Connections eMagazine May 2025 Edition

Connections eMagazine

Message from the Editor

The Purpose of this publication is to connect readers and bloggers with authors. This is a FREE eMagazine that is produced quarterly. May is a favorite time for me. It’s that moment when flowers are blooming, the grass is taking on that vibrant green and the temperatures are warm and inviting. It’s the perfect time to settle outside and enjoy the cool breeze with a good book. Be sure to take a look around. In this edition, we have some great new releases and a variety or short stories to love.

“Reading… a vacation for the mind… ” – Dave Berry

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Magnatas Court — Interview with the feisty, female, four-piece band from the Black Country, England (Page 6)

“It’s not that I don’t like people. It’s just that when I’m in the company of others –even my nearest and dearest – there always comes a moment when I’d rather be reading a book.”

– Maureen Corrigan

Book Reviews

Author Tips and Tricks

Blogs | Articles

• A Picture is Worth a 1000 Words — Multiple Authors

• Illustrated Idioms by Susan Faw

• The Mouse Family that Live by the Brambles by Gez Robinson

• Short Stories — Duty Bound? by Tom Benson

• Diversity Doodles by Briony Isaacs

• 77 1/2 Herbs — Shepherd’s Purse by Ronesa Aveela

• Writing Fiction — Research (Part 3) by Lyssa Medana

•

Editorial Team

EDITOR –IN– CHIEF

Melanie P. Smith

https://melaniepsmith.com

CONTENT EDITOR

Sylva Fae

https://www.facebook.com/SylvaFae

COPY EDITOR

LaPriel Dye

https://dyenamicsediting.com

SOCIAL MEDIA COORDINATOR

Emalee Jensen

CONTENT MANAGER

Lyssa Medana https://alwaysanotherchapter.co.uk

REVIEWS..

Eric Lahti Living the Henchlife https://ericlahti.wordpress.com/category/reviews

Kaye Lynn Booth Writing to be Read https://writingtoberead.com/category/writing/book-review

PUBLISHER..

MPSmith Publishing

PARTNERS

Creative Edge Publicity

https://www.creative-edge.services

MPSmith Publishing and Connections eMagazine does not endorse any information contained in the articles or advertisements throughout this magazine. All contents are Copyright © by the individual authors and used with their permission. All rights reserved.

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So, who are Magnatas Court?

In brief, Magnatas Court are a feisty, female, four-piece band from the Black Country, England. Their music fuses elements of punk, reggae and goth, and the lyrics and style are strongly influenced by the riot grrrl movement. Magnatas Court was formed in 2022, by Keeley Wright and while they were in sixth form college. Today, the band comprises of Keeley Wright, Caitlin Turner, Scarlet Pemberton and Tilly Holland.

sic can t live up to the experiences of my youth – how wrong I am! And Magnatas Court proved that. I missed the ‘riot grrrl’ phase, sticking with my rock/ metal roots, but Magnatas Court introduced me to a music genre that combines all the best of punk, goth and rock music, together with real musical talent and song writing.

Gig Review

The evening started with meeting the band backstage, I was immediately struck by how welcoming and fun they were to be with. As expected, I was largely the assistant during the interview, with Defiance confidently managing the setting, filming and questioning, but the band included me, even introducing me as ‘their mum’ to the other bands playing.

Finally, it was their turn to take to the stage, and I was entranced throughout by their energetic and visceral performance. The previously half-empty venue was suddenly full of people who were as engaged as I was.

Whilst Defiance sung along with their latest singles (she knows all the words), I soaked up the atmosphere and watched at the front of the stage, briefly forgetting that I was more than double the age of most people in the audience.

Each member of Magnatas Court was brilliant in their own right. Singer, Keeley delivered a passionate and energetic performance, frequently engaging with the audience and exuding a striking stage presence. Drummer, Tilly remained focused and intense throughout, delivering drumbeats that intertwined perfectly with the vocals. Guitarist, Cait and bassist, Scar were a delight to watch and both were clearly accomplished musicians, as well as backing singers. Together, in my words, ‘they rocked’.

Riot Grrrl

Despite being a relatively new band, these young women truly embody the strong and powerful riot grrrl image, both in their passionate attitudes, and in their music. Now, if you’re like I was, and have no idea what riot grrrl is, I’ll save you the time Googling.

According to Wikipedia: ‘Riot grrrl is an underground feminist punk movement that began during the early 1990s within the United States in Olympia, Washington, and the greater Pacific Northwest, and has expanded to at least 26 other countries. A subcultural movement that combines feminism, punk music, and politics, it is often associated with third-wave feminism, which is sometimes seen as having grown out of the riot grrrl movement and has recently been seen in fourth-wave feminist punk music that rose in the 2010s. The genre has also been described as coming out of indie rock, with the punk scene serving as an inspiration for a movement in which women could express anger, rage, and frustration, emotions considered socially acceptable for male songwriters but less commonly for women. ’

The interview – by Defiance

Today, I’m in Manchester with Magnatas Court. Please introduce yourselves.

Tilly: My name’s Tilly, and I’m the drummer.

Cait: I’m Cait; I play guitar.

Keeley: I’m Keeley. I’m the singer.

Scar: I’m Scar, the bassist.

Tell me about the band. How did you meet and how did you come together?

Tilly: Well, I actually went to watch Keeley and Cait.

Cait: We’d met before. (gesturing to Keeley) We started the band.

Keeley: Yeah, I knew Tilly through a mutual friend.

Tilly: So, I went to watch them when they had a different bassist and a different drummer, and I thought, ‘these are sick. These are really good,’ and I was a bit jealous.

Keeley: She wanted a piece of us.

Tilly: But then Keeley asked me if I wanted to be the drummer and I was very happy.

Cait: We met in sixth form (gesturing to Keeley). We went to like a performing studio school, and I did music, and Keeley really loved my handbag.

Keeley: What? Is that how we met? Is that actually how we met?

Cait: Yeah, she said that she loved my bag.

Keeley: No, you asked me to do a Police song.

Cait: Oh yeah, I asked her to do a cover of ‘Message in a Bottle’, by The Police.

Keeley: Yeah, but the band I was in couldn’t actually learn it, because it was too hard, so we didn’t do it. But we were rehearsing and making our own songs around that point, so we just thought we should just form a band and do that type of stuff. At the time, I really loved goth stuff, and you (Cait) were really into it as well, and metal. So, we decided on a goth band, but it didn’t really work out like that. I mean, we’ve done way more since then. And I knew Scar because of sessions.

Scar: Yeah, we (Scar and Keeley) used to get the first bus home together at six or seven in the morning. And you asked several times, ‘do you play bass? Do you want to play bass with me?’ I saw you play at the O2. Then, I came for an audition for bass player, and I was literally the only person that came so I just got the job.

Keeley: And I just turned to her and said, ‘well, you know you’re in the band.’

That’s amazing. Can you tell me what genre you play?

Tilly: It’s basically like riot grrrl and goth, but then we went into more punk stuff. We’re inspired by quite feminine bands, but we also like a lot of jazz, reggae and rock steady as well.

Keeley: You’ve (Tilly) always been into that stuff but we got into that a bit later on. And I loved it, and Scar already listened to it as well. And you (Cait) got introduced to it as well.

Cait: Yeah, Keeley took me to see Bad Manners, and it was an awakening.

Scar: I think it depends on what we’re listening to at the moment as well. Like, when we were listening too a lot of hardcore, we were like, ‘yeah! Let’s make it!’ So, there’s a lot of hardcore. It also depends on what gigs we’re going to and what we’re listening to.

So, you kind of fluctuate. Obviously, the genre means a lot to you but it seems very personal. How important is it for this to be an all-girl band?

Keeley: We did have a man on bass for one day.

Tilly: It didn’t work out.

Cait: We used to have a different drummer, and then we used to get my boyfriend to cover sometimes, but other than that, it’s just us.

Being a girl band, have you experienced sexism, either in the band, or seen it in the music scene?

Scar: It was on International Women’s Day, which made it ten times worse. We were playing at the HMV Empire, and I don’t know the sound engineer’s name, but if I did, I would name and shame that man. Imagine, we’re getting up (on stage) to play… (mimics sound engineer) ‘You gotta make sure you actually sing into the mic!’

He was talking to us like we didn’t know what we were doing. At one point, I couldn’t get the DI box to work, but he was just being rude, I tried to ask a question and he turned round and walked off – on Women’s Day, as well! And we were the only girl band on the line-up.

Cait: I’ve got one. This happened the other week. I walked in and they went, ‘Oh, are you with the band? I was like, ‘Um, I am in the band.’

All interrupting: I am the band!

Cait: ‘I am the band; I’m not with the band!’

Keeley: And also, men telling us, ‘You’re alright, Love,’ ‘Stand up, take a photo. Smile for the camera, Love.’

Cait: They’re like, ‘Do you need help, Love?’ ‘Do you want me to carry that, Darling?’ It’s belittling, whereas, with the men, they’re like, ‘Yes Sir.’

Keeley: they don’t question if they can do it.

It feels really belittling. So, do you feel the men get put on a pedestal when it comes to bands and the music scene?

Scar: Yes, definitely.

Scar: I feel like, when it comes to men, and especially because we’re quite young, they treat us like we don’t know what we’re doing. Obviously, sometimes I need help but I’ll ask, but men act like, ‘Oh, they don’t know what they’re doing.’

Cait: We definitely do get, not spoken down to, but spoken to like we don’t know what we’re doing.

Tilly: And then people are shocked if we’re good. They’re like, ‘Wow! You’re much better than we were expecting. You girls are really good. ’

They’re coming to your show, and they’re shocked?

Keeley: Yeah, literally. And men expect that they’re going to be the headliners of the show as well. Once, one of the bands got told they were on before us, and they did a full 45-minute set and you could tell they were angry – they knew what they did, and they did apologise for it afterwards. And they say things like (in reference to her clothing) ‘Oh that’s too short, she’s got nothing on.’ But a guy can take his top off on stage and that’s alright?

Cait: This isn’t about us playing on stage, this is just us watching at gigs; guys like ‘crowdkilling’ (crowdkilling is someone deliberately going out of their way to hit or cause harm to those surrounding them at gigs) and aiming for you just because you’re a smaller person in the pit. Big sweaty men in the pit, crushing us, is urrgh!

Ignoring the negative experiences, have you got an experience that’s really meant a lot to you? Something you keep close to your heart?

Tilly: For me, it was the day we spent in the studio recording our first single. I really liked that day because it felt quite special. Of course, it’s a bit of a basic answer – I feel like any band would say that, but that was an especially special day.

Cait: I think when people sing our songs to us, it’s really surreal. I once walked into a toilet, and people in the venue started singing our song to us. But when people know our songs and know the lyrics… This girl came to our gigs, and we hadn’t yet released any of the songs, but she knew all the words, which was really weird but it was so good. She was right at the front and she was singing it to us. People singing our songs and actually taking their time to listen, because there ’s so many bands out there, they could go and listen to, and they ’ve chosen to listen to us.

Keeley: My one, I don’t know actually, it’s all special. With every gig, I think it’s nice, because I don’t get to see them (the other band members) often. I just think every gig is a great experience because we’re so close. And when people talk about my lyrics, and say things like, ‘I really like that new song and the lyrics mean so much. ’ Coming from the experience that I’ve had and how it resonates with them, it’s just nice to know that people actually listen and read the lyrics.

Scar: I would say one was the gig that you (Keeley) put on before you moved to uni, because Maggies (Magnatas Court) played, and you put that on. It was for feminine people and it was a safe space for that. I think that was really nice, because you didn ’t just put the bands on, it was for anyone creative. I think that was really good for the scene. There are not many girl bands, but when you get booked on line -ups with them, it’s great.

Keeley: That’s something I want to add on, we need to put on more girl gigs and queer gigs, and things like that.

Do you think it’s important for the community to uplift others?

Keeley: Yeah, oh definitely yes.

Cait: Because on stage, all you ever see is the ‘boys club’. We’re usually the only girls on the line-up, so it would be nice to see more of it.

Is there anything else you want to add, like a little message to people?

Keeley: We’ve got a new EP coming out. We’ve got a music video coming out…

Tilly: We’ve got a lot of things coming up.

Keeley: Just be yourself.

Cait: And start a girl band, because we need more.

All: Yeah, be in a girl band.

You can connect with Magnatas Court on:

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/magnatascourtband/ Facebook https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61575162632781

Linktree https://linktr.ee/magnatascourt

I was truly blown away by Magnatas Court, with both their talent, and their attitudes to promoting female bands. Their youth and energy give them the confidence to speak to their generation (and mine), showcasing their skills and proving that women have a valid place in the music industry, and especially within the genres they cover.

Magnatas Court are still a relatively new band, but they have achieved much in a few years. I believe they are a band to watch, because with more experience, they are only going to get better.

Sylva Fae and Defiance are a creative mother and daughter team. Sylva is a children’s author, and Defiance is a filmmaker / photographer. Both love the energy of watching live bands, and going to music festivals. They also enjoy an outdoors lifestyle, camping in their little woodland. They both find inspiration for their creative pursuits from the music scene, and from being out in nature.

When my relationship with my partner, Sarah, ended, I was at a loss for a few days until I realised something.

There were many things I’d wanted to try over the years, and here I was, a free man again. For a long time, I’d fantasised about crossdressing, and I wondered if I was too late to try it at fifty.

My only visitors were the postman and the window cleaner, and I rarely spoke to the neighbours, so I’d have plenty of privacy. It turned out that life on my own wouldn’t mean I'd be lonely.

https://mybook.to/ Mature_Sub_CD

https://katyacummingerotica.wordpress.com/

CC Robinson has over two decades’ experience in cross -cultural settings as a medical doctor working in postcivil war nations and as an Associate Pastor at a multiethnic congregation led by an African-American man in Cincinnati, the setting for Divided. When she’s not throwing on her superhero cape to save her characters from their dystopian antics, CC enjoys hiking, gardening, dancing, swimming, and driving her jeep through the woods with her husband and three kids.

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

Hi, there! Obviously, I’m an author, but I’m also a medical doctor, a pastor at an ethnically diverse congregation in Cincinnati, a wife, and a mom of three Gen Z kids. I love being outdoors, hiking or jeeping, and my husband and I love to ballroom dance when we get the opportunity. I kind of fell into being an author after an allnight dream. But more about that later.

Other than writing do you have any hobbies?

I love hiking, swimming, jeeping, ballroom dancing, and gardening.

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? How did you decide what types of book you would write?

I write in the young adult dystopian and post -apocalyptic space. I love these genres in particular since they allow me to explore edgy themes and “what-if’s.” Young adult dystopian, in particular, brings the combination of coming -of-age themes, the found-family trope, and the hopefulness of youth together with the edge-of-your-seat action and political intrigue inherent in the dystopian genre.

When did you start writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

I started writing for publication after an all -night dream. It was 2012. Trayvon Martin had just been murdered and many American cities had witnessed race riots and protests. In my dream, I saw America after we fought a civil war over racial issues. A dictator had taken power and indiscriminately divided us up into our ethnic groups and put up walls between us all to better control us. Forty -five years later teenagers were growing up in the Federated Republic of America never having met someone from another ethnicity. They were curious about the other areas and wanted to know and learn. This is when I met my four main protagonists – Marcos, Rose, Harriet, and Jason. When I woke up, I knew I had to tell their story.

How / where do you find the plots you write about?

My writing, including some of my shorter work, mostly comes out of deeply-held concern for our nation and the direction I see us heading. Obviously, the Divided series was born out of the dream, but other concerns from everyday life, like toxic positivity and the impact of AI on our society, inspired other pieces, most not yet published.

If you write in multiple genres, do you have a favorite, or is one type of book easier for you to write than others, and why?

Unabashedly, young adult dystopian is my favorite. I’m an avid reader, though, and read in many genres. So perhaps in the future, I’ll branch out further.

What do you want written on your headstone and why?

“Faithful wife and mother”

Because if we don’t prioritize family, we can never get that time back.

Can you share something personal with your readers? Do you have any holiday traditions? What kind of music do you enjoy? What kind of movies do you prefer? Do you have a favorite author?

One of our holiday traditions that I most look forward to is at Christmas. My daughters and I spend a day baking cookies. We start out with Buckeyes (peanut butter balls dipped in chocolate), move to peanut butter blossoms (yes, we like peanut butter in my house!), then end the day with decorated sugar cookies. Over the years, the mess we make has reduced, but the memories are just as strong.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a panster? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I would consider myself a blend of plotter and pantser –what I call a “plant-ser.” I sketch a rough outline of the high points of each book inside the series, but as I’m writing I allow my characters room to flex and adjust that plot. I know where I’m going and generally how I’ll get there, but allowing these little twists and turns makes it interesting for me as a writer. As for research, I spent months researching everything for the Divided series before I wrote a single word. I conducted lengthy interviews of old and new friends from other ethnicities to better understand their lived experience. I also deepdove into military special forces, combat fighting styles, weaponry, the rise and fall of nations and governments, transitions of power, various dictatorial rulers throughout history and in current times, the concentration camps of Nazi Germany and the labor camps of modern day North Korea, and about a thousand other topics. All that being said, if I come across a research issue while writing, I generally note it in the scene and move on. I don’t want to get distracted in the writing flow and I know myself too well. I get lost in rabbit holes of research!

