time. If they have any comments or questions I’d be glad to see them. My email address is LillianMarekAuthor@ gmail.com, and my website is www.LillianMarek. com. I have a blog there, Bits and Pieces, where I mostly write about oddities that I come across in my research. You can also find me on Facebook.

At the moment I am rereading Stella Riley’s The King’s Falcon. I am in awe of her ability to recreate the period so accurately as well as vividly.

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Enjoy an excerpt from A Debt of Dishonor A Debt of Dishonor Lillian Marek Victorican Historical Releases Feb. 11

Kate Russell is furious.

She is the daughter of a viscount, a status that has been of no use to her. It was bad enough that her father had let her grow up in virtual poverty, but now her dissolute brother wants to use her as payment for his debts. She runs away, determined to make her way so that she will never again be at the mercy of powerful men.

Then she encounters the Duke of Ashleigh.

He has overcome the shame of his parents’ scandalous lives and has a well-deserved reputation for honorable behavior. Then he encounters Kate, the niece of an old friend. There is some mystery about her background. She is not the sort of wellbred lady of impeccable reputation that he plans to marry some day, but he can’t get her out of his mind.

Dare they trust each other?

Excerpt Prologue London, April 1818 The scarlet carriage belonging to the Earl of Farnsworth pulled up at the residence of Viscount Newell, and the groom leaped to open the door and put down the steps. The butler, who had been warned to watch for the earl’s arrival, opened the door as the earl approached. His eyes widened at the earl’s smile, and he could not restrain a shiver.

He had never seen the earl pleased before. It was not a pleasant sight.

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Still smiling, Farnsworth paused for a moment before the somewhat dingy mirror in the hall to examine himself. He was not an ugly man. Taken individually, his features were not unpleasing, except for the strange redness of his nose. He was well set up, his clothes needing no padding or other tailor’s tricks. He always wore gloves, and few could know this was to cover a persistent sore. His hair was his own, and though it had become patchy, it was still brown with no gray showing. His eyes, also brown, were reasonably clear.

It would be difficult to fault his appearance.

Newell came into the hall to greet him, looking like a man who has not yet recovered from the previous night’s debauch. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth and nodded a greeting to Farnsworth without actually speaking.

“And where is your sister? Is she not ready for our little outing?”

Newell shrugged and looked away. “She’s locked herself into her room and won’t come out.”

Farnsworth froze. The smile faded. “And why would she do that?” he asked icily.

Newell shrugged again, without looking at Farnsworth.

The earl spoke with exaggerated patience. “Newell, do not tell me you were so foolish as to tell your sister about our arrangement.”

Newell flushed. “I didn’t tell her. I…” He pursed his mouth and looked away. “It’s not my fault. She was in the library last night and overheard us.”

“She overheard us.” Farnsworth’s voice was flat.

“Would I be correct in concluding that she took some exception to our agreement?”

Newell said nothing. He simply stood there, head turned aside, looking both mulish and sulky.

Farnsworth spun away from the viscount, looked off

| LILLIAN MAREK | at some sight he alone could see, a muscle in his jaw twitching. After a moment, he turned back. “I should have known better than to leave anything in the hands of an idiot like you. Now, what should have been a pleasant little excursion will, of necessity, turn into an ugly scene.”

Newell said nothing.

But then, thought Farnsworth, what could the idiot say? “Have you at least the key to her room?”

Newell shook his head. “She has it in there with her.

I’ve told her she has to come out, but she won’t answer when I talk to her.” He sounded resentful.

Farnsworth made a sound that seemed half-disgusted and half-amused. “Well then, order your largest footman to break down the door. I am afraid I do not intend to wait for your efforts at persuasion to have effect.”

The largest footman, who was also the only footman, did not set about the task he was ordered to perform with any enthusiasm. He had not been paid in the past two quarters for the ordinary footman duties he performed. He could not really see why he should be expected to do something that was clearly out of the usual run of footman duties. However, one look from Farnsworth was enough to persuade him to make an effort.

It was not a painless effort. Though the footman was large, the door was sturdy, and when he ran at it, he bounced right off. That he tried three more times, with equal lack of success, was a tribute to the power of Farnsworth’s glare. He was standing there rubbing his shoulder and wondering which would shatter first, wood or bone, when the housemaid appeared.

She had been drawn by curiosity, wondering what the thuds and grunts portended. The butler, who had been peering around the corner of the corridor, trusting that he was too old to be asked to help, whispered to her what was afoot, or rather, ashoulder.

Now, the housemaid had nothing against Miss Russell, the viscount’s sister, but she had nothing for her either. On the other hand, she did have a bit of a soft spot for the footman, so she tweaked the butler’s sleeve and whispered in his ear. He looked at her in surprise, and she nodded vigorously.

The butler approached the viscount and cleared his throat. When he had Newell’s attention, he said, “Excuse me, my lord, but this young person reminds me that the keys in this house are interchangeable.”

Newell looked at him blankly.

Farnsworth barked a laugh. “That means, my dear Newell, that any key in the house will open any lock in the house. So if you can produce a key, any key, we can bring this farce to an end.”

Newell flushed. “Fetch a key.”

While the butler hurried off to do just that, the other two servants backed quietly away and vanished around the corner. Once he had produced the key, the butler prepared to do the same, but Farnsworth waved him to unlock the door. He did so and stepped aside.

Farnsworth stepped in, followed more slowly by Newell. Both were prepared for a storm of fury.

Neither was expecting an empty room. Farnsworth was the first to recover his equilibrium, and strolled around the room, using his cane to peer behind curtains and into the armoire in a fair imitation of indifference. It was he who noticed the letter propped up on the writing table.

It was folded and sealed, with only “Humphrey” written across it. Who but Katherine could have left it? Farnsworth had no hesitation about opening it. Then he laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

“Your sister does not appear to hold either of us in great esteem,” he said, with apparent casualness.

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you are welcome to starve in the gutter for all she cares, and she would rather die than be sold to a ‘disgusting, diseased degenerate’. That would be me, I presume. She is a trifle overfond of alliteration, but one cannot fault her characterizations.

How well she knows us both.” He turned to Newell with a look of barely controlled fury. “You bungling fool.”

Newell looked appalled. “She would rather die?

My God, has she killed herself?”