I just released the second novella in the Divided companion novella series – Deception – in February. Deception features Sophie, one of the main Underground rebel movement leaders. She uncovers a deadly secret and travels to the Underground’s national headquarters to stop the massacre. But she discovers betrayal layered upon deception within the very leadership she had turned to for help. It’s a quick novella done in the style of a DND side quest and it’s available at retailers everywhere.

Secrets are Sophie's specialty.

But when her own secrets threaten to destroy the Underground, Sophie must risk everything to save it. She flees the fortified walls of Queenstown and ventures through the desolate lands of the Federated Republic of America to reach the Underground's hidden mountain sanctuary. She’s a master of secrets, but when Sophie arrives at the mountain stronghold, she is met with chaos and shocking betrayal. Her determination to save the Underground is tested when her friend Rich is brutally killed by those she trusted.

Can Sophie save the Underground and escape with her life, or will her secrets be buried in the mountains forever?

This novella is Book 1.5 of the Divided young adult dystopian series and features a secondary character from the novels. It is best read after Divided Book 1: Divided. Sophie's side quest story contains no spoilers.

Also, the second book in the Divided series, Caged, releases June 24, 2025. Rose asks too many questions and her enemies kidnap her to silence her. But when she learns her enemies are angling to control a deadly weapon, Rose must escape or millions will die. It’s a heart-pounding action-adventure tale starring a strong, stubborn female protagonist and perfect for fans of Divergent or The Hunger Games.

What books have influenced your life the most?

I adore the classic early 2000’s young adult dystopian books, such as The Hunger Games, Divergent, The Maze Runner, Dune, and the Wool Series. However, I’m also a huge fan of 1984, Brave New World, The Giver series, and all the writing of Octavia Butler and Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. On the other end of the spectrum, I’ve also read War and Peace and The Great Gatsby multiple times and re -read Pride and Prejudice almost yearly. These three classics defined great character exposition and relationships for me.

How much of the book is realistic?

To the extent that readers tell me they could see my plot actually happening, I think it’s realistic. However, I hope my writing can turn us away from that potential future. So, in that respect, my writing is 100% fictional.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

There sure is! I want to inspire young people to live their lives without the artificial ethnic and class walls of our society. I want them to see characters venturing past their comfortable zone and working together to confront evil and oppression. I want young readers to be hopeful about their future and their role in shaping it. And I want to inspire them to learn how to work out disagreements without becoming disagreeable, a lesson I wish I could teach all of social media right now.

What are your current projects?

I’m ramping up to rewrite Books three and four in the Divided series, Betrayed and United, respectively. These are each about half written in first draft form but will need a full rewrite due to Marcos’s and Rose’s shenanigans in books one and two. I’m approaching these projects differently this time and writing them all at once. I’ll also be editing and producing them at the same time, so these two releases will occur within a month of each other in 2026. I want to make sure to deliver a great product for readers, while also giving myself the space to resolve all the plot threads without rushing.

Do you have a mentor that helped or encouraged you to follow your dream of writing?

Not necessarily a mentor, but my husband, Steve, has been my biggest cheerleader and helper in my writing journey. Since deciding on the indie author route, though, I’ve gained multiple mentors – Alexa Bigwarfe at Write, Publish, Sell and Pamela Sheppard are two of my go -to experts in the publishing business.

Can you share a sample of your current work with us? Here’s an excerpt from my upcoming release, Caged, first chapter.

Rose walked away from Mayor Kim’s office door in Queenstown’s Central Administrative Building, or CAB for short, frustrated at her inability to pick the lock. While Carrie Wang, her mom ’s long-time mentee, had taught her lock-picking skills a long time ago, Rose had little practice. She desperately wanted to find out why her mother was in hiding — and had left Queenstown without even saying goodbye to her only child and figured the first place to search should be her mother’s boss’s office. Kim’s office had not just the usual door lock, but also a deadbolt and a keypad. Rose had locked out the display trying various birthdates and wanted to beat her head against the wall.

And who knew if Rose could ever return to Central after using her Queenstown College identification to convince the Little Asian gate guard to let her in? She hoped it worked a second time, although she no longer had to go to the College for her program’s training sessions. The last thing Rose needed right now was to have to answer pointed questions about where she’d been or what she’d been doing, especially after escaping Chul’s oversight once again. Who knew Chul slept like the dead and the guard on her door liked to sneak in middle-of-the-night smoke breaks?

She sighed, heading toward the CAB’s back stairwell. Maybe she’d try to break into the Ivory council offices.

Voices drifted toward her as she descended the tiled stairs.

Who would be at the CAB in the middle of the night? Theoretically, she should be alone except for the sleeping night guard, whom she’d snuck past earlier.

Mindful to not squeak her rubber soles on the floors, Rose darted up the stairwell.

“But, how do we…” a woman’s voice drifted through the stairwell door on the third level holding the Ivory and Havana council offices.

Rose wiped sweat from her forehead and paused.

“Madame Secretary, let’s discuss this in my office,” a male voice said.

Rose inched her face upward until only her eyes and forehead were above the security door ’s thick glass window. The Federated Republic of America’s illustrious Secretary of State Juanita Gonzalez, in her trademark bright fuchsia pants suit, preceded Hudson Britwell and Junior into an office along the right-hand side of the hallway. Junior, the National Director of Prisons, had been in Queenstown since Rose’s acceptance into the elite physicist training program. But why was he still here? Didn ’t he have important business elsewhere, especially after Rose and her friends had liberated one of the secret labor camps outside Queenstown just days previously.

What in Martin’s macrocosm was Britwell doing out of the Central Prison?

Last Rose had seen, Tío was driving off after their little rebel group had liberated QT3, with Britwell and a gaggle of QT3 guards headed for Ivory patrol offices. Sam and Jason had assured everyone Captain Foster would arrest Britwell.

That Junior hung out with Hudson Britwell, Jason’s manipulative, power-seeking father, didn’t shock Rose in the least. But the three of them together and Hudson no longer imprisoned? Something was up, and it wasn’t good.

But then, Rose had returned to her life as usual, locked up in her condo studying physics. Aside from the intellectual stimulation the program provided, Rose sensed that something far bigger than just training physicists in acoustical and nuclear physics was at play. But what?

And now with Britwell out of prison, Junior and the Secretary of State still in Queenstown, and the three of them secretly meeting together in the middle of the night, Rose had to get to bottom of it all. Rose groaned.

This was a mess and a half, and Rose had no way of getting a message to Jason or Sam, to let them know Hudson Britwell was walking free and, clearly, still scheming.

She dropped her hands to her sides and trudged down to the first level. She wouldn ’t be getting answers tonight, nor was she sure how she’d escape her patrol minders again, though Britwell ’s office would be a great place to find those answers, or so she suspected.

Rose lifted her feet, rolling heel to toe across the marble floor of the CAB ’s grand lobby. The night guard didn’t stir, but kept snoring loudly, his head tilted back against his chair.

How could anyone sleep like that? Had Britwell drugged him? Or maybe this guard always slept on duty, and Britwell knew that?

Rose turned away from the guard, a bright object inside the city council ’s meeting room catching her eye. She crept into the large conference room full of dark woods and filled bookshelves, and wondered who’d added a floor-to-ceiling mirror? She’d been here as a kid when her mother had started working for Mr. Kim, back when a single mom could still bring her child to work on the weekends. Rose had spent long days inside this room, reading the dusty tomes of civil law and official Federated Republic of America history. Of course, she’d barely understood a quarter of it, and perhaps that was why she’d drifted toward science and math instead of administration or history.

But this mirror had never been here. She would’ve noticed it and stood for hours in front of it or fingered its ornate frame, which she did now.

Rose ran her left hand over the side of the frame, marveling at the detailed etchings of flowers and curves and teardrops which caught the light from the lobby chandelier. Some were carved into the metallic frame, while others lifted out of it. An artist must’ve spent hours on this frame to create the intricate details.

But why display it in the city council room? It seemed like it belonged in Martin ’s Palace in Martinsburg.

Her left index finger caught on a raised button, and Rose gasped. She examined the disguised button inside a teardrop and pressed it. With a loud click, the mirror swung open, revealing a bare wooden staircase descending into darkness.

Rose pivoted.

She was still alone. The guard slept at his post. No voices echoed through the lobby or from the stairwells. Did she dare head down the stairs? She had to see where this led, perhaps understand why the mirror concealed a secret entrance into the very place where the city’s power brokers met.

Rose closed the door behind her and descended the staircase, gently placing one foot onto the stair below to prevent the wood from creaking. She was startled when lights flicked on. Despite her slow descent, the staircase swayed and creaked, and Rose jumped to the bottom, landing on all fours on a dirt floor.

Broad wood beams held up the rough -hewn dirt walls and ceiling, naked bulbs punctuating the ceiling every ten or so feet. Rose raced down the tunnel’s length and up the staircase on the other side. She unlocked the simple bolt from the tunnel side and entered thick darkness.

Rose stepped to the side, allowing the light from the tunnel ’s ceiling bulbs to pierce into this space.

She was inside a cleaning closet. Various brooms, mops, a bucket, and a standing sink littered the floor between her and a flimsy wooden door. She crossed the cement floor, stepping over a mop handle, around a rolling bucket, and opened the door into an empty hallway.

Where was she? That tunnel hadn’t been very long, so Rose thought she was still inside the Central area. But this definitely wasn’t the CAB.

She slowed her breathing and told herself to listen and observe in silence.

Rose didn’t dare turn on any lights, so she creeped down the hallway toward the moonlight streaming into a large open space. Bare shelves arranged into rows filled the sides of the open warehouse, but otherwise the space was empty. But Rose couldn’t tarry. Couldn’t risk Hudson Britwell or Junior seeing her at the CAB after hours. Nor could she leave any sign that this secret tunnel was no longer so secret.

She backtracked quickly to the closet and the tunnel entrance, closing the mirror door, then moving through the tunnel. Rose thought she knew which warehouse she’d ended up in, but she had an urgent need to know for sure. Plus how to get inside this warehouse.

Rose emerged from the warehouse’s loading dock area into the humid night air, the sound of the Martin River burbling ahead of her. The river walk, with its overgrown shrubbery and dense weeds, was directly ahead of her. That meant the rest of the city lay behind her. Rose spun, stopping when the Central Administration Building came into view, directly to her west.

The tunnel had led her just one building over.

Who needed a secret tunnel accessing the city council room? Why not use the front door? Or if someone wanted secrecy, why not pick the flimsy lock on the CAB’s back loading dock?

It made little sense to Rose, who shook her head and made her way back toward Little Asia. If nothing else, Rose now knew another way into the CAB, bypassing the front door and guards on duty.

Pick one of your characters and share some of their backstory that didn’t make it into the novel.

Rose was bullied as a kid. I wrote a backstory scene where Rose is picked on by the popular girls in her grade. I felt like Rose had enough unresolved anger toward her mother that the reader didn ’t need the burden of knowing she was bullied. Many readers will pick up on that fact just from some of Rose’s interior thoughts and how she longs to be accepted. It’s part of who Rose is, but not on the page in either Caged or Divided.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Just keep writing. Your first draft will stink, and that’s normal. Read it like an editor, make yourself notes for improvement, and redraft. Wash, rinse, repeat until you (and your editor – please hire one!) are happy with the finished product.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

I have a free gift for you! Head on over to https://ccrobinsonauthor.com/connections to pick up your free eBook copy of Upheaval, the prequel to the Divided series. See how it all started and how Moses and Juli tried to keep Cincinnati from falling to the druglord-turned-dictator Martin.

Is there one person past or present you would like to meet and why?

Any of the authors I listed above, but especially Suzanne Collins. The durability of The Hunger Games and how she managed the transition from book to movie is awe-inspiring.

If money was no issue would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

Can I say yes to both? This is my problem with retiring. I can ’t decide where I’d want to live –by the ocean or in a cabin in the mountains.

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress?

My website, https://ccrobinsonauthor.com , is the best place to connect with my writing, find where my books are sold, and join my insider reader’s club, The Underground newsletter. New subscribers from this magazine receive Upheaval for free at https:// ccrobinsonauthor.com/connections.

I’m also on socials as @ccrobinsonauthor and I post regularly, though I interact the most on Instagram.

We had some great entries for our last challenge. If you didn’t get a chance to read them, you should take a minute to check them out. Congratulations to our top winners for getting the most reader votes on their submission. You can read the winning story as well as the other entries here…

https://view.publitas.com/mpsmith-publishing/ connections-emagazine-1st-quarter-2025/page/38

1st Place Siren Song Val Tobin

2nd Place The Yes/No Game Sylva Fae

2nd Place After the Party Lyssa Medena

Everyone has heard the saying A Picture is Worth 1000 Words. Well, this is where we put that saying to the test. In each edition, we post an image and ask authors to tell a story in approximately 1000 words. Each story is unique, compelling and interesting. It just goes to show, while the picture might be worth a thousand words those words can be as diverse as the authors writing them

Keep reading to discover new authors and their stories based on the picture provided. And be sure to visit our Facebook page to vote for your favorite.

https://www.facebook.com/ConnectionsEMagazine

Last Call

https://valtobin.com/wp

Alan should’ve been groggy. In pain. Wet especially wet. He was, after all, lying washed up on the shore of what he assumed was Lake Ontario. One foot was still in the water; the other curled up, its toes untouched by the occasional lap of waves. In his hand, he held his cell phone, the one with the turquoise cover to match the stupid turquoise shirt that his wife had bought him. He’d hated that shirt wouldn’t be caught dead in it. Yet now, he feared he was.

All the clues pointed to that, and the ultimate proof would be whether he could stand. Until then, he could pretend he was in shock. Or paralyzed. Anything but dead. He squinted at his phone. It felt solid in his hand, which Alan considered a good thing. He pressed on it with a finger and activated the screen. His face then opened it, and he thumbed his way to the contacts. Selected Trina, his wife. Called her.

By

Val Tobin

Got her voicemail.

At the beep, he said, “Plane crashed. Swam to shore. Track my phone.” He almost hung up then, but at the last second thought to add, “Love you.”

He disconnected the call.

He did love her, didn’t he? Their marriage had lasted ten years so far. They’d had troubles lately he’d almost cheated on her, but reversed course. Not because the temptation didn’t exist it did, in the form of his receptionist. She wasn’t overly sexy or anything, but she understood him. What a cliché. My wife doesn’t understand me. Boo hoo. That meant nothing now, not when he recalled all the thoughtful things Trina had done for him. Image after image flooded his mind: Trina caring for him when he was sick; supporting him when he returned to school; helping him study for his finals; etcetera. He saw all the etceteras.

He dropped his head onto the dirt and closed his eyes. When he noticed he didn ’t feel the grit under his face, he yanked it up again.

I’m dead. Or paralyzed. Not paralyzed, or he wouldn’t have been able to make the call. Had he made the call? He moved to lift his phone, which had dropped to the ground without his awareness, and his hand passed through it.

Did that mean he never made the call? It certainly implied he was dead. Somehow, that didn ’t bother him as much as the possibility that he’d never called his wife. Never told her he loved her.

Time to stand.

He pressed his hands against the ground, marveling that they didn’t sink through it the way they passed through his phone. He pushed onto his hands and knees. No pain. No cold or wet. He inhaled or he attempted to inhale. He thought his chest rose, but he felt no air pulling into his lungs. Smelled not a goddamn thing.

Goddamn. Was there a god in all this to damn? A God capital G? If there was, he was hiding. Alan scanned his surroundings, realizing for the first time he didn’t really know where he’d landed. The beach stretched in all directions, but the farther his gaze traveled from the shore, the grassier the terrain grew until it ended in a row of beachfront homes. He ought to be on the American side. Rochester, New York, most likely.

He’d taken his first solo flight that morning. He’d wanted to fly over the US, turn around, and fly back to the small island airport in Ontario. After financial success had freed him from accounting, flight lessons became his obsession. He’d insisted on taking this flight alone. Master of the skies. Soaring free.

Against Trina’s wishes. She’d worried. She always worried. In all honesty, he’d considered her a killjoy from the time the honeymoon had ended. Suddenly the fun-loving Trina had vanished, and the worrywart took her place.

If only he could see her one more time, he’d tell her she was right. He stood. Looked down.

His body continued to lie there, so yeah, dead. Knew it.

Then why was he still here? Did this mean he had unfinished business? Yeah, growing old. Was he stuck here, or could he go see his wife?

Alan focused on Trina, wherever she might be. He didn’t have to strain himself, and the transition was pleasant enough. He landed in their kitchen.

She sat at the table, her eyes red rimmed, her hair tousled. Through the window, all was darkness even though on the beach he’d left it’d been day. Across from her sat her mother, Beatrice. Between them stood a teapot and all the fixins for tea.

He smelled nothing, though the table held a bouquet of fresh flowers and a loaf of quick bread baked in the oven. Even the light in the room struck wrong. The stainless-steel appliances lacked their usual luster.

“I missed his call.” Trina’s voice broke.

“You couldn’t have saved him.”

“No, but I could’ve told him I love him. He won’t know.” The words she left unsaid resonated in his head as if he could hear them telepathically. I should’ve told him I needed him. Maybe he wouldn’t have drifted away.

He dropped to his knees before her, but when he tried to clasp her hands in his, they passed through her. He growled in frustration.

Trina shivered, gave the air a sniff. “I feel him.”

Beatrice’s expression turned dubious, but she kept her doubts to herself. Or would have if Alan hadn’t read her thoughts. Wishful thinking.

Alan ignored his mother-in-law and focused on his wife. “I’m sorry. I’ve always loved you. I always will.”

As a light that only he could see filled the kitchen, Trina’s chest rose and fell more slowly as her breathing deepened, almost as if she were drifting into sleep.

Her last message to him followed him into the light. “Thank you for calling.”

If you missed reading the awardwinning first novel in the Injured Love series, you can find Injury at a variety of retailers in paperback and e-book. It now sports a new cover and refreshed blurb, though not all retailers have updated their stores yet, so you might see the old cover or blurb in some places. But don’t worry, it’s still the same exciting story.

Winner of Connections

eMagazine's 2017 Readers Choice awards for Romance (Gold) and Overall (Silver).

Trigger Warning// SA; Kidnapping and abduction; alcohol abuse.

www.books2read.com/injury

Val Tobin writes fiction in a variety of genres and searches the world over for the perfect butter tart. Her home is in Newmarket, Ontario, where she enjoys writing, reading, and talking about writing and reading.

When Oscar-winning actress Daniella Grayson wakes up to a nightmare, her world is turned upside down. Her mother is arrested for the murder of Dani's father, a crime committed twenty years ago. As the media frenzy spirals out of control, Dani's carefully constructed life begins to crumble.

With her career on the line and her personal life in shambles, Dani must navigate the treacherous waters of Hollywood's elite, fend off a dangerous ex-boyfriend, and uncover the truth about her father's death. Amidst the chaos, she finds solace in the arms of Robert "Cope" Copeland, her loyal chauffeur turned bodyguard. But as secrets unravel and danger looms, Dani must confront her past to protect her future.

Injury is a gripping tale of love, betrayal, and the relentless pursuit of truth. Will Dani find the strength to overcome her darkest fears, or will the shadows of her past consume her?

Insult to Injury is a gripping tale of passion, betrayal, and the fight for survival in the glittering yet perilous world of Hollywood.

Available July 1, 2025

Currently available for pre-order, Val Tobin’s romantic suspense novel Insult to Injury will release on July 1, 2025. Book two in the Injured Love series, Insult to Injury is a sequel to the award-winning Injury. The story focuses on Dani Grayson’s best friend Liz Logan and the new man in her life, Blake Bennett.

Pre-Order Now

Behind the fame, a deadly game unfolds

Co-stars in a brand-new television series based on the movies Dani made popular, Liz and Blake must navigate the treacherous waters of Hollywood fame. Liz finds herself the target of a relentless stalker who will stop at nothing to see her fail. With danger lurking around every corner, Liz and Blake must confront their deepest fears and insecurities to survive. Will their love withstand the storm, or will the stalker succeed in tearing them apart forever?

www.books2read.com/insulttoinjury

Get a Taste of the Action with a Sample

of Chapter One

Here’s a sneak peek at the opening chapter of Insult to Injury:

Quit arguing and move on. Inwardly, Elizabeth “Liz” Logan rolled her eyes; outwardly, she leaned forward in the small auditorium’s padded seat and tilted her head, feigning rapt attention.

The theater, located inside a high school and which she visited every Thursday night to attend acting classes, encouraged an intimate feel. Rows of closely packed seats, upholstered in a slightly worn, velvety fabric that smelled faintly of dust and old wood, kept the students clustered together in tight groups. The seating arrangement followed a gentle incline, ensuring every audience member had a clear view of the modest stage below.

The stage’s floor, a scuffed, polished hardwood, glimmered faintly under the glow of overhead lights. A thick, burgundy curtain, edges slightly frayed, framed the stage. A simple backdrop painted with soft hues provided a versatile background for the diverse scenes the students performed during each lesson.

At center stage, two students bickered about setting up the scene they were about to enact. The young woman, Jessica, wanted her partner, Bohdan, to walk toward her as he said his lines, but he argued the script called for him to speak when he reached her.

From her front-row-center seat, Liz had an unobstructed view. Thirty other wannabe actors surrounded her, all focusing on the couple before them. On a folding chair behind the performers, retired actor-turned-acting-coach Martin Crenshaw observed the argument without comment and with a neutral expression on his craggy, gray-bearded face. His long gray hair was tied into a ponytail. As always, he’d dressed casually for class, wearing jeans, a turtleneck, and an earth-toned sweater vest. He’d probably attended Woodstock in the ’60s and smoked his share of dope over the years. Liz liked that he allowed his students to play out any personal dramas along with the scenes they presented, but in this instance, she wished he’d prod them along.

With one eye on Martin and the performers, she eased her hand into her purse and slid out her cell phone, ringer off, enough to check the time. She spotted an alert for a text from Tim Morrison, her agent.

Liz scrolled through the various prompts. Breath held, she opened the chat and viewed the message: Chemistry test on Monday, January 4. Will send you details when I get them. For a moment, she froze, her breath catching in her throat as her mind raced to process the words. Her fingertips tingled and her pulse pounded in her ears. Her thoughts whirled in a chaotic mix: relief that her audition had left an impression, excitement at the

opportunity to work on a series that would add significantly to her resume, and a sudden rush of self-doubt that questioned whether she was truly ready for this next step.

She took a deep breath, drawing in the room's air as though grounding herself with each inhale. As she calmed, she released a relieved sigh and bit back a doubt -silencing cheer, determination welling up inside her. She could do this. She would do this. After sending Tim a thumbs up, she slipped her phone back into her purse.

The couple on the stage had ceased bickering and continued with the scene, but Liz watched without seeing and listened without hearing.

A chemistry test. For an actor, it meant meeting a potential co -star and performing one or more scenes together. The showrunners hadn’t shared information about who they’d hired as her co-star since she didn’t have the job yet. The callback was a win, but the part wouldn’t be hers until she’d exhibited on-screen chemistry with the male lead.

“Miss Logan? Are you with us?”

Liz snapped out of her reverie. She moved her focus from the front of the stage to the back, where Martin stood in front of his chair, staring at her. The rest of the room had fallen silent. The performers also stared at her. When she glanced around, she met the gazes of those in her vicinity.

“Um, yes. Sorry.” She wasn’t about to tell him she’d checked her phone he had a rule against accessing phones during class. Students had to leave the room first. It minimized the number of times people pulled out their phones without outright banning them. Martin ejected anyone caught using a cell phone during class for the duration of the evening.

“Then answer the question.”

“I thought I just did.”

Soft snickers filled the room.

Martin smirked. “Not that. My original question.”

She swallowed. “I … could you repeat it, please? I didn’t catch it.” “And why is that?”

Damn. He knew what she’d done. Might as well confess. If he kicked her out of the class, she’d call some friends and go celebrate the callback. She could make things up next class.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to check the time on my phone and saw I had a message from my agent.” She cleared her throat. “I couldn’t help peeking at it.” She flashed a broad, exuberant grin. “I landed a chemistry test for a lead role in a new television series. ”

“Congratulations.” He stared contemplatively.

The room waited. Liz held her breath. Would he throw her out of class or brush the transgression aside? If he ignored it, he risked setting a precedent or being accused of favoritism. She wouldn’t blame him if he asked her to leave.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” he finally said. “Do I reward her for landing the role, or do I ask her to leave so you don’t think you can check your phones whenever the urge strikes?”

She stood and started collecting her things. “Sorry, Martin. I’ll leave.”

“Smart move, Logan. Before you go, answer two questions.”

She stood straight and faced the stage. “Yes?”

“First, what did you think of the performance here? Before you checked out. ”

Liz cleared her throat and tried to organize her thoughts. Offer a positive, a negative, and another positive they called that the shit-sandwich critique. Though everyone understood it as a psychological tactic, it was still the best way to deliver bad news. Liz always tried to frame criticism as an opportunity. Her turn on that stage would come soon enough, and she hoped anyone she criticized would show her the same mercy.

She focused on Jessica and Bohdan and said, “Both of you showed dedication to getting the scene right. Your argument demonstrated you care about getting into the characters and nailing the part. Jessica, your insistence on directing your partner caused you to ignore your character. You focused so much on him that you distracted us and fell out of character.”

Jessica scowled but quickly turned her expression neutral. Bohdan waited, a slight smile adorning his lips.

He won’t like this next bit so much. Liz continued. “Stanley was supposed to be drunk in this scene Bo, you didn’t convince me that you’d had too much to drink and could get violent.”

As predicted, the smile fled from the actor’s face.

“While you both need to dig deeper into the characters ’ emotions, you played well off each other. If you can focus on who you’re supposed to be instead of on what your partner is doing, you’ll nail the performance.”

She waited while Martin hashed out the feedback with the two actors, who accepted the constructive criticism with grace. When finished, Martin sent the pair back to their seats and faced Liz. “Now, tell us, Liz Logan, what part are you up for, and how did you win it? ”

She scanned the room. All faces were riveted on her. A part of her exulted in the triumph; another part of her worried that some would hold it against her. She cleared her throat again, frustrated at the habit she still hadn’t broken even after years of auditions.

I’d better get over it before Monday. She envisioned herself hemming and hawing her way through the chemistry test. The throat-clearing habit had cost her other auditions in the past, but it was how her nerves expressed themselves. Among other things, she ’d signed up for acting classes to help her overcome her stage fright. At least she didn ’t have a facial tic to deal with. She’d known an actor who’d twitched and winked whenever he got nervous.

She straightened her back, pulling herself up tall. “I’m up for a lead role in a new series coming to NetStream,” she said. “They’re shooting eight episodes for the first season. If it gets picked up, they’ll do at least two, maybe even four, more seasons. ”

“What’s the project?” Martin prodded. She hesitated. This was where her fellow students would start to resent her. “It’s based on the Injury movies, which are based on the novels. I’m slated to play the part of Felicity Sanderson.”

From behind her came a loud intake of breath and then a derisive snort. “Oh, well, no wonder. You’re friends with Daniella Grayson. Must be nice to get handed roles without having to work for them.”

Liz blinked back tears, but with frustration and anger rather than hurt. Before she could respond, Martin stepped to the edge of the stage, his face red. He pointed to the guy who’d snarked at Liz.

“Mr. D’Angela, stand up.”

As Kevin rose, Liz slumped into her chair. Though her natural inclination was always to make herself the center of attention, she never wanted so badly to disappear.

Order Injury or Insult to Injury via the following links: Injury: www.books2read.com/injury

Insult to Injury: www.books2read.com/insulttoinjury

Survivor

https://www.facebook.com/SylvaFae

By Sylva Fae

Damnit! It’s dead!

I don’t know why I expected my phone to work after I’d dragged myself out of the sea; it was as soaked as I was. I took a moment to assess my situation. I was alone, on a beach, my clothing torn and my head fuzzy. My first instinct had been to phone for help but that option was out. I shook my head to clear the fuzziness and tried to remember how I came to be here...

A taxi ride...my wife babbling excitedly beside me...an airport, no, a private airfield. I’m boarding a small plane... Jane grinning as she waves goodbye, refusing to tell me where I’m going... “Trust me, Darling, you’re going to love it!” Then blank.

As fragments of the past came back, I tried to piece it together – it was a surprise anniversary present from Jane, but I still had no idea how I came to be washed up on a deserted beach. I reasoned that the plane must have crashed, but I couldn’t see any wreckage or signs of other survivors.

My tummy rumbled and instinctively I grabbed my phone to check the time, but my stomach was a more reliable indicator of lunchtime than the blank screen. No point trying to figure out how I got here, I needed a plan: find help, find food and get home.

I assessed my surroundings properly. I was in a cove; the sandy beach gradually merged into long grasses, then woodland beyond. It all looked quite familiar. I recognised pine and sycamore trees and a tangle of brambles and nettles.

So I haven’t gone far! I’m still in the UK at least.

I relaxed somewhat. I was on home ground, which meant people, and help had to be close by. “Hello! Is there anyone there? I need help! HELLO!”

My shouting sent a flock of wood pigeons flapping out of the trees, but was otherwise met with silence. I set off to search the area, trying to stay on sandy ground. I winced and cursed as spiky thorns and sharp rocks pierced my bare feet, still, it was better than attempting to wade through the brambles and nettles. I continued to shout, to no avail. There was nobody here, just sea, sand, rocks and woodland.

After what I guessed to be an hour, I arrived back at the cove, tired and dejected. I’d gone full circle. I was on an island, a small uninhabited island! Jane will be waiting for me to ring, she’ll alert someone when she doesn’t hear from me, I reasoned in hope. In the meantime, I was stuck here, and hungry. All the survival programs I’d watched came to mind. Yes! I need to make a fire to signal for help. Then build a shelter, find food... My mood lifted slightly as I planned my next moves.

It was easier said than done. I gathered dry sticks, and built a campfire on the beach, but lighting it was another matter. The TV survivalists made using a bow drill look so easy, but I’d been trying for ages, and only managed to get blisters. I imagined Jane laughing at my poor efforts. She called me a ‘Sofa Survivalist’. So many times I’d sat in the comfort of my living room, shouting criticism at the TV as contestants battled to survive jungle environments, and yet here I was, struggling to make a simple fire.

I’d no idea of the time, but I needed to build a shelter before it went dark. At least my futile firelighting efforts had given my clothes time to dry out. I braced myself, and entered the wooded area. Pine needles spiked my bare feet, but I ignored the pain, and dragged branches out to where I’d built the campfire.

Building a shelter wasn’t as easy as it looked on the TV either! Finally, after much swearing, I had something that vaguely resembled a shelter, but no amount of trying could get the fire to light. Jane’s right! I’m nothing but a sofa survivalist. Okay, next I need to find food and water. My exploration of the island had not yielded any convenient freshwater ponds – water was going to be a problem, but I could ponder that while I looked for food. I knew there were wood pigeons, but I also knew my hunting skills were poorer than my fire-lighting skills. I quickly accepted that this wasn’t an option, especially given that I had no fire to cook on. Searching the woods, I brushed past a patch of nettles, and as I cursed at the itchy bumps forming on my calves, I remembered nettles were edible. It was better than nothing. Tentatively, I picked a leaf and chewed it - it wasn’t too bad. It would have to do. I ate as many nettle leaves as I could stomach and made my way back to the shelter. It was getting dark and I was exhausted. Food and water would be a task for the next day. That’s if I don’t get rescued first, I thought hopefully, and edged into my precariously balanced shelter. I settled down for a cold and uncomfortable night.

“Cameras rolling, in three, two, ...”

“I’m Caris Day, welcome to another rescue on Sofa Survivor! We’re about to go surprise Doug, and find out how he survived a night on this beautiful Scottish island. As we’ve seen so far on our hidden cameras, Doug has failed to light a fire or find water, but he has managed to build a shelter, and he did locate one of the many edible plants on the island. Just to recap, Doug was secretly nominated by his wife, Jane to do the Sofa Survivor challenge. Jane, tell us why you nominated your husband for this, and how you think he did.”

“Well Caris, Doug loves watching all the survival shows, and thinks he knows better than the contestants. I thought it would do him good to put his survival skills to the test. I have to be honest, he’s done better than I expected,” Jane laughed.

“Yes, he made it through the night, at least. How do you think he’ll react when he finds out we drugged him and planted him here? ”

“Relieved to be rescued, at first, but then he’s going to kill me,” Jane chuckled.

“Oh dear! Well, let’s go rescue Doug and see what he has to say about his Sofa Survivor experience.”

Sylva Fae is a married mum of three from Lancashire, England. She has spent twenty years teaching literacy to adults with learning difficulties and disabilities, and now works from home as a children’s writer and illustrator.

Illustrated Idioms

Inspired story prompts by

Susan Faw

When I created my author website at the launch of my authorial career, I was lost as to what to blog about. It is a common problem for authors who are starting out. Most of us feel that no one wants to listen to us talk about or dogs or our families or look at pretty cat pictures. So instead of blogging about what people flock to every day, I decided to write short, quick stories that illustrated something that I had long been fascinated with, the odd words and phrases that make up English idiom.

I bought a copy of The American Heritage ® Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer. With that primer in place, I was ready to bring to life the idioms that we so often use but rarely understand their sources.

Can you guess the idiom in the story?

Stormy Seas

The night was wet and windy.

For days, the gales had risen and fallen in ever -increasing fervor as the hurricane grew from a blip on the radar into a full-fledged mega storm. The coast guard advance warning systems broadcast a steady stream of nautical chatter, pushing urgent updates into the airways, advising mariners of the size, strength, location and heading of the sea monster chewing its way through the abnormally warm North Atlantic waters.

Landfall north of New York City was unusual but not unheard of. The low lying coastal towns and inlets were accustomed to higher than normal tides, but to actually take a direct hit from a hurricane was so rare as to not factor into the living memories of those living in coastal communities.

So, my honorary midnight to four a.m. shift at the historical lighthouse was expected to be an evening full of playing cards with my buddy Ted, another lighthouse enthusiast.

We came for the solitude, the chance to get away from our noisy kid -filled homes. This was our idea of a man cave: quiet, lonely with the best view in town, especially on what promised to be a howler of an evening as the hurricane passed.