“Do not be an idiot. You will notice that there are no clothes in this room, with the exception of that rather tawdry thing you dressed her in to display her at the opera. She has obviously packed her bag and run away. Now, you will need to retrieve her.”

“How the devil am I supposed to do that? I don’t know where she went.”

Farnsworth looked at him.

Newell blustered, “Well, I don’t. How could I know?”

Farnsworth sighed the sigh of an intelligent man forced to deal with fools. “Does she have any friends in London? Does she know anyone in London?”

Newell shook his head. “She’s only been here a few weeks and never met anyone except friends of mine here, and she don’t like them any more than she likes you.”

Farnsworth gave him an impatient look. “Does she have any friends anywhere? She is twenty years old, after all. She must have known people before you brought her here.”

“Well, I suppose she has friends back in Yorkshire.

Leastways there were people there with her at our mother’s funeral.” Farnsworth looked at Newell, and got a shrug in reply. “I don’t know where else she’d go. She’s lived there all her life, so she won’t know anyone anyplace else.”

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“Then you will be taking a trip to Yorkshire to retrieve my property, won’t you?”

“But she’s run away. She’s not going to want to come back, and if she’s with friends…”

“That is your problem. You will have to deal with it.

We both know you have no other way to pay what you owe me.” Newell opened his mouth to protest, but Farnsworth glared at him. “You will leave at once and let me know of your success immediately on your return. You really do not want to disappoint me.”

The click of his footsteps on the marble of the stairs and hall was the only sound in the house as Farnsworth departed.

Newell felt sick. How in hell was he supposed to get to Yorkshire without any money? He needed a drink. ### A few miles south of London a farmer’s wagon was heading for home, the load of cheeses having been delivered. The aging cart horse plodded along slowly but steadily. On the back of the wagon, munching on apples, sat the farmer’s son, a cheerful boy of about ten, and a young woman to whom the farmer had given a ride. A few strands of blond hair peeked out from beneath her bonnet, a somewhat battered thing, devoid of decoration. The farmer had at first thought her too delicate, too fragile for the Yorkshire farm girl she claimed to be, but her sturdy brown dress and cloak, and the boots on her feet, to say nothing of her roughened hands, all looked familiar with hard work.

She tilted her head back to feel the warmth of the springtime sun and took a deep breath of the fresh air.

Her eyes closed and the corners of her mouth tipped up in a faint smile.

Miss Katherine Russell had escaped.

fang-FREAKIN-tastic reviews

feature author

HUNTER BLAIN

h u n ter blai n y name is Hunter, and I’m a wordaholic. I’m also about to break the fourth wall...of your mindhole. Because there is a true story behind this...well...story.

M

It begins with two best friends who grew up together, breaking rules and raising hell as they shaped each other’s personalities into the shameless assholes they are today. Well, at least for one of them, but I’ll get to that in a moment. These two boys--let’s call them Hunter and John--were all but inseparable. John excelled at creating music powerful enough to make angels weep and being the funniest asshole in Texas while Hunter dabbled--poorly, I might add--in his humble writings. Because they were self-declared brothers from other mothers, John respected Hunter’s humble writings as much as I--I mean Hunter (stupid third person perspective)--respected John’s musical magic. John’s tunes could have changed the world, one day...

One fine day, after reading one of Hunter’s horrifically detailed short stories about a serial killer, John asked Hunter to write a story about him.

“Hell yeah, dude! What do you want to be?”

Hunter asked, brimming with honor and biting back a very manly squee.

writer of our generation!” John said. (Something like that. I might be paraphrasing a little, but you get the gist of it). “I would consider it an honor to live on for eternity with your words as my life’s blood.”

Hunter agreed, never to realize the weight of that promise until one Sunday morning when John’s mother called, crying incoherently.

John...had died.

Hunter was left in a cold world without his best friend and doppelgänger. Hunter still thinks about that moment to this day. How the morning light crept through the bedroom window while Hunter stared at the ceiling, noticing how the popcorn texture created cruel, jagged shadows. How everything started to blur as his chest was crushed beneath the weight of what he was hearing, each word stacking heavily upon the other until only fitful, ragged gasps of air could escape his throat. Only fiery tears existed, especially after the horrific realization that Hunter now had to make some of the hardest phone calls of his life to the circle of friends who orbited around John’s solar pull.

Their star was no more, leaving their universe a colder and darker place.

John not only left Hunter, but a friend named Valenta as well. There was also Nathanial and Depweg. The friends were each stricken numb with the loss of such a beloved flare of life. But...

“Done!” Hunter crowed with a smile and an accompanying high five.

When the three found out that Hunter was keeping his promise to write the greatest story ever told-starring their dear friend, John--they demanded to be a part of the adventure. Each of them immediately knew what type of supernatural character they wanted to play in this urban fantasy eulogy. It would be a funeral pyre of words, and their fictional personas would be John’s pallbearers.

“No, dude. Promise. Promise you’ll write and finish a book about me. You are the most prolific

So please, as you read the following pages, feel free to laugh. Laugh at the situations John is placed in and

“A vampire,” John responded with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “But not one of those sparkly ones. A true bad ass!”

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | his dickish dialogue to those around him, because John is 100% in this story without alteration (albeit he is a vampire). Laugh and let his memory live on inside the theater of your mind.

Like he does in ours.

Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my beating heart, for giving my best friend the chance to live again. You are part of this magical ritual, and that would make him the happiest man in the...well, wherever the hell he is.

Stay Co n n e c te d

What is the elevator pitch for what your series is?

How many floors are we going? 2? 40? Okay okay, this is what reviewers are almost unanimously saying about my series: Deadpool as a vampire. I think that’s pretty spot on.

convinced me to publish the story, specifically Dustin Valenta. The rest, as they say, is math…I MEAN HISTORY. Yeah, that one.

Why is your first book titled I’m Glad You’re Dead?

This is the question I get the most when I tell people the story behind the series. Seems kind of odd to dedicate a book titled I’m Glad You’re Dead to your dead best friend, doesn’t it?

I’m Glad You’re Dead plays on a few levels. First: it’s a direct quote from the 1989 Batman from the man, the myth, the legend: Jack Nicholson. Batman is my — and was John’s — favorite movie of all time. We used to say it all the time to each other at random times. Honestly, our entire friendship was built on the foundation of movie quotes; and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Well, except…you know… the being dead part. I’d probably change that.