The lighthouse ran on electricity, but lanterns and kerosene were still to be found in the cupboards of the service room which, much to our glee, was fully functional and stocked.

The drive to Ted’s house on the northern shore of the inlet was wilder than usual. The dusky light turned dark when a tree crashed down, dousing the few remaining streetlights before leaving town. Rain lashed the windshield as I dodged the occasional branch littering the highway.

Ted made a mad dash from the porch to the passenger side as I pulled up in front of his house. The wind splattered rain onto his seat as he plopped down, hauling the door closed. Rain dripped from his parka.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? The roads are likely to be clogged with debris once this monster roars past,” I said.

Ted grinned and held up his knapsack full of munchies and a Thermos no doubt full of coffee and laced with something a bit stronger.

“This will be a night to remember. The shots I’ ll be able to take from the lantern room will be epic. Just what I need for my blog.”

I revved the engine and a short time later we were parked off the point where the lighthouse perched on a soaring promontory of rock that jutted about fifty feet from the shoreline. Large white waves curled and crashed onto the rocks and boulders below. A twisted footpath through the tall grass was the only access to the lighthouse and gusts of winds snatched at our clothing like greedy hands attempting to push us off a path that was suddenly too narrow.

Our flashlights bobbed as we ran the last few feet to the heavy iron door of the service entrance and wrenched it open, tumbling inside and securing the latch behind us. The sound of the wailing winds shut off abruptly and became a moan outside the base.

“That’s odd,” I said. “Why is the beacon not lit yet?” Ted dropped his pack and opened up the control panel for the electric lighting. He flipped the breakers on and off, on and off. Nothing happened.

“It seems like something has gone wrong with the feed. ” He frowned at the panel, eyes tracing the wires and following their path up through the lighthouse to the lantern. “Maybe something has gotten loose above. Here grab a lantern, and let’ s go take a look.”

Pulling a lighter from his pack, Ted pulled off the lantern chimney and lit the wick then replaced it. Light spilled into the room.

We picked up our lanterns by the wire handle, and Ted grabbed his pack, then we headed up the tight curving staircase on the far side of the room, winding up and up and up, inspecting the electrical cabling as we climbed. Reaching the summit, a trap door was visible in the ceiling above our heads. I slid back the pair of bolts and shoved on the hatch, then climbed into the lantern room.

A glorious and wicked sight met my eyes. Lightning flashed and rains streamed by the exterior glass of the lighthouse, the winds whipping and tugging at the room, angrily attempting to pluck it from its perch atop the stone building.

The lights from our lanterns filled the room and illuminated the lantern room and the reason that it was still dark. Lying dead, by the cabling that led to the fresnel lens were three huge rats. The wiring beside them had been chewed through.

“It’s a good thing we came tonight,” said Ted. “Everyone knows to stay away from this shoreline, but still I would hate to not be able to see this light, even with modern -day technology.”

Ted opened up the lens compartment and placed his lantern inside, turning up the wick to its brightest glow. The lens picked up the bright light and magnified it, beaming it out into the tempest howling outside.

It was as Ted was closing the lens door that we saw them.

Fifty feet below us and a quarter-mile off shore was a ship.

Ghostly and silent, the masted sailing ship lurched in the waves, on a collision course with the rocks below. The waterproof clock on the wall gonged twelve times. It was midnight, and the graveyard watch was just beginning.

English Idiom: Graveyard Shift or Graveyard Watch

This is the middle watch, or 12 –4 a.m., because of the number of disasters that occur at this time. The term was recorded by American mariner Gersholm Bradford, in “A Glossary of Sea Terms,” 1927.

Source: The American Heritage® Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer. Copyright © 2003, 1997 by The Christine Ammer 1992 Trust. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

If you want to read more of Susan Faw’ s Illustrated Idioms, the series is available here: https://bookgoodies.com/a/B074ZTK65V

Book nerd and fantasy aficionado, Susan is an award-winning author who also doubles as masked crusader for the fantastical world. Championing mythical rights, she quells uprisings and battles infidels who would slay the lifeblood of her pen. It’s all in a day’s work, for this whirlwind writer.

Winner of the Dante Rossetti Grand Prize for Best Young Adult Fiction of 2016 (Seer of Souls, Chanticleer Reviews) she is actively crafting stories that sing in your memory. Welcome to the quest!

You can find Susan at www.susanfaw.com, on twitter @susandfaw or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/SusanFaw

https://aspirebookcovers.com/

Aspire Book Covers is a website that offers inspirational book covers and formatting services at affordable prices. The website, located at aspirebookcovers.com, is run by Sharon Brownlie, who warmly welcomes authors to her site. Whether you have finished your book or are in the final stages, Aspire Book Covers provides customized covers to meet your specific requirements. Prices for pre-made covers are listed on the website, and keep a lookout because occasionally, some covers may be on sale!

For custom book covers, Sharon Brownlie will work closely with you to ensure that your book's cover design reflects your vision accurately. She will collaborate with you closely, engaging in discussions about your book description and understanding your requirements.

An Eye for an Eye

http://www.tombensonauthor.com

By Tom Benson

June 2019

Caribbean Sea

I simultaneously spat out sand and opened my eyes, confused. I was wet and cold, wearing a suit, but no shoes. Something small and hard was pressing into my hip. I checked to find it was my phone. It was waterlogged and useless.

“Where the hell am I?”

I sat up to discover I was on a beach with the ocean lapping at my legs. There was nothing on the seaward horizon, and when I turned, I faced tropical jungle.

“Santina’s place,” I murmured. Slowly, but surely, I remembered that I was part of a small team sent as an advance party to an island. I remembered approaching in a helicopter.

“A missile hit us.”

I’d been with a Drug Enforcement Agency pilot and two fellow agents, Bill Myers, and Jane Dooley.

Norrie, our pilot, had pointed ahead as we approached the island’s coast and screamed, ‘Missile! ’ .

I saw the rocket, and as we banked and lost altitude, there was a massive explosion.

“Shit,” I whispered. “Did anyone else survive?”

If Santina’s men had used a surface-to-air missile, they knew we were coming, and they’d search for bodies. I got to my feet and staggered across the beach to the trees. They’d no doubt be checking where the helicopter came down in the water. When I looked back, I saw my footprints in the sand. I tore off a low branch, went onto the beach and walked backwards, wiping away my prints. I could see several indistinct items in the distance to my right, so I set off in that direction within the tree line. I was eager to check for other survivors, but I didn’t want to be seen.

Two hundred metres away was a small cove. Before I got close, I could see large pieces of blue and white metal, and broken, clear perspex. Our helicopter had been blue and white. Multiple pieces of debris were scattered along the water’s edge, but there were no bodies.

When I got closer, I saw Norrie strapped into the cockpit's remains. His helmet and visor were pointing at an unnatural angle, and one arm was severed. The passenger section was empty except for equipment. Trapped under the seating were my shoes, and I had a flashback to my underwater struggle when my feet were caught in tangled metal. My bulletproof vest and black DEA jacket were trapped under the seating, and I was thankful for my superstition never to wear a bulletproof vest when travelling over or in water. I recalled that my colleagues had laughed. They wore heavy Kevlar vests and had machine guns slung over their shoulders. I tugged at my shoes and put them on without socks, and then I noticed our equipment box. I pulled it forward, delighted to see it was undamaged and airtight. I lifted out a Glock pistol and two spare loaded magazines. I cocked the gun to be ready for unwelcome visitors. A cursory search of the area was enough nothing else was useful to me. I returned to the cockpit wreckage, grabbed my DEA jacket, and used it to brush away my footprints as I headed back to the jungle.

I’d hardly reached the tree line when I heard a motor, so I ducked into the undergrowth and listened. I’d expected Santina’s men to look for wreckage, but to come through the jungle because it was a small island. The engine noise became louder as a motor launch cruised into the cove. A blond man wearing a white T-shirt was steering, while a dark-haired guy with a ponytail held the side rail with one hand, and a machine gun in the other.

I stayed low to observe when the engine was cut and the men waded ashore. Blondie drew a pistol and raised a hand-held radio. “Hello, boss the pilot’s in the cockpit but the other three must be all at sea.” He turned and laughed with his companion.

“Great,” Santina’s voice was clear. “I’ll call our insider friend, Captain Cairns, now, and thank him for the heads-up. ”

Our mission was highly classified; the only other person who knew about it was Captain Cairns, our boss. Being hit when close to the island suddenly made sense. Cairns also insisted that we should gather intel, but not kill anyone.

“Well, that briefing no longer applies,” I murmured. “My three colleagues are dead.”

I got onto one knee, aimed carefully, and shot Blondie in the head before shooting Ponytail in the right thigh.

I approached him rapidly. “Blondie paid for the pilot’s life.”

“Wha ” He gripped his wound and glanced at the gun he’d dropped. “How many others are here?”

“Only Santina.”

“Tell him you’ve found the female alive.” I kicked his gun further away and thrust the muzzle of my Glock into his groin. “Do it now!”

He spoke into the radio. “The female agent … is alive, boss.”

Again, Santina’s response was loud and clear. “Keep her there. I’ll come down and drown the bitch.”

I kicked the radio out of his hand. “Now get into the water.”

He shook his head but limped to the water’s edge.

I waited until he was up to his waist. “This is for Bill Myers.” When I shot him in the groin, he passed out and rolled over.

Santina approached from the trees. “Carlos! Fredo!”

I appeared from behind the wreckage, my automatic aiming at his head. Santina threw his gun away, grinning. “Hey, I’m unarmed.”

“I don’t care.” I shot him in both thighs, pleased to hear him howl in pain.

I left Santina, ran to his mansion and called the Director of the DEA.

“Ma’am, it’s Marcus. I’m calling from Santina’s lair. Myers, Dooley and Norrie are dead. I’ve been in a shoot-out. I overheard Santina calling Captain Cairns to thank him for his help.”

“Sonofa I didn’t authorise hold tight, Marcus.”

I returned to the beach.

“Limp into the water, Santina. You’re joining the bitch you wanted to drown.”

http://www.tombensonauthor.com

Bad Day

https://melaniepsmith.com

By Melanie P. Smith

It all started with a woman.

It was a typical summer day at the office. Derek sat behind his desk, staring longingly out the window, wishing he was lounging on the beach. His thoughts were interrupted by his ringing phone. “Derek Miller?”

“Hi, Derek, it's Amy.”

“What's up?” Derek asked.

“I have a woman at the front desk,” Amy informed him. “She's a little upset. Her husband died in a freak accident a few months ago. Apparently it was unexpected. His family was managing his finances, but there's some kind of conflict and they basically fired her as a client. Do you have time to speak to her?”

“Sure,” Derek agreed. “I'll be right out.” He rounded the corner and spotted an attractive woman standing at the front desk. His breath caught when she turned, and he saw how beautiful she was. But what really got him was the intense sadness he saw in her beautiful brown eyes.

“I hope you can help me,” the woman took a step forward.

“Let's head to my office,” Derek decided. “You can explain the situation and we'll schedule a more formal meeting to go over your finances in a week or so.”

“Alright,” she hesitated then followed him down the hall.

Derek settled behind his desk. “Okay, let's start with your name.”

“Oh,” she gave him a weak smile. “I'm Sadie Jackson.”

“How can I help you, Sadie?” Derek prompted. Then he spent the next twenty minutes learning about her finances and developing a tentative plan. He paused when her phone chimed.

Amy glanced at the display then returned her phone to her pocket.

“Problem?” Derek frowned at the distraught look on her face.

“I have tickets for a private concert tonight, but it's a couples only thing and I can ’t find anyone that's willing to go with me,” she explained.

“It sounds important,” Derek observed.

“It is,” she agreed. “I hate to miss it. Dinner is on a yacht and my favorite band is playing.”

“What band,” Derek wondered.

“The Cider Brigade,” Sadie frowned.

“You're kidding,” Derek asked, surprised. “I love them.”

“Do you want to go?” Sadie wondered. “My treat. It’s a private event tonight, not the main concert. That’s tomorrow.”

Derek hesitated.

“As friends,” Sadie pushed. “Well, as something. Possible friends? New acquaintances?”

“I should say no,” Derek admitted. “We aren't allowed to date our clients.”

“Then, this isn't a date,” Sadie smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. “Please say yes.”

“Alright,” Derek decided. “Where can I meet you?”

“At the marina,” her smile widened. “I’m supposed to meet my friends at seven.”

“Sounds good,” Derek watched Sadie leave and wondered if he just made a huge mistake.

It was a perfect evening. Derek climbed from the cab and glanced around. He spotted Sadie standing with a small group at the edge of the dock. Anticipation surged through him. He still couldn’t believe he had scored tickets to a private concert with The Cider Brigade. He tried to buy tickets to the concert but it sold out hours after it was announced. Grinning, he strolled to the dock and joined the group.

“You better take good care of Jinx,” one of the women warned. “She's been through a lot this past year,”

“Helen,” Sadie warned.

“Jinx?” Derek asked.

“It's nothing,” Sadie blushed and turned away.

They ascended the stairs, crossed a wooden plank, stepped through a small opening that emerged onto the yachts’ large deck. Derek froze, stunned at the opulence.

They ascended the stairs, crossed a wooden plank, stepped through a small opening that emerged onto the yacht’s large deck. Derek froze, stunned at the opulence.

“Our seats are up front,” one of Sadie's friends announced.

The group rushed forward and wound their way through fellow attendees. Suddenly, Sadie’s ankle twisted, her heel slipped from beneath her, and she reached out to regain her balance. Instead, she bumped into a slender blonde wearing pencil-thin heels. The woman stumbled forward and collided with the muscular man she’d been talking to. He wasn't prepared for the impact and staggered to the side. His large foot landed on the heel of Derek's left shoe. Sadie took another step, still trying to regain her balance, and ground her sharp heel firmly into the tip of Derek's shoe. The pressure from the back combined with the sharp impaling of Sadie's stiletto yanked it from his foot. Derek panicked and frantically began searching for his lost footwear, but he couldn’t find it. His shoe was gone. Resigned, he limped forward, eager to catch up with his group. They settled into their seats seconds before the band began to play their first song.

Moments later, Sadie was jumping around, enjoying the band’s biggest hit when she collided with a waiter delivering a tray full of drinks to the VIP section. The shocked man stumbled backwards, tripped over a chair, and crashed to the floor. Large mugs of beer and flutes of champagne shattered on impact. The golden liquid flowed outward, soaking Derek ’s sock. He sidestepped and sliced open the bottom of his foot with a large piece of glass.

Sadie spotted the blood and immediately fainted. A small-framed, nerdy looking guy tried to catch her, lost his footing, reached out to brace himself, and grabbed the large cord the band was using to power their equipment. Derek watched the cord slide across the floor directly over the broken glass. The large, jagged edge of one of the mugs sliced a strip across the cable, before it settled in the puddle of alcohol. Suddenly, the music came to a screeching stop.

Derek realized his wet sock was submerged in the liquid just before a sharp pain coursed through his entire body and he was thrown across the room, His limp body collided with the nearby wall. For several seconds, he remained crumbled on the floor, dazed and confused, before he realized he’d been electrocuted. He gripped the wall and slowly pulled himself onto his feet. The deck was pure chaos, people were running, demanding to be taken back to shore, and the band was packing up their equipment while they argued with an official looking man that didn’t look happy.

Derek searched the crowd for Sadie but couldn’t find her. Resigned, he made his way to the edge of the deck, gripped the railing, and tried to catch his breath. His suit was tattered, his foot was throbbing, and every muscle in his body ached. Suddenly, he heard his name and swung around just in time. Sadie launched herself at him, Derek gripped her shoulders, but he couldn’t stop her momentum, and they collided with the side of the yacht. The instant his back hit the edge; he heard a strange noise. For an instant, he stood perfectly still, trying to understand what he was hearing. Then, he understood. He was standing next to the entrance and the impact broke the latch. The rail unexpectedly swung open and Derek and Sadie toppled overboard.

Sadie screamed, coughed when they hit the water and landed on top of Derek. They went under. Derek tried to swim, tried to untangle himself from a panicked Sadie, but was shoved deeper under the water. Just when he was sure he was going to drown, the pressure disappeared, and he floated to the top.

When he broke the surface, he spotted Sadie and realized the crew was pulling her back onto the ship. Derek glanced toward the shore and decided getting away from that boat and his crazy non-date, was his safest option. He rolled onto his back and floated all the way to shore. By the time he reached the sandy beach, he was exhausted, and his entire body ached. Slowly, he crawled onto the sand, pulled out his phone, and realized it was waterlogged and completely dead. He was stranded out in the middle of nowhere with no way to call for help.

Resigned, he stumbled to his feet and slowly made his way to the highway. He ’d have to walk home and find someone to drive him to the hospital. He could make it; he had to make it. Salvation was only a mile. He glanced back at the ocean, then focused on the desolate highway and stumbled forward. If he wanted to survive this crazy night, he had to get away from a woman named Jinx.

He'd only gone a block that felt like ten miles in his condition when he tripped and fell to his knees. He was still trying to catch his breath when headlights appeared in the distance. Relief flowed through him and he rolled off the highway and onto the shoulder, hoping the driver saw him in time. The car glided past, slowed and came to a stop a few feet in front of him. Derek struggled to stand, knowing this was his only hope of survival. Then he hesitated, images from dozens of horror films played in his mind. He pushed them aside. At this point, he didn ’t care who it was. He needed a ride.