And B: John is a vampire in the series and he had to die to become immortal. But mostly that first thing I said.

Your profile on Audible has over 1,100 ratings at nearly 5 stars. How on Earth did you convince the Hall of Fame Narrator, Luke Daniels, to perform your series?

I’m Glad You’re Dead is quickly becoming a popular book within the Urban Fantasy community.

What was your inspiration for your series, the Preternatural Chronicles?

That’s actually a long story involving the supremely amazing narrator, R.C. Bray. The short version is, he wanted to originally produce and perform my series, but had just signed a contract with a big publisher. Instead, he personally helped me get in touch with Luke Daniels, and that was the beginning of something epic.

The books are dedicated to, and starring, my best friend and doppelgänger, John Cook. He always enjoyed my writing and one day made me promise to write a book about him. We grew up reading authors like Anne rice, so when asked what he wanted to be, he told me he wanted to be a vampire.

I promised — then he pulled a party foul and died, leaving me with no choice but to honor his memory, so I wrote I’m Glad You’re Dead.

Luke does an absolutely unparrelleled performance with my books. Because of him, I am my own biggest fan and cannot wait for the next audiobook to come out! He somehow manages to perform exactly how I imagine the scenes in my head without having to have only the most minimal of direction from me. Whenever I hear his rendition of my story, it’s as if I’m hearing it for the first time.

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How many books do you plan for the series?

There will be 13 novels in the series with a novella

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | or two thrown in for good measure. I have all the books planned out, which is seriously a lot of fun because it allows me to sprinkle in breadcrumbs here and there. That seemingly inconspicuous action that happened several books ago surely won’t have consequences later in the series…right?

When did you decide to become a writer?

One does not just “decide” to be a writer. The Ghost of Halloween Past chooses you from one of those rotating cages that bingo players use — the name escapes me. You perform a series of quests with increasing difficulty, only to face your final task.

Write a book. Then bam! You’re a writer.

When writing I’m Glad You’re Dead did anything stand out as particularly challenging?

I suck at editing, and I’ve had terrible luck with editors; but enough is enough. I recently hired five editors to tear my novella, Deliverance, apart. I paid their fees and told them they will be competing for my love. I’m calling it the Editor Games. Five enter; only one leaves. The rest will be executed by firing squad…or never used again. Definitely one or the other.

How did you come up with the story in I’m Glad You’re Dead?

I have listened to over 200 books on Audible from amazing authors like Stephen King, Jim Butcher, Kevin Hearne, Dennis E. Taylor, Richard Kadrey, Neil Gaiman, Keith C. Blackmore, and Craig Alanson. I pay attention to story structure and dissect things that make me go “holy sh*t! I loved that!”

I’ve also watched hours of YouTube and Masterclass videos from authors who describe their entire process from story ideas to publishing. Over the past few years, I have tried several different methods before finding what works for me.

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it was out of defiance on his part. So now, I use the Stephen King method of writing: All you need to know is the beginning, middle, and end. As I write the story, John and his friends fill in the blanks for me. It is truly as exciting to write the series as it is to read something from another author. I can’t wait to see what that witty jackass will do next! He is the perfect anti-hero and he has made me burst out laughing countless times while writing. Despite what my wife says, I’m actually pretty funny.

What do you like to do when not writing?

I enjoy spending time with my amazing wife and two dogs, one of which is a rescue (cue bonus points for saving a pit bull from certain death). Most Saturday’s, we load up into the SUV and go to the drive-in to watch movies. It’s funny that my puppies know when it is Saturday. They freak out and demand that we hurry up and get out the door. On a side note, I narrate my dogs using distinct voices, and damn it, they are hilarious.

What are some things that surprised you about becoming a writer?

It’s really freaking hard without an agent. Publishers don’t even consider you without one. And without a publisher, that means you get to cover everything out of pocket. Art work, title page, copyrighting, editors, promo videos, and even website promotions. Everyone wants their cut.

Is there anything coming down the pipeline you are excited about?

Book 7, “Those Wonderful Toys,” comes out on February 2nd, 2021 with the audiobook anticipated for late March.

Enjoy an excerpt from: I’m Glad You’re Dead I’m Glad You’re Dead Hunter Blain Paranormal Thriller My name is John Cook, and my life began the day my heart stopped beating.

You meet the most interesting men in Medieval prisons.

This one time, I met a guy who offered me immortality for the low, low price of changing my diet. I didn’t read the fine print. Because he wasn’t talking about a gluten free diet. More like hemoglobin full.

And now I’m a friggin’ vampire with five centuries of pop culture references.

Granted, at the time, I was listening to the dying screams of my mother and father being burned and eviscerated alive just outside the rusty bars of the prison cell, and my new best friend was offering me my only real chance at saving my own life and avenging my parents’ murderers—some day.

Except my first chance at vengeance took about five hundred years, and I had to wade through oceans of sin and violence, blackening my soul—and my already dark sense of humor—beyond redemption until I met Father Thomes—a Roman Catholic Priest—in present-day Houston. Papa Thomes taught me how to use my dark curse to fight for the good guys. Like Alfred and Robin did for Batman—except we straight up murder Jokers and Two-Faces. Biteman and Pope’n.

We stand up for the downtrodden, the forgotten, and the neglected…

By exsanguinating the wicked in horrific, truly imaginative ways, and having a grand ol’ time doing it.

You know what they say about doing what you love…

But our party is soon cut short when we learn the End of Days is just around the corner, and that the fine print of my contract might have hidden a few other tidbits. Like the fact that I was central to kicking off the Apocalypse, and that the Archdemons will stop at nothing to make sure The Dude Abides by the terms of his contract.

I guess I need a lawyer.

Get ready to laugh at extreme violence. I know I will. If you’re not laughing, you’re learning.

Excerpt “Okay, seriously, when the hell did we get an iPad?” I asked. I had it on my to-do list to purchase one of those X-boxes the cool kids went on about, or maybe a smart TV. Film was a big part of who I was and it was near painful to no have ready access to the newest content.

“Oh, this old thing?” He pushed the sleep button and closed the case.

“So, all those times I said out loud that I missed TV . . . ?” I asked, hands outstretched toward the iPad. “You were mentioning your night?” he segued.

“Dude! I’ve had the craziest day.”

“Night,” he corrected.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to tell the story that happened to me and not you?”

He didn’t respond, only glared in annoyance.

I recapped the past few evenings, with Depweg basically saving my life, the demon terrorizing downtown, and Locke showing up. I left out the part where I was swindled into getting a tanning membership so my car would be ready in time — which hadn’t even mattered in the end! I needed a watch.

“Let me get this straight, John. While being filmed, by an officer no less, you showed off your supernatural speed?” He paused, considering. “The other members of the supernatural society are not going to take this lightly, you realize.”

“It crossed my mind. But honestly, almost all of them have fled to different planes.”

“So, it’s true.” Da looked at the ground in deep contemplation.

“What’s true?” I asked.

He continued to stare at the ground, not answering.

“Da, tell me what’s going on. Now!” I demanded.

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| FEATURE AUTHOR | “I must go.” He folded in on himself and retreated to a different plane, leaving behind a micro-shock wave as the air rushed to fill the void.

Staring at the place where he had just been, I said, “Abra-ca-freaking-dabra.”

One of these nights, I was going to get Da to teach me that trick. Damn faeries.

I decided to take the rest of the night off and catch up on some reading. Climbing into my iron Fortress of Solitaire, I felt it best to read some more Sandman Slim, where the hero got to do whatever he felt like, good or bad, and didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. Helped relieve the stress of the night.

It was a well-known fact that the best sleep came from procrastination. Have a report that’s due in a few days? Take a nap!

It didn’t take long before I drifted off into a deep sleep.

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Uncaged Reviews Warwolfe Kathryn Le Veque Medieval Historical 1066 A.D. - Discover the origins of the original de Wolfe pack, led by the man known as WARWOLFE. Before the Duke of Normandy conquered England, a legend arose.

A man so fierce, so brave, and so noble, that the mere whisper of his name could strike both fear and admiration into the hearts of all men.

That name is Warwolfe.

Uncaged Review: I didn’t like this book, I loved it. I have to admit, I wasn’t too fond of Gatean at first. But one of the reasons is this is not a normal romance book from this author. But what this book does do is to give the reader a better background on many of the names that will come up in later books. De Russe, de Lohr, du Reims, de Lara and even gives you the background on how de Shera began. These names will be linked in future novels and the ancestry that this author has developed over her series of medieval novels and how they are all interconnected is mind boggling.

So even though there is some romance here, it is a smaller part of this book. This book is more about the amazing Knights and their true loyalty to each other – a true band of brothers not seen in modern times. As I said, Gatean took time to grow on me, but he did, with Ghislaine’s help. A great origin story that will give the readers of this author a better background and understanding on many books that follow. Reviewed by Cyrene

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Brides at Coconuts Beth Carter Contemporary Romance Four best friends. A rushed proposal. A jilted bride. A shocking DNA test. Just another day at Coconuts.

Still a virgin at nearly 40, Hope can’t believe a man is interested in her, as in really interested. As nervous as her students before prom, she timidly navigates the choppy dating waters like an awkward teen. Smitten by the guy who seems determined to win her heart, will she allow him to break down her barriers after he drops a colossal bombshell?

Uncaged Review: From a jilted bride, a drunk wedding at Coconuts – to an almost baby delivery in an elevator, the fun continues in the fifth book of this series. You can read these all as standalones, but this is a group of friends that you should start at the beginning with Thursdays at Coconuts to be able to get the full effect and back story. These stories are getting better and better with each book, and I laughed, smiled and was completely engaged from beginning to end. I was thrilled to see Hope get a lot of the spotlight in this book, and I still think Alex needs to dump the cop. The chemistry is long gone with those two, and Cheri and Cole couldn’t be a better fit. Talk about opposites.

I know the author will not go on with this series forever, and she probably has a lot of stories rumbling around in her head, but this series always feels like a comfortable pair of slippers each time a new book comes out and I miss Coconuts and these friends like they were my own when the book is over.

Reviewed by Cyrene

Into the Lyon’s Den Jade Lee Historical Regency

License to Bite Carrie Pulkinen Paranormal Romantic Comedy

Intrigue makes for strange bedfellows...

Elliott, Lord Byrn, often found himself in strange places, but none is more bizarre than the infamous Lyon’s Den gaming house in a tony part of London. The gambling doesn’t surprise him, nor the salacious things rumored to happen in the upstairs rooms. What shocks him is a slip of a girl jeweler/fence who bargains with him over a missing brooch. He needs her to refashion the thing before anyone else realizes it is missing and she drives a hard bargain.

It’s all fun and games... ...until someone wakes up dead.

Governor’s daughter Jane Anderson is used to getting what she wants. When a girls’ trip to Mardi Gras thrusts her into the arms—and fangs—of New Orleans’ hottest vampire, he gifts her with immortality, super strength, and a complexion to die for.

Harder than he can imagine...

Uncaged Review: Another entry into the Lyon’s Den connected world, and this one is quite intriguing. The connected world is the same gaming hell in London, which is owned by a matchmaker, Mrs. Dove Lyon.

So all the books will share that in common.

This book starts out with Lord Byrn going to find a brooch that was pawned for money – and he tracks the brooch to the gaming hell and a jeweler within.

Much to his surprise, is the designer of the jewelry is a young woman, and he will need her to remake it.

Along the way, she befriends Lord Bryn’s sister, Diana, who helps to give her a season in society, as long as people don’t find out where she came from.

All in all, this is a nice story, but it didn’t knock my socks off. It was a little slow, and some of the descriptions of people or places or events went on too long and really didn’t advance the story. I like the Lyon’s Den connected world and have read a few of them now and can recommend the series as a whole.

Reviewed by Cyrene

Uncaged Review: This is a fun book, and in times like today, fun is a good escape. This book reminds me a bit of the early books in the Lynsay Sands Argeneau series. Jane and her BFF Sophie are in New Orleans around Mardi Gras, as Jane is a travel blogger, and the daughter of the Texas governor. After drinking too much one night, they meet Ethan and Gaston – unknown to them in their drunkenness that they are vampires. But Ethan and Gaston get them home safe and sound. The next day, Jane and Sophie are out again, but as Jane is out taking selfies near a cool New Orleans cemetery, she is hit by a car. Ethan gets to her, and changes her into a vampire before she dies. But when she wakes up the next evening, he’s wondering if that was a mistake.