He regretted that thought when a head emerged from the open window and he stared into the sad brown eyes of his worst nightmare Jinx.

Melanie P. Smith Long before she delved into the world of fantasy and suspense, Melanie served nearly three decades in the Special Operations Division at her local sheriff ’s office; working with SWAT, Search and Rescue, K9, the Motor Unit, Investigations, and the Child Abduction Response Team. She now uses that training and knowledge to create stories that are action-packed, gripping, and realistic. When Melanie’s not penning her next adventure, she can be found riding her Harley, exploring the wilderness, or capturing that next great photo.

NEW RELEAS

IMMORTALS SERIES

BOOK 2

An ancient legend, a reluctant doctor, and a beautiful siren.

Legend has it, six immortals will unite, defeat the Titans and save earth. Each comes from a family with extraordinary talents. Their special powers set them apart from conventional mortals. But with power comes great responsibility. Can they join together in this season of training and preparation. Or, will outside influences tear them apart? Dark forces are looming, and a deadly enemy is unpredictable.

Izzy has been careful to conceal her true identity. Her powers frighten and confuse her. Can she face the ghosts of her past and learn to trust herself, or is she destined to be alone forever? Corbin has always had to hide his gifts, now he must set aside everything he knows and trust his heart. Does he have the courage to accept his place in this circle and face the most terrifying challenge of his life?

Divergence

“Reading is like watching a movie, the descriptions are so vivid... so convincing. Watch the Master of the Sea at work... ride a winged horse... enjoy the rhythm of the poetry contained in the spells... “

- Sarah Stuart

https://books2read.com/Divergence

Part Mortal, Part Divinity, Fully Devoted.

The gathering has begun. Six demigods embark on an epic journey of danger, mystical creatures, dark magic, and intrigue. When an ancient prophesy is triggered, the tale of six powerful immortals begins. Legend has it, the chosen six will triumph over evil and restore peace. But first, they must gather together and converge on the land where their parents were defeated. Time is running out, the Titans want revenge, and the future of the entire world is at stake.

Meet the immortals -The wiccan, the shifter, the Master of Water, the siren, the healer, the Reader of Minds. Their destiny awaits — if they accept their fate and unite to confront a dangerous enemy in the battle of a lifetime.

melaniepsmith.com

The Mouse Family That Live By The Brambles

by Sylva Fae

Photography by Gez Robinson

Gez Robinson is a talented wildlife photographer from Yorkshire, England. For the last few years, I’ve been following the story of a family of mice, that live in an area of the garden dedicated to wildlife. It has been fascinating to watch the trust that has built up between the mice and Gez, as he patiently sits behind the camera. The photos are stunning, and show what characters wild mice are, whether it be their quirky antics in their natural environment, or their curiosity as they interact with the props left by Gez for the mice to explore.

Gez has been a wildlife photographer for around fifteen years, and has a passion for wildlife. During the first pandemic lockdown, craving his photography fix, he started taking photos of the birds and other wildlife in his garden.

“…and that’s when I spotted a little mouse on the old decking. It was looking at a blackberry on the blackberry bush and just stood there whilst I took photos of it. My passion with the mouse family was born.”

Since the early successes of the Mouse Family That Live by the Brambles facebook page, Gez has published a book of the same name and set up other social media accounts.

https://www.facebook.com/bramblemouse

https://www.gezrobinsonphotography.co.uk/

Instagram: gez_robinson_photography

TikTok: @mousefamilybythebrambles

Copyright @ Gez Robinson for all photos featured in this article.

https://clcannon.net/bookfair/#fantasyadventure

Dr. David D. Schein

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

Dr. David D. Schein is a best-selling author, international speaker, professor, attorney, HR consultant and trainer, and “All-Around Useful Person.” He is presently featured in multiple webcasts, including Saving America, Business Law 101, StarStruck and Unscripted Politics. His award-winning books, The Decline of America: 100 Years of Leadership Failures (2018), and Bad Deal for America (2022), are core contributions to the subject of political management. He is active in numerous business, community and cultural organizations.

His popular webcast, Saving America, started in early 2020 through a suggestion from a top public relations professional, Sandy Lawrence. The purpose was to promote his first book. It was formatted as a discussion between Sandy and Dr. Dave. Later, the webcast developed into a one-hour program opening with Dr. Dave’s take on current political and business developments. This is followed by guest interviews with business, community and political leaders. Due to syndication on two networks about a year ago, the number of monthly listeners has sharply increased.

Interview by Melanie P. Smith

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? How did you decide what types of book you would write?

I have exclusively written in the non -fiction area. However, my current book in progress, A Cheap Education, is fiction -based-on-fact. So, a slight deviation from my usual path. Due to my involvement with business and politics, the concepts for future non-fiction books and articles come easily to me.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

The most important thing is to have confidence in yourself. You can change the world! Do not let anyone tell you that what you do will not have a positive impact in some way.

When did you start writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

I think I am a natural communicator. That is a gift I inherited from my amazing and creative mother. I was writing at an advanced level by the middle of high school. In college, I wrote for various news sources and had my own weekly show on public radio. So, doing research and preparing scripts has been part of my life for a long time. The biggest transition was writing books, and that is hard, but not nearly as hard as marketing them after they are written. I have two -or-three more books outlined after the current one. As an academic, I also have three journal articles in various stages of development, on top of my webcasts and current book.

How / where do you find the plots you write about?

For my non -fiction works, we are in a 24/7 news cycle and the amount of material is overwhelming. The challenge is to decide on what current topics to address.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a panster? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I write in my mind. I think through what I want to say, sometimes for years. Then, when I actually write, it tends to flow. I do revise repeatedly everything that I write, but at some point, it has to get out the door. I do a lot of research in advance, but then continue to research specific points while I work. For my current book in progress, I have about two years of research material assembled, including contacting many sources and even accessing the Philadelphia Historical Records. (The book is set in Philadelphia.)

Tell us your latest news

My webcasting has been attracting a solid and growing audience. That is very exciting. However, the increasing effort and focus on that has taken time away from my writing. And, I still have to make a living, since the webcasts are not self -supporting yet.

How much of the book is realistic?

Because my writing is focused on nonfiction and fiction -based-on-fact, realism is part of the genre.

What are your current projects?

1. Three professional journal articles, two being polished for submission, and one in early draft stage.

2. A new version of my first book, Decline of America. Will be expanded to add Presidents Trump and Biden.

3. As part of my political management book series, the political influence over the Supreme Court.

4. My musical revue, “Novel-T,” is in submission for a possible premiere performance. It presents the era of popular novelty songs for a wide audience.

5. My current book in process, A Cheap Education, discussed below.

6. My one act play, “Crazy Dottie” based on characters from A Cheap Education. Getting ready to record a demo version of the play.

What books have influenced your life the most?

I am a major fan of classic American literature, including works by John Steinbeck, Earnest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Saul Bellow, and George Orwell. I also like nonfiction works, like Freedom Forge, by Arthur Herman. Do you have a mentor that helped or encouraged you to follow your dream of writing?

Mostly my mother’s encouragement at a very early age.

Can you share a sample of your current work with us?

A Cheap Education is based on the period of “Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll,” from Woodstock in the Summer of 1969 into the early 1970’s. This was a dynamic period in American entertainment. Politics were also active with the Vietnam War protests and Richard Nixon ’s troubles and eventual resignation. This is developed into a coming -of-age, fiction -based-on -fact story.

Against that background, Aaron, the key character, is a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who wins a full scholarship to the University of Pennsylvania, the Ivy League college in Philadelphia. He learns that education from the streets is a lot more valuable than what he learns in the classroom.

Aaron progresses from writing about entertainment in the college newspaper, to doing a weekly radio show on the college radio station, and then transitioning the show to WHYY, the Public Radio station in Philadelphia. This also leads to Aaron ’s development of an arts management agency representing folk singers, rock bands and fine artists.

Some of the real events include a part in what was known in Philadelphia as the “South Street Revival.” Also involved were about a half-dozen folk singers and a similar number of rock bands who gained significant exposure and multiple gigs, especially at area colleges and other venues. The radio program, especially after the increased visibility with the move to PBS, led to opportunities to interview some of the famous entertainers from Broadway, TV, the movies, and all types of musical performers.

Examples of some of the educational lessons include a rock band that blew the doors off their first set at a local college. A folk singer performed the middle set for the evening show. Meanwhile, the band got drunk on Southern Comfort in the dressing room. When they came out for the third set of the evening, the lead singer was so drunk he could not stand without holding the microphone stand. Sadly, the band was almost booed off the stage.

Aaron tried to book his lead band in a Boston club. Due to the distance involved, he wanted a solid contract in place. He approached an attorney who worked with various Philadelphia entertainers, and he said he would get a model contract prepared for Aaron ’s use. Three weeks later, he still had not provided the draft contract. When Aaron followed up with the manager of the Boston club, he was told to “forget it.”

The duo, Hall and Oates, was in its early stages and managing themselves at that point. Aaron had a contact at a restaurant near the University of Pennsylvania campus. The manager of the club was looking for acts for Sunday night live concerts to boost business. The duo agreed with Aaron to perform for $70 without their backup band. The club manager turned the group down in favor of an unknown local band.

These are some of the “school of hard knocks” lessons that Aaron learned that most students are unlikely to find in a classroom. Hence, the title, A Cheap Education.

Pick one of your characters and share some of their backstory that didn’t make it into the novel.

I did see some underhanded activities during the time period to be featured in the book. In identifying celebrities and others, the identities of those who were less than positive are carefully edited.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Write about what you know. Start writing. You never know where you will end up.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

I think all authors love feedback – good or bad. Share with an author you follow what you like and do not like about their works.

Is there one person past or present you would like to meet and why?

From the last 125 years, that would be Winston Churchill. A great leader and an inspiring person.

What do you want written on your headstone and why?

My personal motto is “Excelsior!” Which means “Upward and Onward!”

Other than writing do you have any hobbies?

Cooking healthy foods with flavor, Argentine tango, tennis and travel.

Can you share something personal with your readers? Do you have any holiday traditions?

The most important thing that I have accomplished is my wonderful children and grandchildren. When you hear people say that “grandchildren are the best,” they are not kidding.

What kind of music do you enjoy?

Classic rock – Beatles, Stones, Who, Pink Floyd, etc.

What kind of movies do you prefer?

Not much lately. My favs include “The Big Chill,” “Slumdog Millionaire,” “Easy Rider,” “Saving Private Ryan,” “Citizen Kane,” and “Back to the Future.”

Do you have a favorite author? (See above) Hemingway for sure.

If

2025 Reader’ Choice

Awar

The Connections eMagazine Reader's Choice Award is open to all independently published authors and their work. Nominations close June 15th and the Finalists will be selected and posted by June 24th. Visit our Finalist page for this year’s options and be sure to come back and vote after June 27th.

Public Voting begins June 27th

Help Choose your Favorite Novel Winners featured in July Issue of

By

TOM BENSON

West Berlin before reunification. He saw active service in Northern Ireland and the first Gulf War. A career in retail management followed and lasted 25 years. Since 2007 Tom has published novels, anthologies and poetry. https://tombensonauthor.com/

Duty Bound?

Gary felt pain throughout his body. He opened his eyes and gasped. A small monkey was studying him from six inches away. It shrieked and scurried along the high branch. Gary slowly looked around. He was young for a Royal Air Force fast jet pilot at twenty-six. Instructors had assured him he was 'the best'. His blue eyes widened as he surveyed his position.

“Being the best might be tested here,” he murmured.

Dangling under his silk canopy in the jungle, Gary cast his mind back to the mission.

Only two aeroplanes were used. It was a mere thirty minutes after take-off when the ground erupted in smoke and flame, as the RAF Tornadoes dropped ordnance on enemy locations. Both pilots knew the risks, but the mission would save hundreds of fleeing refugees if successful. Gary and his partner Jonah had gone in low and fast. As they pulled up to leave, warning lights and alarms sounded in both cockpits.

Knowing there was ‘incoming,’ Gary slipped selflessly into Jonah’s slipstream. They both deployed chaff, but knew at close range it might be ineffective against missiles.

“Go! Jonah! Go!” Gary screamed into his headset. Seconds later, the frightening impact of the anti-aircraft fire shook Gary’s plane and sent the controls haywire. Jonah's aircraft became a speck in the distance, while the damaged aircraft banked, out of control. Gary had glanced at his instruments and pulled the handle that no pilot wants to use.

While descending under his parachute, he had seen where his plane went down, but it didn ’t explode. He knew he was many miles inside enemy territory, and a mental calculation told him his plane travelled four miles before crashing. Every mile between him and his aircraft would be a bonus. It had crashed closer to hostile forces. On the downside, during the briefing, the pilots were told not to let their aircraft fall into enemy hands.

‘There may come a day,’ his father had once told him. ‘On that day, duty and survival may not go hand in hand. You’ll be compelled to make a hard decision.’

“Survival is instinctive, Dad,” Gary had replied, and laughed. His dad hadn’t laughed. * * *

Gary hung in his snagged parachute, looking around anxiously, thankful for the protection afforded by his flying helmet and suit. He was also grateful for the dense jungle camouflage. A glance told him his parachute was secure. Tropical fragrances drifted in the air. Birds, silent on the final part of his descent, were now squawking and chirping. He wondered how rapidly enemy patrols would organise a search.

What will they be more interested in, he thought, the plane, or the pilot?

Imitating the Scottish accent of Sgt Murray, his survival instructor, Gary whispered. “Basics first son ....” He gently moved his neck then his limbs, to check working order. There were bruises but no fractures.

He pulled the small homing device from a breast pocket and pressed the switch before replacing it. Now somebody would know he’d survived. Would they reach him in time? That was the burning question.

Gary saw the closest tree was out of reach. He commenced raising his knees, kicking out, then back. It was exhausting, even for a fit man. Time flew as his efforts continued. Usually calm, logical, and humorous, he was saturated and frustrated. The fear of capture crept into his thoughts.

Nothing to laugh at now, he thought grimly. He stopped swinging, his usually agile mind trying desperately to arrive at another solution. To undo the harness would free him, but with no idea of the drop.

He started bending and kicking his legs again; teeth clenched now. It was agonisingly close. He thought of all the gym sessions and the mantra, ‘no pain ... no gain.’ He struck out hard with both feet, and as he swung he caught his ankles around a branch.

“Hold it mate,” he whispered to himself. He hung there, grimacing, suspended between his trapped parachute and the trunk of the tree. The parachute strings strained. Gary’s body ached, but he was determined to free himself.

His legs trembled violently with the effort to pull his body weight against the branch. He reached around desperately with one hand and hugged the branch. The harness pulled back. Gary yanked sharply on the release buckles. Finally unhindered, he wrapped both arms and legs around the tree and allowed himself two minutes' rest.

“Thank you, Lord.”

It took fifteen minutes before he reached the ground, following a massive effort. The flying suit had survived undamaged. Gary looked up. He now realised that, had he only released the harness, he would have killed himself it was a fifty-foot drop.

Removal of his helmet eased some pressure. His usually immaculate blonde hair was clamped to his face. He listened to the green world now surrounding him.

He was about to hide his helmet in the undergrowth when the voice of his instructor came back to him.

‘Never leave a sign without good reason especially if it’s your equipment.’

A fateful decision was his to make. It would be four miles east to his aircraft, where he could follow the policy of destruction and risk capture. He could also choose to try a fifteen-mile trek west, to the coastline, and possible rapid rescue. He sighed.

Okay, Dad.” His lips curled. “My decision is made, and I hope it’s the right one.” He walked a few yards away from the tree. It took two minutes to create a bad job of hiding his helmet. That should slow them; he thought. He adjusted his mini-compass and set off.

Mixed with the tropical fragrances, Gary’s nostrils could not ignore the aroma of decay, on the multi-coloured jungle carpet. After a few minutes of fighting his way through the undergrowth, he stopped and checked the magazine on his pistol.

He cocked the weapon quietly so that it was ready to use. He had never used it in anger but realised he might soon be compelled. Bomber pilots know they will kill people, but unlike soldiers, pilots don't get close to their work. He slipped the small pistol back into its shoulder holster, and set off again, slow and determined.

The sticky heat did not come across in films or training, he thought, and combined with the smell, it was irritating. Gary was renowned for his ability to see the positive side of situations. To ease pressure on himself, he only had to remember how things could have turned out.

As it was, Jonah got away, and he had survived. He knew Jonah would land on the carrier cursing his mate’s sacrifice. He smiled briefly, and stopped to listen. Not to the birds and insects, but for anything else.

Sgt Murray, who taught the pilots, would always say, ‘An enemy trained to fight in jungle terrain, will not disturb wildlife, but in a hurry to catch a downed pilot, patrols might move with less care.’

“Well, that’s okay then.” Gary had suggested that day, amusing all but the instructor.

* * *

After an hour, there was a mechanical buzzing. he stopped, held his breath, parted his lips, and listened. The noise seemed to stop, only to return and grow louder. The jungle affected the sound waves. Was it rotor blades?