This has some really hilarious moments, and it is fun to see the author compare Ethan to Edward Cullen and Gaston to Jack Sparrow, since Gaston likes to bite the drunk people and get drunk himself, and Ethan is a broody, unhappy vampire.

Jane’s aversion to seeing blood makes it even funnier. There are a lot of fun moments, a whole lot of sass and the storyline was not overly deep and suspenseful, but it was a light hearted read that was welcomed in these darker days of winter.

Reviewed by Cyrene

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Uncaged Reviews The Legend of Skinner Robeland Rue Allyn Historical Western Pampered and privileged then betrayed and disowned, Elise Van Demer hides in plain sight and plots her revenge on the men who destroyed her life.

With her goal in sight, she encounters a lawman from her past. Boyd Alvarez could ruin everything, and the last thing she needs is wanting some man who only wants to protect her.

Uncaged Review: This is the first book I’ve read from this author, and I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last. I like the way the author doesn’t gloss over the wild west and over-romanticize it. The true old west was brutal and dangerous and this book plays out like a good film. After Elise is betrayed and her ranch stolen from her which she was meant to inherit, she plots revenge on those that betrayed her. The only fly in this ointment is Boyd, a bounty hunter that wants to protect her.

Elise finally lets Boyd help, but she makes it clear that she doesn’t want or need his protection.

This is a good story, it starts a tad slow in the beginning, but it’s not an overly long book, and once you get past the first couple chapters, the book picks up interest. I honestly could easily see this play out well as a movie on one of the streaming services. Boyd and Elise will need to work together to win back Elise’s ranch, and just maybe along the way, it will heal Boyd’s broken heart. Reviewed by Cyrene

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Into the Streets Charles Isaacs Political 20th Century Fiction It’s the late 1960s. The Vietnam War, the Antiwar Movement and the Black Power Movement are rushing toward their explosive peaks. In the midst of this charged time, an inter-racial pair of young activists fall madly in love. Awaiting them are excitement, danger, heartache and redemption.

Uncaged Review: The late 60s was a time when I was a very small child, so even though I did learn a lot about the 60s later on, I was close enough to it that it was a step back in time to read this book. Interracial couples were frowned upon, being gay was a problem that could be solved with the churches and therapy, and it was also a time of violence, riots and protests of the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights movement along with the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. So the political times were tumultuous and divisive.

Funny how history repeats itself. This story is a fictional love story between Steve and Cat, an interracial couple within the authentic accounts of the real history and their passion for their causes and for each other. As our main characters navigate this political turmoil, the reader will be drawn into the past on a campus in Chicago – and all the unrest of the times, deftly told by the author. Reviewed by Cyrene

A Tracker’s Tale Karen Avizur

A Widow’s Guide to Scandal Hallie Alexander

Paranormal Suspense

Historical Romance/Colonial

Welcome to the strange and perilous world of Katherine Colebrook: FBI special agent, Los Angeles… Trackers Division.

Henrietta Smith was fifteen when she stole a kiss from Marcus Hardwicke. Over a decade later, she’s still waiting to be kissed back ...

In Katherine’s world, werewolves, vampires, púcas, and other parasapien species – forced for centuries by human fear and prejudice to live at the fringes of society – have finally come out of hiding to demand their rightful place alongside us.

Within the FBI’s unit that handles parasapien cases, the Trackers division, Katherine Colebrook is one of the best.

Her psychic abilities made her a natural, allowing her to move between the parasapien and human worlds in ways that no other agent could. But Katherine’s calling hasn’t come without struggle and losses along the way.

Uncaged Review: This book is a slow builder, and it will get to the point where it’s hard to put down, but the first part of the book is building the world and introducing the characters. In this world, all types of supernaturals exist and live among the human world and an agent like Katherine, is a psychic who tracks the cases that the human world can’t. Katherine’s abilities give her an unique and rare gift to be able to see what the people are thinking and seeing the immediate future of their actions at times. Katherine also is one of the few with the license to kill parasapiens when needed.

There is not a large main arc running in this book, it’s about a week or so in Katherine’s life, both with her daughter and her foster child, and her work at the agency. There is not any romance in this book, but it didn’t need it here. One thing that is a bit confusing is how the point of views are written, since it switches off, sometimes I had to take a second to figure out which character was narrating. Looking forward to the next book. Reviewed by Cyrene

Henrietta learned the hard way that when you get what you pay for you might end up with a British soldier quartering in your home threatening your friends, an enormous dog tracking mud through your house and stealing the chickens, and Marcus Hardwicke disrupting your uncomplicated life by trying to improve it. And to think she just wanted her roof fixed.

Uncaged Review: This is a very enjoyable story for a debut author, and I’m looking forward to more of her work. Henrietta is a widow, who lost not only her husband (not a great loss) but she also lost her daughter to sickness. Able to stay in the home she shared with her husband, only on the good graces of her horrible Uncle-in-law who is always threatening to toss her out without a penny. Marcus, a man she knew from her childhood (and her first crush), comes back into her life – in a fun way. When he falls off her roof and breaks an ankle, Hen will put him up in the attic.

All kinds of fun ensues.

This is a fun read, with some laughter, steam and romance. This author is definitely one to watch and the secondary characters were almost as interesting as the main characters. Reviewed by Cyrene

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Uncaged Reviews Hidden Gypsy Magic Tena Stetler Paranormal Romance The Salem Wildlife Sanctuary is Gwen Taylor’s life work. Her Irish Gypsy heritage provides a hidden talent she uses to help the creatures under her care.

But even her magical skills can’t help new rescues in dire need of veterinary care.

The opportunity of signing on as the vet for Gwen’s sanctuary dropped into Brock Scutter’s lap after he expanded his practice to include wildlife.

The personal attraction he and Gwen experience is undeniable the more their professional and personal lives collide.

Uncaged Review: The third book in this series is an enchanting story of love, laughter, magic and family and my favorite so far. Some of the characters from previous books are back, which is always fun and holds the continuity of the series, and the romance between Brock and Gwen is fun, believable and sexy.

One of the things I love about this series, is that the magic is not overdone as you see in so many books. The magic is understated and the reader can almost believe it’s true.

This author has a way of making her characters realistic and likable, and you almost feel as if you are there with them, or at least wanting to escape into their world. Reviewed by Cyrene

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Carnival of Lies Laura Greenwood Paranormal Fantasy Trapped at the mysterious Carnival, witch-turned-vampire, Rina, knows there’s something not right about the way things are run.

Unable to do anything about it, she spends her time practising her lion taming act, hanging out with her best friend, and falling for her former sweetheart for the second time.

Uncaged Review: This prequel introduces the Carnival of Blades series and this book actually focuses on one of the acts, Rina - a vampire who has a lion taming act with lion shifters and how she finds and falls back in love with her first love. Book one in this series will come out in September 2021 and will focus on Rina’s best friend Caoimhe who we also meet in this prequel.

This is a good prequel, and it was a unique telling of this world and a carnival that things just aren’t all as they seem. The supernaturals that are here are stuck here, they can never leave. Reminds me of Hotel California. But when Rina has an assignment outside the carnival grounds, will she take the opportunity to leave?

Unfortunately, things don’t go well for Caoimhe - but we will have to find out more in book one. Reviewed

by Cyrene

Deception Victoria Saccenti

The Story Between Us Darlene Deluca

Contemporary Military Romance

Sweet Contemporary Romance

Her submission is his sweet revenge… until the truth detonates his plans.

When Joe learns Hunter’s name, his inner Dom’s lust turns to black rage—he’s convinced it’s her fault a teammate committed combat suicide.

He embarks on a plan to seduce her, but by the time her sweetness ensnares him, the truth threatens what could be the love of a lifetime.

Uncaged Review: I was pleasantly surprised by this book - as when I picked it up and saw it was another dom/sub genre, I almost groaned. The market has been saturated with these since the Grey movies, but this is a good read and not like many others just trying to make a play on the genre.

When Joe believes that the waitress he meets, Hunter is responsible for a teammate’s death, he sets out for revenge by turning her into his submissive. But there are enough twists and turns in this book, that you will question many different scenerios before all the truths are revealed. This is a good read for those who aren’t shy of a bit of hot sex and a good suspense. Reviewed

by Cyrene

Her agent warned her not to get attached to a fan. But children’s book author Kristen Hanover is about to break the rules. Kristen meets a young boy who is a victim of a tragic accident and is drawn into the heartbreaking situation.

Six years ago, Reed Armstrong never imagined he’d actually become guardian of his sister’s boy. Now he is, and most days he’s not sure he’s up to the task.

When he and Dylan meet Kristen, Reed downplays his nephew’s crush on the author. But as their lives become unexpectedly intertwined, he finds himself captivated as well.

Uncaged Review: A nice feel good book that will help you remember that there is good all around us, we just have to be open to it. Reed was turned into an insta-dad to his nephew, Dylan, and he stumbles in his new role at times, but when the two of them meet Kristen, a children’s author and a favorite of Dylan’s, their lives will change forever. Does Kristen really care about Reed and Dylan, or is she looking for another story?

Set your tissue box close, there are some truly heartbreaking moments, and also some of the great moments that will keep you turning pages.

This is one of those books you’ll think of long after you finish it. Reviewed by Cyrene

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Fang-Freakin-Tastic Reviews Fooled Kendall Grey Paranormal Fools rush in where gods fear to tread Hear that rumble? No, it’s not my stomach, though I could really go for a goat or three. It’s Thor. THE Thor who threatened to knock my head off with his stupid hammer back in the Viking Age. As of ten minutes ago, he was also my buddy, but revelatory runes and pissy Norns have a penchant for crapping on the great (former) god Loki. If mortality is a thorn in my side, Thor is a spiked baseball bat suppository.

Fang-Freakin-Tastic Review: Holy Odin’s underpants, this book (and series) had me rolling with both laughter and tears. Granted, not all of the tears were happy tears, but the happy far outweighed the sad. Unfortunately, this is the last book in the series, but I’m really, really hoping Kendall Grey decides to write a spin off or 5 because I’m not ready to say goodbye to these characters.

It was amazing to me to see the progression in Loki’s personality. Going from a selfish and childish god to a caring and mature woman couldn’t have been easy, but Loki pulled it off. Don’t get me wrong, there were still plenty of immature jokes that I thoroughly enjoyed, but the actions of the former god had definitely grown to be something of worth. Seeing the internal struggles Loki dealt with gave her a realism. We all struggle with internal issues, but as the series progressed, Loki learned to handle whatever was thrown at her.

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This is definitely a series I enjoyed reading. I’ll miss all the adventures and action. And of course, the humor. I enjoyed the Norse mythology, and it’s inspired me to look further into that subject. I’ve always found it fascinating, but this kind of jump started me into remembering to read more about it.

Reaping Willow Boone Brux Mythology/Fantasy My world has exploded. Just when I thought I had this reaping gig down, the rules changed.

It’s not about reaping stupid people anymore. Now, I must descend into the bowels of Tartarus to rescue my dead husband’s soul from Chaos. That was NOT in the job description. I’ll be traveling to the anus of existence with Nyx, my grandmother a trillion times removed. The crocheted afghans and cookie baking type…she is not. More like, snuffing me out with a sneeze if I piss her off. This should be a lot of fun.

about what I would do in that situation and still had no idea what I would do. I’d like to think I’d be a mature, responsible adult in the way I handled it, but lets face it, I’m neither of those things.

The action scenes are as good as ever. Lisa is easy to relate to with her awkward personality and not really ever knowing what she’s doing, but she manages to pull herself together when necessary.

Reaping Willow is another great addition to the Grim Reality series, and I can’t wait to see where this leads. I won’t say what happens at the end of this book, but let’s just say I was surprised.

Fang-Freakin-Tastic Review: Gods, I love this series. Just when I think nothing else can go wrong for Lisa, Brux pops up with something new and insane to throw her for a loop. Between the action and the humor, this is one of my favorite reaper series.

The idea of them going to a Brony convention had me gasping with laughter. The mental imagery Brux was able to give me really made my day. I have a pretty good imagination, but her words filled the picture into something more than my brain could have done on its own.