When explaining the hazards of survival, Sgt Murray had told the pilots, ‘If you land in the jungle it works differently. You may hear movement in the air, or on the ground, but you won ’t know who it is, or which direction they’re travelling.’

You got that right, Sgt Murray, Gary now thought as he craned his neck. The sound disappeared after a few minutes, and he decided it had been a helicopter.

Had the enemy found the wreckage? Were they looking for him already?

Fear was ‘healthy’ and never forgotten, as the airman continued his advance. The interior of his suit was saturated with perspiration, and the outside was covered with slime. His face was constantly lashed by long damp leaves, and springing branches. His legs were caught, and whipped by thick undergrowth, and his feet held by low branches and clawing mud patches.

It felt like the ultimate physical training test. He found himself once more thinking back to Sgt Murray, as he approached a broad-leaf plant and pulled out his collapsible water container. He eased one of the big leaves down and caught some of the rainwater.

It looked clear, but he still dropped in a sterilising tablet. Knowing he would be able to have a drink in a few minutes gave him renewed confidence as he set off again.

“Thank you, Sarge.” He smiled.

Not for the first time, Gary submerged to his knees in green sludge. After cursing, he used branches to pull free of the tugging, stinking mud. A look at his watch told him it had only been two hours since he’d come down into the treetops. It felt as if he'd been fighting jungle all day. He was close to exhaustion. Jungle never actually knows daylight he’d been told, but it was definitely getting darker. He would persevere. He thought of his mum. She hated having both her husband and son on active service, but she’d accepted their arguments.

It was their life of choice.

When it felt as if he could go on no longer, Gary stopped and took another sip of water. The sterilised water had an acquired taste. His laboured breathing was brought under control as he calmed, and he considered the progress he’d made.

During the brief respite, he noticed the eerie silence. A twig broke underfoot a short distance away. He put away his water bottle and drew his pistol before lowering himself slowly into the undergrowth.

He was a good shot, but could he shoot a man? Could he kill? He checked his watch, but otherwise stayed still, listening. His mouth slightly open, improving hearing he now felt insects investigating the moisture on his face.

The ‘open mouth’ idea worked, he thought and made a mental note. He’d have to thank Sgt Murray for that tip too if they ever met again. Deep inside, Gary felt a knot. In the future, he would have greater respect for soldiers. Soldiers like his dad, twice decorated for conspicuous bravery. He wondered what his father would think of this latest decision.

The birds were chattering again. Gary put his pistol away and checked his watch. Before moving, he realised twenty minutes of trekking had been lost, as he’d hid in the damp leaves.

Half an hour later, he was tiring and stopped again, aware of his vulnerability. He felt the hairs standing on his neck. The sounds of nature had reduced again.

Was there a patrol? How far had he gone?

Calculating a walking pace in jungle was not easy. He was confident with his compass, but not with time and distance in this terrain.

He set off, using both hands to move greenery aside, maintaining a steady and quiet pace.

Sgt Murray’s words registered again. ‘The enemy has more time than you, and they can afford to wait.’

An occasional stop was all Gary could afford now. Jungle sounds and smells abounded. While there was nothing to see, he would concentrate on listening. It was another thirty minutes before he checked his compass, and took a sip of water.

As he set off again, he parted the branches. Briefly, his eyes narrowed and his lips curled. He could see fuselage and a wing. His plane was up ahead. He drew and gripped his pistol. When he had first set off, he had been apprehensive. Now his stomach was churning.

A cold sweat formed over his entire body, and he stood still, hardly breathing. It was unnaturally quiet. Gary’s eyes were on stalks. His tongue slipped out to lick dry lips, and he swallowed hard. He heard his own gulp.

Simultaneously from behind, strong hands grabbed his pistol and covered his mouth. He found himself powerless, being lowered rapidly and silently to the ground. While immobilised by two

assailants, another camouflaged man knelt down beside him. A forefinger touched Gary ’s lips.

The kneeling man turned his shoulder around slightly, and Gary focused on the red dagger insignia of the Royal Marine Commando. There was a deafening explosion, and a heat-wave blew over their bodies. * * *

It was fifteen minutes later in a helicopter when Gary looked around at the smiling, camouflaged faces of six men. They had arrived at his aircraft twenty minutes before him and rigged it with explosives.

A man with a Scottish accent spoke. “We’re all proud of you, son. You made the right decision.”

Gary looked into the eyes of Sgt Murray; his survival instructor. “Thanks, Dad.”

The End

A story taken from, Smoke & Mirrors : and other stories

https://mybook.to/smoke_and_mirrors

A collection of 12 short stories which cover a variety of genre. They are twist-in-the-tale, and will have a special appeal to those with a keen sense of justice.

Author: http://www.tombensonauthor.com

Artist: https://www.tombensonartist.wordpress.com

Blog: http://www.tombensoncreative.com

Smoke & Mirrors and other stories

Rune of Whispers

Book Five of the Outside the Thalsparr Series

Bjorn Leesson

Bjorn Leesson has always been fascinated with many topics to include history, the supernatural, and writing. These interests combined led to the Outside the Thalsparr series, with the first book in the series, "Runes of the Dokkrsdottir." Bjorn was not formally trained as a writer and has worked in the industrial manufacturing field his entire life. Writing his stories and hoping others enjoy them is a passion and not a career.

Myrgjol the Dokkesdottir’s path may be fraught with physical dangers and battle, but some wars are fought with whispered words and deceitful lies. While in Saxon lands, she must learn to maneuver the battlefield as well as her position on the board in the game of Saxon politics. Will she be successful? And though she is blind to all the pieces in The Game, a Saxon gamemaster plays on her behalf as well as his own against many others, and the enormity of the risk spirals out of control for everyone.

Welcome to Diversity Doodles!

By Briony Kay

Well, I guess the first question to answer would be 'what is Diversity Doodles?' Diversity Doodles is an ever growing collection of hand drawn memes that contain important messages about neurodiversity. They were born out of desperation, as my primary school aged son struggled endlessly at school and eventually received his diagnosis of both autism and ADHD a year ago. Although my misplaced belief was that this diagnosis would be the key to unlocking the understanding, support and accommodations he so urgently needed, this was not the case. And despite thriving with support outside of school, at home, social gatherings and clubs he attends, the firm belief held by those overseeing his education were that he would just learn to fit in to mainstream education, without any further assistance on their part. My seemingly endless attempts at explanations as to why this wasn't working was falling on deaf ears and so, out of sheer desperation, I attempted to draw what I was clearly failing to describe in words. Diversity Doodles became the result.

So, here we are, now putting out these doodles on the internet and hoping that the messages they contain help as many people as possible to both give and receive information about what it is like to be neurodiverse and the challenges that are faced in our daily lives.

My son's diagnosis gave rise to the realization that I too am neurodiverse, and so these doodles are given from the perspective of someone who has faced such situations in my own life and now recognizes them in the lives of others. My only wish is that they play a small part in bridging the gap in understanding, acceptance and support for neurodiverse people in a neurotypical world.

In this article I would like to try to explain some of the emotional challenges that many neuro divergent individuals often face and the implications that can have. Starting first with anxiety. I am willing to put good money on the fact most people have encountered a situation which was unpleasant and caused some degree of anxiety. And that having to re -enter the same, or similar, situation therefore is a source of anxiety. I'm thinking common situations. Like the dentist.

And with this understanding it's expected that something is anxiety provoking. And so logically if someone is anxious then it seems reasonable to ask what that person is anxious about.

But that's only half the story for someone who has anxiety. Even if it's not diagnosed as an official disorder. If someone is suffering from anxiety then their whole nervous is in a heightened state of awareness. They are already feeling anxiety. Their nervous system is trying to preemptively identity potential threats. It's operating in a way that's to keep the person safe. And often this means that their heightened state of awareness interprets situations as potential threats, regardless of whether or not they have been anxiety provoking in the past.

It's not overly difficult to understand. I bet most people have felt preemptively anxious about a job interview, meeting, test, etc. So apply that notion to almost everything. That's what people suffering from anxiety deal with. All the time. It's not event specific, it's not only that anxiety has been experienced in that situation previously. So asking 'what have you got to be anxious about?' is an extremely unhelpful question, because with no specific answers the result is feeling totally invalidated and shameful for having those 'unjustified' feelings.

And if this makes sense then please apply the same to 'what have you got to be depressed about?' Yes, some situations and scenarios can produce depression, but for a depressed person that mental state is projected on to life as a whole. The person cannot simply be not depressed because to you it's not justified, any more than someone with anxiety can just stop worrying. And with that anxiety can come rumination. If rumination was a sport I think I'd be an Olympic hopeful. And I know I would have some stiff competition amongst the ND community.

Whilst looking back and considering past situations, interactions and conversations, and thinking about how we could improve on them for the future, isn't intrinsically bad, rumination takes this too far in terms of what is actually helpful, and it is very easy to get stuck in a negative brain loop. I know that I have an extremely monotropic brain, which doesn't help, but I also think that perhaps being dismissed, feeling unheard and misunderstood, and the issues surrounding our communication styles versus NT communication styles (the double empathy problem), are contributing factors.

Getting out of these brain loops can be extremely difficult, and the longer the rumination persists the harder it becomes to get out.

And often the anxiety and the rumination can get woven together in an internal state of perseveration.

I came across this word for the first time while reading about monotropism and rumination. I wasn't even sure how to pronounce it. But once I had heard it my brain decided it liked it. It liked the sound of it. The 'feel' of it. And it turned into internal echolalia, the voice in my head repeating it over and over. And shouting it internally in the middle of other unrelated thoughts. Akin to a stim.

And while it has bounced around inside my brain like an ping pong ball in perpetual motion, the way it links to monotropism (single mindedness on a thought, idea or action that is difficult if not impossible to switch away from), echolalia (repetition of words spoken or thought) and how its become a stim of sorts because of this, and the fact that it has gone beyond what could be determined as 'useful' and is now annoying the hell out of me means I feel like I am ruminating on why my brain even does this to produce a negative emotional state.

And, ironically, this is, in itself, a form of perseveration.

In my head it quite neatly ties together the way my monotropic brain has this tendency to operate. The repetition of a thought, an idea or a concept that cannot be switched away from, running constantly though my brain. Becoming stim like through internal echolalia.

And even if it is initially helpful it can quickly turn to rumination, especially if it is an emotion, like anxiety, that's hard to process or impossible to shake off. Because simply being unable to move past the rumination and repetition itself can become a source of more anxiety.

The real issue is, of course, how these thoughts and emotional states affect us in the long term as well as the short. And over time they can ultimately cause a sort of domino effect.

Of course, we aren't dealt the same dominoes. It's not necessarily the same dominoes each time. It's not always the same trigger. Sometimes it's multiple triggers.

Sometimes we feel it coming and they seem to wobble and fall slowly. Sometimes we don't and it feels like they all fall in an instant. But once they have started to topple it takes more and more effort to stop each one.

And the dominoes that fell in the cascade are those all contained in the meltdown. Because each was present in that cascade. Even those we didn't necessarily recognise as part of that cascade.

And it's so important that we also see what dominoes present in others. In our kids. Because the intervention looks different depending upon how they are stacked to fall. And which ones we can help them negate. And, equally importantly, that others can recognise them in us when we are so caught up in the cascade that we can't.

Because ultimately getting caught up in seemingly endless states of anxiety, emotional overwhelm and meltdowns can lead to burn out. Which is a state no one wants to be in, and can be incredibly difficult to recover from. Better understanding of our own, and other's mental states, and making sure accommodations and support are in place for them is always the real requirement.

Diversity Doodles also has an Etsy shop: diversitydoodleprint.etsy.com

Briony is a single mum to an neurodiverse seven year old, whose experiences and struggles within the school system gave rise to her creation of Diversity Doodles. What began as a form of creative therapy and messages intended to help her son's school's understanding of both autism and ADHD, has now become messages of hope, information and inspiration to help bridge the gap between the acceptance, understanding, and support of neurodiversity in a neurotypical world. She is in the process of creating both a book and resources that can be used in a broad range of settings to help achieve a better world for those struggling in it. You can connect with Briony through Facebook https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61557677262825

The Calling of the Grull

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0F3BHGX66

A new series and direction for critically acclaimed author,

Jonni Jordyn

The Grull are an ancient clan of people that lived 10,000 years ago. They must find a new homeland when their village is destroyed by a flood. They also have the option of seeking the home of their ancestors and living there, but the journey is perilous and exposes them to the dangers of nature and the dangers of other human tribes.

Jonni Jordyn was born in Oakland, California in 1957. She started writing at an early age, writing music, poetry, short stories, radio, film, and stage scripts. She didn’t start writing novels until later in life, after she retired from playing music, and found herself travelling away from home for extended periods.

She currently lives in Denver, Colorado.

More Books by Jonni Jordyn: Jonni Jordyn

Doug Lawrence is the founder of TalentC® and is focused on all things mentoring as a solution provider. Doug Lawrence is an International Certified Mentor and holds two Mentor Certifications; Certificate of Practice – Mentor and the Certificate of Practice – Journey Mentor from the International Mentoring Community. Doug is the only one to hold the Certificate of Practice –Journey Mentor in the world today. He has over 30 years of mentoring and leadership experience and is recognized as a thought leader in the mentoring space. Doug authored the book entitled, “The Gift of Mentoring” and his second book entitled, “You Are Not Alone” became an Amazon #1 Best Seller in North America and the UK and is a Bronze medal recipient in the Global Book Awards. Doug is an International Best - Selling Author.

Doug Lawrence

Interview by Melanie P. Smith

trauma that I experienced, I ended up with PTSD. On retirement from the police force, I started my own company focused on all things mentoring. I have evolved that to now include grief and mentoring as my core service offering. I am widowed having lost my wife to cancer in 2021 and have two grown children and two grandchildren. I have over 30 years of leadership experience and have accumulated in excess of 3500 hours of mentoring – in person and virtually.

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? How did you decide what types of book you would write?

My books so far touch on grief and bereavement, psychology and self-help emotions genres. My lived experiences has provided me with the inspiration to write in these genres.

Do you have a favorite, or is one type of book easier for you to write than others, and why?

The genres that I am currently writing in are my favorite as I can tap into my lived experiences. I enjoy reading books by authors that tell stories based on their lived experiences. I have gravitated to books like this and do so as well.

When did you start writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

I started writing in 2014. My troopmate that I went through RCMP training with wrote a book based on inspirational messages he left for his children on a daily basis. He suggested I consolidate all the blog articles I had written on mentoring into a book.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

The most important message is that it is okay to reach out and ask for help. You do not need to grieve on your own as there is someone there who can help you. You are not alone. Your healing journey can be easier if you allow someone to walk beside you on your healing journey.

How much of the book is realistic?

As it is based on my lived experiences all of it is realistic.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I have experienced writer’s block on numerous times. I have staged my own writing retreat, blocked time in my calendar for writing, journalled as much as I can and recorded my thoughts. I have used bits and pieces of all of these on their own and in parallel.

Do you have a mentor that helped or encouraged you to follow your dream of writing?

I am truly blessed to have a team that supports me in my pursuit of a writing career.

Tell us your latest news

On April 20th, my next book, “Grief – The Silent Pandemic” will be published. I am very blessed that I have such an inspiring team and has worked with me to get this book published. It is focused on mental health, mentoring and grief. It shares my wife Debra’s story and her battle with cancer and shares my story as well. The book provides solutions to problems and the majority of my readers will find that it will be close to home and very heart felt.

What books have influenced your life the most?

I like the writing style of Ken Blanchard.

How / where do you find the plots you write about?

The majority of my content comes from my lived experiences which brings my life up close and personal for my readers.

What are your current projects? Publishing “Grief –

Can you share a sample of your current work with us?

In this book, “The Silent Pandemic”, we are going to take a look at grief and how it can impact your mental health. We will look at mentoring as a part of the mental health support structure and how it plays a role in grief. We will look at the impact that grief has on organizations when it is not dealt with. We will explore the anxiety and depression that can follow someone who is struggling with grief. We will look at some alarming statistics that support the fact that we are indeed dealing with a pandemic.”

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Make sure you understand your purpose for the book. Make time for writing and focus. Make time for you.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

I hope that you enjoy my book as much as I did writing it for you.

Is there one person past or present you would like to meet and why?

Michelle Obama and her love of books.

What do you want written on your headstone and why?

If I have a tombstone I would want my children to provide the messaging whether it be on an urn or tombstone.

Other than writing do you have any hobbies?

I keep fairly busy with mentoring and helping others on their healing journey regarding mental health.

Can you share something personal with your readers?

I met my wife in Northern BC. I picked her picture out of a family photo album and suggested to her aunt and uncle that they should bring her up north. They did and 4 months later we were engaged. She became my photo album bride.

Do you have any holiday traditions?

We gather on Christmas Eve for cocktails, appetizers and games.

What kind of music do you enjoy?

Country

What kind of movies do you prefer?