Each book of this series has something different to offer the reader, and Reaping Willow is no different.

In this one, Lisa has to try to rescue her dead husband from Tartarus. That’s got to be awkward since she has a boyfriend now and all, and he’d been keeping all kinds of secrets from her while he was alive. I’ll admit that as I was reading this, I frequently thought

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Fang-Freakin-Tastic Reviews I’m Glad You’re Dead Hunter Blain Paranormal Thriller After helplessly witnessing the execution of his family, John is approached by a strange man that promises the power of revenge, for a price; his life for the ability to walk the mortal plane for eternity. Fast forward several hundred years where John finds himself with an unlikely ally, Father Thomes Philseep. Together, they have the holy mission of doing God’s will by protecting this plane from the nefarious evil that seeks the end of times. After centuries of feeding on mortal blood, if John’s blackened soul can get a little bleaching at the same time, well, all the better.

Fang-Freakin-Tastic Review: I’ve found a new favorite vampire series. I accidentally stumbled across Hunter Blain’s I’m Glad You’re Dead. I was one of those, “You may also like…” situations, and it was on KU, so I figured I’d take a chance on it. I thought the title was interesting, but you know how that can go. A book can make all kinds of promises but doesn’t always keep them. I’ve started tons of books that started out with so much promise, only to land flat on its face. This is not one of those books. This book (and series, as I’m currently on book 6) keeps every promise and then some.

John Cook makes a great vampire. He’s annoying to his friends but in a likable way. He makes movie references and tells dated and inappropriate jokes. He’s a vicious killer when he wants to be, but beneath the beard lies a man who really does want to do good in the world. And not just

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to keep the apocalypse from happening. I mean, he also wants to go to heaven when he dies, but still. He has the choice to do good or evil and, for the most part, chooses good whenever possible. He’s also really funny.

The supporting characters are great too. Depweg the werewolf, Da the fairy who hates fairies, and Father Thomes the priest. They each give something different to the story and to John, and nothing would be the same without them. Their friendship is fun and light and something I’m slightly jealous of.

Holy fight scenes, Batman! A good portion of the book is well-written fight scenes. John can’t seem to get away from trouble. Every time he turns around, someone is trying to kill him. Something cool about this series is that it’s not your stereotypical vampire book. Which is good bc John isn’t your stereotypical vampire. He is able to do things I’ve not seen in books before when it comes to his blood and how he acquires it. He’s an “abomination” and lives up to it.

I really like the length of these books. I tend to read fairly quickly, so I hate it when I like a book but read too fast, and it’s over almost as fast as it began. This book isn’t overly long or filled with unnecessary words. Some authors add extra stuff just to fill the space, but Blain doesn’t do that at all. Every page is necessary. Every fight scene. Every situation. And I loved every page of it. And so much funny. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve snort laughed out loud to the dismay of people around me.

Overall, this is a great book and a great series. If you love vampires and are tired of the same old, same old, check this out. It’s full of humor and action, and you never know what John will stumble upon next.

Ketamine Addicted Pandas Dani Brown Occult/Horror Ketamine fuelled revenge.

Pandas have been locked up too long.

Away from the stable diet of baboon brains and techno they need. Pursued

by Nazis and aided by demons, they leave Northern Europe in carnage.

Fang-Freakin-Tastic Review: What the hell did I just read? I can say with confidence this is the strangest book I think I’ve ever read. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I mean I don’t recall ever reading a book anywhere close to what this is.

I’ve never really thought about Pandas past the idea of them being at zoos etc but now that I’ve read this book, I look at them in a completely different light.

Are they on ketamine? Are they planning on taking over? In all fairness, they do slightly remind me of a few people I’ve known over the course of my life with their affection for ketamine and techno music, but that was the late 90’s so what can you do?

This is the first book I’ve read by Dani Brown, and it won’t be the last. There is just something slightly disturbing about this author, and I think I like it. I look forward to finding out more about this author and seeing what else she can ruin for me.

Also, this book is definitely not for everyone. There are scenes, let me rephrase, most of this book is full of disturbing imagery and violence, so if that’s not your thing, do not read this book.

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Amy’s Bookshelf Reviews A Twist of Karma Wendy Wanner Ghost Thriller When a grieving mother turns to an ancient Buddhist ritual for solace and mistakenly awakens a vengeful spirit, dark karma threatens to destroy everything she holds dear…

Struggling with depression after the death of her young daughter, Jennifer flees to a healing center in the Sri Lankan jungle.

Encouraged to visit the local temple, she finds unexpected meaning in the beliefs of Buddhism.

Amy’s Review: Intriguing read Wanner pens a magnificent paranormal story in v.

I haven’t read anything from this author before, and I really enjoyed it. The characters were relatable and very diverse, especially the difference between what is human and what is spirit. I feel that “karma” is also its own character, and there is a depth of characters, especially Jennifer, who is not only grief stricken, but also fighting spirits. This author brings the story to life. The story is full of twists and grand interactions with the “other side.” The story brings in the believable, even if almost impossible. This book deserves a second read! (and maybe more). What an enjoyable and adventurous journey. This story kept this reader turning the pages, yes the title grabbed my attention, but the painting of words kept me glued to the pages. The thrills and intrigue is written clearly, and the characterizations are engrossing.

The author’s technique of intense characters and great plotlines is a gift. An unpredictable story that I loved trying to figure out what will happen next.

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Days of Elijah Eliza Earsman Non-Fiction/History In this riveting real-life account, Eliza Earsman shares all about Freemasonry’s documented connections to corrupt politics and harrowing world events. Days of Elijah exposes some of the darkest secrets the Freemasons have attempted to hide.

Amy’s Review: Interesting story Earsman pens a grand, religious and true story in Days of Elijah: A True Story. I’ve read many of Earsman’s work and this one is separate from the rest. It’s the true story of Elijah, and Freemasonry. Now, I have to admit that I looked up to see what Freemasonry meant just to make sure I understood every bit of what I was reading. This author did her research, and writes not only about God and His grace, but also is able to insert her feelings and passions in her writing.

It was a grand read, and though I am not religious, I do have beliefs and faith. I would recommend everyone to read this book. It’s not only about Christianity and Freemasonry, but also about having faith through struggles and tragedies of life. I learned a lot by reading this, and it was a page-turner that had to be read from beginning to end, even through the hardships.

Hawthorn Woods Patrick Canning Amatuer Sleuths Seeking to rediscover herself after a divorce, a detective-minded woman embarks on solving the small mysteries of a Midwest neighborhood, only to learn the secrets hidden there are more horrifying than she could have ever imagined.

Amy’s Review: Secrets and mysteries!

Canning pens a suspenseful and mysterious story in Hawthorn Woods. I have read anything from this author before, and I really enjoyed it. The characters were realistic and very unique in their own way, whether it be Francine trying to create a new life for herself or the residents of Hawthorn Woods and their secrets of the small town. This book deserves a second read! (and maybe more). A very well-written story, and I enjoyed it. This author is not just a writer but a great storyteller making this story a magnificent story that kept this reader turning the pages. The thrills and intrigue is written clearly, and the characterizations are engrossing. Love this story. Filled with twists and unpredictability, which makes it a read this reader couldn’t put down until the end.

Squeeze Your Heart Marie Krepps Fantasy Romance It has been over a year since Melissa was divorced and she is ready for some fun in her life. As a single mother in a world where “other” creatures are living amongst humans, she needs a distraction.

Dating seems too tedious, so Melissa decides it would be amusing to have some one-night stands so she can get her groove back. The problem is, her first such encounter is with a man whom she can’t seem to get off her mind.

Amy’s Review: Full of twists, fantasy and even romance!

Krepps pens a magnificent fantastical story in Squeeze Your Heart. I have read Krepps work before and loved them. I like the premise of the story, and how there is a no-strings romance, but it becomes something more, and the fantasy is not the backdrop, it’s the story in a world with humans and “creatures.” The story brings in the believable, even if almost impossible. This book deserves a second read! (and maybe more). A very wellwritten story, and I enjoyed it. It is always a joy to read this author’s stories. This story was intriguing and kept the reader guessing. It’s a great story to follow and try to figure out what will happen next.

This author’s characters develop and interacts well with the other characters.

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Amy’s Bookshelf Reviews The Fair John Heldt Time Travel Romance Months after stealing two time machines from a madman who wants them back, the Lanes, a family of six, seek safety and contentment in 1893, the latest stop on a journey through time. While parents Mark and Mary find relief at Chicago’s World’s Columbian Exposition, an extravaganza of science and splendor, children Jeremy, Laura, and Ashley find romance, friendship, and thrills.

Amy’s Review: Another great “timeless” story

by Heldt Heldt pens a wonderful time travel and historical story in The Fair. I have read many stories from this author before, and I really enjoyed each and every one of them. There is the mix of present and the past, and each era is written so well that the reader is right there with the characters. Heldt has quite the imagination, and everything, even if “maybe” improbable makes sense. If time travel and time machines were real (and maybe they are, Heldt holds the secrets.) The characters were intense, deep and had a lot of layers, and personalities. The Lanes hold the secret of time travel, and sometimes they find the era where they wish to live or explore. Each family member has his or her own story and shows the reasons of their search for a better, safer time. This book deserves a second read! (and maybe more), actually all of Heldt’s books whether in this series or another one. It is always a joy to read this author’s stories.

This author is not just a writer but a great storyteller.

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The Realm of Realism R.M. Gauthier Mythology/Fantasy A magician...

Three Angels...

The universe in peril...

In a world of tricks and illusions, Aaron, a magician by trade, finds himself questioning his sanity when Angels appear in his world asking for help.

Amy’s Review: An intriguing new realm!

Gauthier pens a wonderful story in The Realm of Realism, which follows (book 1) The Realm of Lost Souls. This author brings the stories to life. There is a great chemistry between the characters, and a depth that makes them realistic and flawed, even in alternate worlds and realms. Magnificent story, kept this reader turning the pages. A definite attention grabber. Aaron is back, and on a mission and the world is almost turned upside down. It’s a grand journey to follow this story and even see how it ties in to the first two books in the series. The author’s technique of intense characters and great plotlines is a gift.

The World Encyclopedia of Serial Killers, Volume Four T-Z Susan Hall Non-Fiction, Encyclopedia The World Encyclopedia of Serial Killers is the most comprehensive set of its kind in the history of true crime publishing.

Written and compiled by Susan Hall, the four-volume set has more than 1600 entries of male and female serial killers from around the world.

Amy’s Review: Very interesting encyclopedia Hall pens an informative and intriguing, yet kind of creepy true crime title in THE WORLD ENCYCLOPEDIA OF SERIAL KILLERS: Volume Four T-Z. I have read the first three volumes, and this finishes up the alphabet of famous or should I say infamous serial killers, and those that may not be recognized except to the victims and their families. This book not only covers the solved, but the unsolved cases, and there may be victims of at least some of these killers that have never been recovered or identified. It’s not a morbid read, but it gives insight into the everyday looking person, who could be a killer behind those smiling eyes. Many serial killers don’t “look” like killers, but are very charming, while others have killing fetishes that may never be understood, not even to them.

Unnatural Deven Greene Medical Thriller Dr. Erica Rosen is perplexed when she sees a young Chinese girl with blue eyes in her San Francisco pediatrics clinic. The girl’s mother, Ting, is secretive, and Erica suspects she has entered the country illegally. Later, Erica encounters Ting’s son and discovers he has an unusual mutation. Erica learns that Ting’s children underwent embryonic stem cell gene editing as part of a secret Chinese government-run program.

Amy’s Review: Intriguing Greene pens a medical thriller in Unnatural. I haven’t read anything from this author before, and I really enjoyed it. The characters were realistic and very complex. This author brings the stories to life. This definitely was an intriguing story that not only brought in the complex science of DNA and DNA mutation, but also Chinese culture and the intensity of trying to cover up and rid of the “mutation.” It’s such a unique story and I really, really enjoyed it. The story brings in the believable, even if almost impossible (or maybe not impossible or improbable). This book deserves a second read! (and maybe more). A very well-written story, and I enjoyed it. A magnificent story, kept this reader turning the pages. The thrills and intrigue is written clearly, and the characterizations are engrossing. It’s a magnificent story with twists and different plot lines to follow and try to figure out what will happen next.

Issue 55 | February 2021 |

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