Top Gun

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it?

https:www.talentc.ca

If money was no issue would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

I would take the cozy beach bungalow

Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress? They can reach me on any of these. I try to stay active as much as I can.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/doug.lawrence.1610/

LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/douglawrence-mentor

Twitter: @DougLawrenceJM

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCE4YC1GkfHrQtFYgYrf8baQ

Website: https://www.talentc.ca

Email: doug.lawrence@talentc.ca

Marc Watson

Marc Watson is an author of genre fiction of all lengths and styles. His debut novel Death Dresses Poorly was released in 2017, and you can find stories in his science-fantasy Ryuujin World in Catching Hell: Journey and Catching Hell: Destination (all from Fluky Fiction) as well as the short story collection Between Conversations: Tales From the World of Ryuujin

Marc lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. He is a husband to a very patient wife and a proud father of two. He is an avid outdoorsman, baseball player, martial artist, poutine aficionado, and lover of all Mexican foods.

Death At a Wedding

Death, the Grim Reaper himself, has received his first ever wedding invitation. Although perceived as an all-knowing, allpowerful being, he’s still clueless on how to act in public. That... and what to do about all the mysterious rips forming in time and space, threatening to consume all of existence.

But maybe, just maybe, Victoria can help him out with all of that before it’s too late. In this unexpectedly dark romantic comedy sequel to Death Dresses Poorly, Ethan will come face to face with new love, old loss, completely average hamburgers, and finding out exactly what it takes to finally be free.

He can be found at online http:// www.marcwatson.ca, as well as on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/ marcwroteabook, and on all other social media at @writewatson https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0DW6J8PZY

77 ½ Magical Healing Herbs

By Ronesa Aveela

Shepherd’s Purse

Venture into the magical, healing world of herbs and embrace the power of nature. This article is taken from the book 77 ½ Magical Healing Herbs, which is an introduction to herbs found in a special Midsummer ’s wreath. This is an especially enchanting time of year. Among the Bulgarians, the day is called Eniovden. You may think herbs are only for spicing up food and healing the body and mind, but they have other uses, as well. This unique herbal book is an essential guide for tapping into the power of herbs. It highlights centuries of lore and historical facts about healing and magical uses of herbs from Slavic and other traditions.

Please see the medical and magical disclaimers before you try any of the recipes from the book.

Capsella bursa-pastoris Capsellabursa-pastoris

Shepherd’s Purse

Description: A slender stem rises high above a rosette of basal leaves to a height of 16 to 20 inches (40 to50 cm). The leaves in the rosette are long, with deeply toothed edges.

The underside has short white hairs. The stem is mostly leafless, except for a few small oblong leaves near the base. These are hairy and have two pointed lobes that partially clasp the stem. Numerous white flowers with four petals bud their way up the stem. They produce flat, triangular-to heart-shaped pods that are pointed at the end. The pods are filled with around twenty oblong seeds, ranging in color from yellow to reddish -brown. The root is a taproot.

History and Traditions: The genus name comes from the Latin capsa for “box” or “case,” and the specific name is from the Latin bursa for purse and pastoris for “of the shepherd.” That name and the common name both refer to the shape of the fruit, which resembles leather purses shepherds carried in the Middle Ages. An Irish common name, Clappedepouch, refers to a bell or clapper lepers rang, hoping to receive alms in a cup they held at the end of a long pole. The plant is also named after an old English and Scottish game, Mother ’s Heart. A child would pick a seed pod. When it broke, the child was accused of breaking his mother’s heart. The plant has been consumed and used as medicine for thousands of years. A common medical application in the past was to heal both internal and external bleeding, as well as jaundice, inflammation, and earaches.

Habitat and Distribution: Native to Asia Minor, the Mediterranean region, and Eastern Europe. The plant now grows all over the world, except in the tropics, anywhere it can take root: roadsides, meadows, parks, lawns, cultivated ground.

Growth: A summer or winter annual. The winter annual blooms from spring to midsummer, and the summer annual from mid-summer to fall. The plant reproduces only from its seeds. It can grow in clay, loamy, or sandy soils, but it will grow taller in rich soil with good drainage. It needs sun, full or partial shade, but it cannot grow in deep shade.

Harvesting: Leaves, roots, and seeds are used. Harvest the plant when it flowers. Cut the stem about 2inches (5 cm) from the ground. It’s best to harvest the basal leaves when they ’re young. You can also harvest the smaller ones on the stems. Harvest the roots at any time. Remove the roots from the plant and dry them in a shady, well-ventilated area.

Medical Use: As in ancient times, one of the main purposes of the herb is to regulate blood issues affecting the stomach, lungs, uterus, kidneys, hemorrhoids, menstrual cycle, nose, blood pressure, and external wounds. In folk medicine, the herb is also a laxative and a remedy for cancer. A compress is made for external use to rub onto contusions, bruises, joint and muscle pain, and more.

Rituals and Magical Use: The plant is a ritual protective charm against bleeding, overall protection, health through the year, and prosperity. The seeds are added to an amulet for teething children. The seeds can also be eaten as protection against diseases. To do this, a person must eat seeds from the first three shepherd’s purse plants he sees.

Other Use: The leaves, seeds, flowering shoots, and roots are all edible raw or cooked. It’s best to gather the leaves when they’re young. Leaves and flowers can be cooked like any other wild green. Raw, the leaves have an unpleasant odor, so you may want to cook them instead. Dip them into boiling water for about a minute. The seeds can be ground for soup flavoring or even into grain if you can gather enough of them (they are tiny). The roots, finely chopped and fresh or dried, are a substitute for ginger. The plant is added to stir -fry and wontons in China and is an ingredient in a soup called “soup for 100 years.”

Other Names: Lady’s purse, witches’ pouches, mother’s hearts, shepherd’s bag.

Aromatic: The flowers are odorless, but the leaves have an unpleasant aroma. They taste better than they smell. It’s peppery and a bit tangy but tastes more like cabbage when boiled.

CAUTION: Pregnant women should not consume the herb. Avoid using if you are being treated for high blood pressure, thyroid disorders, or cardiovascular disease or are taking any depressants. Excessive use can be toxic and cause sedation, dilated pupils, and difficulty breathing

Charm for Protection

To create a protective charm, place the following inside a red cloth: a shepherd’s purse root, an acorn from a live oak, three bay leaves, and three berries from a silverleaf nightshade. Tie the cloth with a black thread. Purify it with incense of sage or frankincense. Hide the charm somewhere in your house where no one will find it (Texas Witchery).

Mosquito Killer

The seeds from shepherd’s purse are sticky. A way to get rid of mosquitoes is to toss seeds into the water where mosquitoes breed. The seeds not only emit a substance toxic to the larvae, but they also attract mosquitoes. The sticky, gummy substance binds the mouths of the mosquitoes to the seed (NCState University).

SOURCES

Botanical.com. “Shepherd’s urse.”https://botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/s/shephe47.html. Dimova, Dobromira, and Marius Dimitrov.

Лечебни растения в Природен парк Врачански Балкан.[Medicinal plants in Vratsa Balkan Nature Park]. UnicArt: TownVratsa, 2014.https://www.vr-balkan.net/bg/lechebni-rasteniya-v-pp-vrachanski-balkan/.

Friends of the Wild Flower Garden. “Plants of the Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden.”https:// www.friendsofthewildflowergarden.org/pages/plants/shepherdspurse.html.

Harris, Heather. “Foraging For Shepherd’s Purse {wild edible with medicinal value}.”https:// thehomesteadinghippy.com/foraging-for-shepherds-purse/.

NC State University. “Capsella bursa-pastoris.”https://plants.ces.ncsu.edu/plants/capsella-bursapastoris/.

Petrova, Bilyana, Dr., ed. “Овчарскаторбичка,Обикновенаовчарскаторбичка.” [Shepherd’s purse,Ordinary shepherd’s purse.] April 12, 2010, updated on April 6, 2021.https://medpedia.framar.bg/ботаника/ овчарска-торбичка-обикновена-овчарска-торбичка.

Plantlife. “Shepherd’s Purse.”https://www.plantlife.org.uk/uk/discover-wild-plants-nature/plant-fungispecies/shepherds-purse.Star Child. “Shepherd’s Purse.” https://starchild.co.uk/products/shepherds Wild Food Home Garden. “Shepherd’s Purse.” https://wildfoodshomegarden.com/ShepherdsPurse.htm

Herbs are powerful, but they can also be dangerous.

MEDICAL LIABILITY DISCLAIMER: The information in this article, in the book and on our website is not intended to be medical advice, nor does it claim that the herbs listed are safe or effective to use in the manners described. It is not meant to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease. It is merely a brief summary of various herbal folk remedies and how they have been used in the past and may still be used today. With the exception of a few personal recipes, we have not tried any of these remedies and cannot verify their effectiveness or safety.

MAGICAL DISCLAIMER: Magical ingredients and spells are for entertainment only. We have not tried any of these remedies, nor do we make any claims as to their effectiveness or safety.

77 and a Half Herbs?

The wheels in your mind have probably been turning as you think, “77½ herbs is an odd number.” And you’re right. But it’s a special, magical number, referring to herbs gathered on Eniovden, June 24, when Bulgarians celebrate Midsummer’s Day. If you want to find out the secret of the half herb, you’ll have to read the book.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/ronesa -aveela/77-1-2-magical-healing-herbsthe-secret-power -of-herbs

Ronesa Aveela is “the creative power of two.” Two authors that is. The main force behind the work, the creative genius, was born in Bulgaria and moved to the US in the 1990s. She grew up with stories of wild Samodivi, Kikimora, the dragons Zmey and Lamia, Baba Yaga, and much more. Her writing partner was born and raised in the New England area. She has a background in writing and editing, as well as having a love of all things from different cultures. She’s learned so much about Bulgarian culture, folklore, and rituals, and writes to share that knowledge with others.

Review by — Lyssa Medana

https://alwaysanotherchapter.co.uk

The Crow Journal by Finn Cullen

The Crow Journal by Finn Cullen is a wonderfully evocative, meticulously researched, intricately woven tale that slots in impeccable references to mid Victorian London and joins them seamlessly to a chilling tale of faerie, enchantment, adventure and treachery.

The story is told in a style that would have been familiar to Dickens or Conan Doyle. Here’s an excerpt to give some flavour:

The carriage ride was not a long one, and my companion was not inclined to conversation. I was thoughtful myself after my encounter in the court of Green Jack. I had not gained the answers I sought, but I had taken a first step into the realm of Faerie. More importantly I hadn’t lost my life in the taking of that step. There in the safety of the cab’s compartment it began to dawn on me how perilous that encounter had been. Thorn’s ruthlessness had been clear, the memory of those cold killer’s eyes would not soon leave me, and the sense of power that came when I recalled the vast landscape face of Green Jack himself was daunting.

Barnaby Silver, having finished the first part of his magical training with his kindly mentor, Doctor Moran, journeys from a remote village in Yorkshire to London. He is searching for news of his father, who he never knew. His mother, a magus or magician, had fled London when he was a baby. Now he needed to find out about his father.

His quest takes him through the darkest streets of mid Victorian London and the dangerous lands of faerie. Interlaced with the search for his father is the intrigue and scheming of the magi, the magicians that are now based in London after moving from Glastonbury.

The story has plenty of great action scenes and lots of plot twists, although only a hint of romance. As a story, it stands alone but there are a few strands left that suggest further great stories may come.

I thoroughly enjoyed it.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B08G8XR71B

"If you don’t like to read, you haven’t found the right book."

Weeping Boughs Don ’ t Break by Staco Troilo

My Review of Weeping Boughs Don’t Break

I requested and received a digital copy of Weeping Boughs Don’t Break from author Staci Troilo in exchange for an honest review. All opinions stated here are my own.

This book affected me on a personal level, speaking to women and the strengths which are not always seen, especially not by the woman herself. When responsibility and the stresses of life overwhelm us, it feels like the world is crashing in on us and we can’t bear anymore. While others may see our amazing strengths in the trials of life, we don’t feel strong inside.

That’s how it was after my son was taken from me at the age of nineteen, when those around me claimed that I was the strength that held my family together, even as I felt my life crumbling around me. It was a time when family gather, which means dealing with all the people with whom I had a history, and while each came to lend support, they all had their own perspectives and thoughts on how things should proceed. At times, I felt pulled in several different directions, like Gumby, but not nearly as flexible. I remember thinking that I needed someone to stop the world from spinning and let me off.

That is without a doubt the biggest tragedy I have ever experienced, but I’ve had my share of lesser tragedies that brought me down to the lowest of lows, where it was a struggle just to face each day. We all have tragedies, big and small, that assault our emotions and mess with our heads. This story was a reminder of how strong we, as women, can be when they must.

For Claudia, who never learned to say “no” to anyone, even when those demands of others are totally unreasonable, and she tends to push her own needs to the back of the line, pushing those who care for her away unintentionally.But, when her manipulative and emotionally abusive exhusband begins demanding of her after five long, painful years following their divorce, her emotions are stirred and the lines are blurred, and she doesn’t know how much more she can take. As a reader, Claudia’s strengths are apparent, and those who care about her see it, as well. But, there are events which Claudia hasn’t yet dealt with, which she must, if she is to ever fully heal, and that involves being honest with herself.

The realization that Trace sees something in her which she doesn’t see herself, comes as a shock, but to think he might be serious about her forces her to face her demons and her inner strength shines through.

Troilo manages to touch chords many women are familiar with and will relate to easily. It made me look at my own inner strengths as the character discovers strength which she never knew was there. I give Weeping Boughs Don’t Break five quills.

Review by Kaye Lynne Booth https://writingtoberead.com

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0F3Q4T2JQ

Blue Monsoon

by Damyanti Biswas

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0BLFCGXR2

Review

by — Eric Lahti

https://ericlahti.wordpress.com

Okay, so let’s get this out of the way up front before anyone accuses me of, uh, something or other: I’ve known Damyanti for a while now. At least in the way of Internet folk knowing other Internet folk. But, other than that bar fight in Myanmar, we’ve never met face-to-face.

So, there. Haters can accuse me of playing favorites all they want but all I’m going to them is, “Neener, neener, you’re right.”

Anyway, usually I reserve these book reviews for folks who could use the boost, but Damyanti is well beyond that point. But, I’m going to leave a review for a couple of reasons: I kinda know her and this book rocks. So, TL:DR, just go buy the book. It’s a cracking good read set in a place that might as well be an alien planet to most Westerners. But, Mumbai is real.

One of the best things about The Blue Monsoon is the city itself becomes a major character and helps to drive the narrative. It breathes and stinks and lurks in dark alleys ready to gut you for your soaking wet shoes. In some ways, the city is kind of like Albuquerque if we got more than a few inches of rain a year. It’s as fully-featured a character as the rest of them. Think about the neon-soaked noir of Blade Runner where the glitz and glamour of the rich are always just around the corner mocking you for living in squalor and you’ll get a feel for the Mumbai Biswas has shown us. Now, I don’t know much about India – it’s never been on my travel bucket list – but I do know Westerners either view as a quirky place where everyone dances all the time or a place where gang rape is considered a quality pastime. Maybe you could get a little spiritual awakening to go with your hot-as-lava curry. Like most views Westerners hold of the world – Americans, especially – those views range from distorted to flat -out

"The man who does not read good books is no better than the man who can’t."

bullshit. India is a big country, it’s been around a long time, and its got its own set of issues that usually don’t involve dance-offs in the streets. I’ve been to a lot of countries and the sad fact of the world is humans are basically all the same. So, put aside what you think you know and dive into a world where people may have different names and eat different food, but have a lot of the same problems as everywhere else.

Because, ultimately, that’s what a good crime story should be about: The problems. Sure, it’s sexy AF to watch people rip off casinos and disappear into the night, but that’s just fantasy. Crime stories, real ones, aren’t elegant. They’re brutal, ugly things that, just like Biswas’s Mumbai, will slit your throat and steal your shoes.

The Blue Monsoon is a crime story in that vein. It deals with the kind of rugged violence that you really only get good old fashioned oppression. It shines a light on the Caste System and the crushing poverty that comes from that kind of system. It looks at gender roles and inequality and all the bad things people can find to do to each other in the names of revenge or justice or whatever we decide to call cutting people up and leaving them on temple steps. Any name we can attach to the atrocities that helps us sleep at night, I guess.

Is it any easy book to read? Not really. Should you read it? Absolutely. Like I said at the beginning, it’s a great story and the city is just as much a character as noble Arnav, iron -willed Tara, or dedicated Sita. This is a richly detailed tapestry woven from words. You could hang this sucker on your wall if you didn’t mind it dripping on your floor and, frankly, it’s probably best to not think too hard about what’s dripping off it and pooling on your tile. Equal parts mystery and twisted travel guide, The Blue Monsoon is an unpredictable thriller brought to life by a rare talent. Plus, I think it’s on sale right now, so go get it.

A ritual murder at a Mumbai temple exposes the city’s dark secrets and ravages the personal life of a detective in this sequel to The Blue Bar.

Amid incessant rains pounding down on Mumbai, Senior Inspector Arnav Singh Rajput is called to a shocking crime scene. A male body is found dismembered on the steps of a Kaali temple. Drawn into his flesh are symbols of a tantra cult. The desecration of a body at a Hindu place of worship puts the city on edge and divides Arnav’s priorities: stopping a fanatic from killing again and caring for his wife who’s struggling through a challenging pregnancy. Then video footage of the murder is uploaded onto the account of a Bollywood social media influencer, triggering twists in the investigation Arnav didn’t see coming. Caste systems at war. A priest under suspicion. And an anonymous threat that puts his wife’s welfare at risk. When more bodies are found, the savagery of the city begins to surface and Arnav fears that no one is safe from a bigger storm brewing.

The Mester is dead or maimed and the black stone used to control his network of gem makers is in Barbara and Zoltan’s hands. But as Zoltan discovered in the ruin bars of Budapest from a former associate, who turned up beheaded and his hands cut off, the Mester was just a small part of a much larger cabal, an ancient Order dating back to Aristotle and beyond. The Order has one goal: to convince the populace that there are masters divinely intended to rule and slaves meant only to obey.

Using magic and sorcery, both ancient and modern, they will stop at nothing to protect the rule of the aristoi.

But this time the “slaves” are fighting back, drawing on the knowledge and skills from many traditions and backgrounds, including magic of their own, to battle this shadowy cabal and its message of fear, division and hopelessness.

In The Tunnels of Buda Zoltan, the 110-year-old gem maker and Barbara, empath and gem wielder, veer in new and terrifying directions, facing evil on an unimagined scale. They are drawn to the lair of the Justin, so powerful he controls the minds of all around him and who commands the Company, a hidden underground futuristic complex that serves as the hub of the Order’s monstrous conspiracy to enact the darkest of Nietzsche’s Weltanschauung Barbara and Zoltan find new allies and diabolical enemies as they fight for their lives in the mines and ancient tunnels deep below Buda Castle in Budapest.

The Tunnels of Buda

The second installment of Don Sawyer’s critically acclaimed Soul Catcher series continues in mystery and magical form

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0F9SS88S3

From a rural outport in Newfoundland and a First Nations community in British Columbia to West Africa and Jamaica, I have worked with youth and adults from many cultural backgrounds and locales. Inevitably, these experiences have made their way into my writing. I have authored over 12 books in several genres, including two Canadian bestsellers.

A writer and educator, Don Sawyer grew up in Michigan and moved to Canada in the 1960s.

More In the Soul Catcher Series:

The Burning Gem spins from chance meeting of a woman ready for adventure after years in a loveless marriage and a mysterious artisan who will show her another world.

J.M. Shaw

Forsaken Souls

Book Four of the Callum Walker series

Driven south by their brethren in the Northern Kingdom, the Der'geron have bided their time for nearly two centuries, nursing hatred and plotting vengeance since their defeat in the great elven war. As a new conflict draws ever closer, Queen Jobella struggles to assert her authority over her northern domain battling civil unrest, sabotage, and misinformation while attempting to mend fractured alliances.

Meanwhile, Callum and Jax set out on a perilous journey to repair the veil separating the magical realm from the human world. Unbeknownst to them, their path leads directly into the heart of danger, where they are captured by the Der’geron. Imprisoned in the hellish grotto beneath the subterranean city of Elfarian, Callum and Jax are forced to work or die at their enemy's command.

However, danger turns to horror when Callum learns of the Der’geron King’s plans for the Northern Kingdom and the rest of the realm. What is to come will be a reckoning, not a war. It will be a battle for the ages, where both lives and souls are at stake, and death is not the worst outcome.

Imperilled by violence, assailed by evil energy, and tempted by dark magic, Callum must stand against the rising darkness, but first, he needs to find the strength to face his buried anguish, even at the risk of fracturing what remains of his sanity. Yet, there is hope for a happy ending, if only Callum can summon the courage to accept it.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B0F4L5LM72

J.M. Shaw lives in Airdrie, Alberta, with her husband and two young children. She and her family embarked upon a journey of understanding, acceptance, and life-long learning when they discovered their shared diagnosis of autism and ADHD.

Writing is her passion and, with experience and interests in healthcare, psychology, martial arts, and personal training, she pours her unique insights and knowledge into all her creative

More Books in the Callum Walker series:

Lynda Williams

Interview

by Melanie P. Smith

Lynda Williams is a short fiction writer based in Calgary/Treaty 7 Territory. Her work engages with themes of class, feminism, and mental illness. She describes her flavour as If-Raymond-Carver-WroteFeisty-Women. Lynda’s stories have appeared in Grain, the Humber Literary Review, Oranges Journal, HLR Spotlight, and on Room’s website. She has been a winner of the Edmonton Voices competition, the Reedsy Prompts Challenge, and has received honorable mentions in the Humber Literary Review’s and Room’s fiction contests. Her debut collection of stories, The Beauty and the Hell of It is forthcoming from Guernica in September.

https://www.lyndawilliams.ca/

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I’m a short fiction writer specializing in unlikeable female characters. My favorite characters to read have always been antiheroes, but at some point I noticed we really don’t describe women that way. Antiheroines don’t get the dignity of that title. They get called bitches, sluts, and train wrecks. I use my writing to celebrate messy, complicated females.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Get excited about learning your own process. It’s different for everyone and finding out what works for you is so important. Be openminded about feedback, but remember that what you’re doing is not going to be to everyone’s taste, so also, don’t agonize over what other people think.

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? How did you decide what types of book you would write?

I’m a single -genre author, for now at least, as I only have one book, but my current work-in-progress is also short stories. I gravitate towards them because I’m a pantser (see below), and I enjoy the quick dopamine hit that comes with finishing a draft. Novels require a level of planning and stamina I have yet to master. Also, I really love the compression the short story form demands, so it feels like the most natural thing for me to write.

When did you start writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

I started writing when I was a kid, and since it got me some positive attention, I decided I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I kept writing, studied literature in university, accumulated rejections, and somewhere along the line I lost confidence in myself. And then the pandemic happened, and I saw people sharing on social media how they were writing the books they always wanted to write and getting them published, and I was jealous in the best way. It motivated me to sign up for the Creative Writing Graduate Certificate at Humber Polytechnic, and that’s where I wrote the collection.

How / where do you find the plots you write about?

Plot is rarely my first consideration. Stories often begin for me as a line bouncing around in my head and from there I tend to follow the character. What are they trying to say? What are they trying to hide? For me, plot tends to unravel from my characters desires. Occasionally, I’ll read something that inspires me to write a story. There’s one piece in the collection that’s based on a response to Jimmy Fallon’s hashtag Tweets.

What are your current projects?

I’m currently working on another collection of stories engaging with themes of betrayal ( how we betray ourselves, each other, the planet…) as well as some creative non -fiction. Is there one person past or present you would like to meet and why?

John Candy. He never made a movie I didn’t like. I’ve enjoyed his work since I was a kid, and I enjoy it as much as ever all this time later.

A woman comes face to face with her rapist at his engagement party. A teen reluctantly celebrating the first Christmas after her mother’s death gets caught cutting her wrists by a stranger. A student hands in a box of Kraft Dinner as her final assignment, and a bipolar art teacher grieves her divorce by online shopping. Don’t Look Back is a collection of stories about women (and one man) who quietly resist and the resulting moments of transition, acceptance, and vindication.

Whether they wrestle with grief, growth, trauma, or all three, these characters don’t give in to expectations about who or how they should be. These stories will appeal to readers who enjoyed the pivotal moments of ordinary life in Sophie Stocking’s Walking Leonard and Other Stories and those who want a slice of contemporary womanhood served up with dark humour as offered in Meghan Bell’s Erase and Rewind.

Tell us your latest news

My first book, The Beauty and the Hell of It & Other Stories, is forthcoming from Guernica Editions on September 1, 2025.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/1771839686

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I’m a diehard pantser because knowing what happens kills the joy of writing for me. I write to work things out. I imagine I could be more efficient if I planned, but I have tried, and it feels like death to the imagination. I love wrestling with what will happen to my characters. I love putting them in situations I can’t see a way out of because it’s the best feeling when you discover what needs to happen. I’m hooked on that and I don’t want to give it up. Research is something I do after I have a draft and I realize I need to look up certain things.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

I want my readers to be entertained, but I don’t want to dictate what my material should mean to them. I fee like me saying the message here is xyz cheapens the whole meaning making process. The alchemy of readers bringing their own experiences to the interpretation of the story is something I don’t want to interfere with.

How much of the book is realistic?

17.75%. In all seriousness, it varies a great deal from story to story. A couple of the pieces were inspired by things I experienced, but for the most part each story is anchored in questions and scenarios I’ve wondered about. The real to life aspect generally comes through in the details. If I’m describing a face, I’m not imagining; I’m working through a catalogue of features I’ve noticed.

What books have influenced your life the most?

Books that have had a major influence on my life include Pam Houston’s Cowboys Are My Weakness , Raymond Carver’s Cathedral, J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace, Lorrie Moore’s Self-help, and Alissa York’s Any Given Power.

Do you have a mentor that helped or encouraged you to follow your dream of writing?

I’ve been fortunate enough to have several mentors over the years, mostly recently Danila Botha, who I worked with in the Creative Writing program at Humber. Danila taught me so much about craft, but some of the most important lessons I learned in our time together were about how to persevere as a writer. When I started the program, I was still very sensitive about rejection. Danila taught me to not to be crushed by it and to see it as one step closer to yes. It’s a simple thing, but that change in perspective was a game changer for me.

Other than writing do you have any hobbies?

I’m a little dull in the hobby department. I enjoy refinishing furniture with chalk paint, reading, and watching movies.

Can you share a sample of your current work with us?

Opening lines to a recent story:

People don’t tell you that sobriety is boring. So is marriage, and most of life really, and when things aren’t boring, they’re usually pretty awful. If someone had told me that most days sobriety would feel like picking lint off a sweater, I wouldn ’t have been so eager to try it.

Pick one of your characters and share some of their backstory that didn’t make it into the novel.

Danny, one the characters in a story titled, “Everything After,” actually had a crush on his older brother’s ex -wife. That was my answer to the question what is he trying to hide, but that didn’t need to be made explicit on the page.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Thank you. I hope you find something in my stories to make you laugh and that you discover passages that resonate with you, and if you buy a paper copy, make notes in the margins so you can look back on the person you were when you read it.

What do you want written on your headstone and why?

I really don’t want a headstone. If my husband outlives me, I would like him to dump my ashes in a garden or under a tree and to use the money that he would have spent on a headstone to go on a vacation. I want people to honor my memory by living enjoying the shade of a tree, gardening, traveling.

Can you share something personal with your readers? Do you have any holiday traditions? What kind of music do you enjoy? What kind of movies do you prefer? Do you have a favorite author?

I was raised on a dairy farm, so my holiday traditions are very low key because everyday was a workday for my family. We never did anything over the top. Decorating the tree and driving around to look at the Christmas lights are some of my favorite things to do over the holidays. Rom- coms are my go to type of movie (I’ve seen Bridget Jones upwards of one hundred times. To be fair, sometimes it’s just background noise while I’m working). My favorite author is always changing. At the moment, my favorite short story writer is Shashi Bhat who wrote the brilliant collection Death By a Thousand Cuts.

If money was no issue would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

If money was no object, I would divide my time between the beach and the mountains.

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress?

My website is https://www.lyndawilliams.ca/

My Instagram is @lyndawilliams_author https://www.instagram.com/ lyndawilliams_author/

My Facebook is https://www.facebook.com/schrotes

My bluesy is https://bsky.app/profile/lwilliams-author.bsky.social

Lyssa Medana

Hi, I’m Lyssa Medana and this is a series of articles with my thoughts on research and the fiction author. I hope that you can use them as a starting point for your own writing journey.

As I’ve said in other posts, research isn’t necessarily all libraries and location. And these days, with the internet giving us so much information, there are a lot of ways to find out about background. It should be a very small fraction of your writing time, and be enough to cover the basics, avoid glaring errors and add wonderful tone and texture to the background of your story.

There are a lot of different ways that you can go about research. As I am disorganised, obsessive, and easily distracted, I am not the best person to tell you precise steps. What I can do, however, is show you some of the steps that I would use if I were writing a cosy romance set in Whitby with a beach walking heroine and a strong jawed hero.

I’ll set the parameters first. I haven’t been to Whitby for 10 years, and, for various dull reasons, I didn’t get much time to look around. I’m also not going to be able to visit the location in the short term. If I’m going to research a book I’m writing about Whitby, I’m going to have to rely on the internet and my erratic memory. I’ll be putting a lot of the links in a later post about where to research, so I won’t include them here. I am using Google as my search engine. Other search engines are available.

I start by having a browse around the various places on the internet – Wikipedia, English Heritage, The Whitby Guide, the local tourist boards, the council webpages, local news sites and the various historical sites. This can waste a lot of time, but I enjoy it. I may look online for guidebooks to Whitby, Whitby Abbey, and Whitby Museum or for books on the history of Whitby. I get an idea of how this information can support the character and plot (the important part of writing).

When I am feeling particularly organised, I set up a folder in my cloud and keep word documents there of pieces of information that may be useful and links to helpful websites. I also use this to track info on characters and locations. In the past I’ve used notebooks and folders with the old-fashioned pen and paper notes. I’m not going to lie, though, I don’t always do this. Instead I often end up in a mad scramble to try and find where I saw a half remembered piece of information or detail that would really help the plot. Don’t do this. It’s a lot easier if you take notes as you go along.

When I’ve got an idea of the background, I then narrow my focus. I start by asking myself what time of year would best suit the story. Perhaps there may be ghosts, so I’ll look at some time in late autumn. I’ll use November 10th as the start date of the story for this example. It’s really useful to have that date nailed down. It’s a fixed point to build on. If you know the date then you can check things like sunset and sunrise times if you need them for the story. There are a few sites online that give sunset and sunrise times for date and location. And just a reminder – sunset on November 10th is going to be at different times in Whitby, UK (4.09pm), Houston, TX (5.28pm) or Melbourne, Australia (8.04pm). I live close enough to Whitby to know the weather

that’s normal for the time of year so I don’t need to look that up, but there are places for that as well. If the plot absolutely demands, I can check tide tables with the local coastguard, or even get a paper set from an internet store. If the ghost of a departed lover came to visit our lovely heroine every day when the tide came in, then it’s probably best to get an idea for the rhythm of those tides as they vary day to day.

The next thing to work out is where the main characters live. It’s no use putting a billionaire in a shabby campervan or someone who is broke in a mansion (depending on the plot, of course). Where they live has to support the story and the characters. I use Google maps, but other internet map sites exist. I look for Whitby and zoom out to get an overview. I like the idea of the heroine walking on the beach every day, so I’ll put her within walking distance of the sea front. I can zoom in and get an idea of the street layout and have a general idea of where she is. I don’t need to know the house number, just a rough idea of which direction she takes when she goes places. I think the hero will live some distance away, perhaps on the moors or woodland. That would work if he were rescuing the heroine from the dreadful influence of her dead lover. If she has money and he doesn’t, I can have a quick scout around the websites of local estate agents (realtors). This will show me where the expensive houses are and where I can find a cheap places to stash my characters. I can even check up on local crime statistics to see if the mugging that allows the hero to rescue the heroine for the first time is more appropriate in one place rather than another.

After that, it’s time to write. Once I’ve had a browse around, I can get a sense of what is right for the setting, and I can always use Google street view for a little local colour. I can also check things like, ‘is the local supermarket likely to be open at that time’ or ‘what are the names of the most popular cafes and restaurants’ as I write. The basic research is done, though, and it’s time to have fun writing.

Lyssa Medana is a fifty something author living in West Yorkshire, UK. Her works include Out of the London Mist, Under the Bright Saharan Sun, King’s Silver, The Forgotten Village, Digging up the Past, and Dinner at Dark among others.

Lyssa also regularly publishes poems, articles and short stories on her blog, Always Another Chapter https:// alwaysanotherchapter.co.uk/ along with all the latest news.

Lyssa is fascinated by the odd, the quirky and the unusual and enjoys dipping into old folklore and English social history, which she uses shamelessly for her writing. Her hobbies include knitting, reading and heckling history documentaries.

JENNIFER LIEBERMAN is from Maple, Canada and holds a Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy from York University in Toronto. She has appeared in over two-dozen stage productions in Toronto, New York City, Los Angeles, Europe and Australia; including her Award-Winning solo-show Year of the Slut, which her novel Year of the What? was adapted from. In addition to her performance career, she has penned a number of screen and stage plays; her short films Leash and Details which both screened at the Festival De Cannes' Court Métrage among other international film festivals as well as the wacky web-series Dumpwater Divas. Year of the What? is Lieberman’s first novel. More information can be found about Jennifer at:

https://www.jenniferliebermanactor.com

Six months after Dana’s first break-up she is single and heartbroken in New York City. At 25 she is a virgin once removed and navigating the Manhattan dating world is daunting. Having only been intimate with one man, Dana feels ashamed of her desires and keeps trying to squash them in order to be a ‘good girl’ . With the help of Kelly, her unabashedly promiscuous roommate, Dana embarks on an outrageous adventure of sexual discovery and finds power and confidence while taking charge of her erotic exploration

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B08NT1PV64

Jackiem Joyner

Life doesn’t hand out greatness it demands bold moves, resilience, and the courage to stand firm when challenges arise. In Bold Moves, internationally renowned musician and author Jackiem Joyner delivers a transformative collection of quotes and reflections designed to ignite your confidence and inspire purposeful action.

This isn’t just a book of words it’s your personal guide to navigating life’s peaks and valleys with strength and clarity. Each quote serves as a spark, and every reflection a roadmap, urging you to embrace boldness, persevere through struggles, and trust in your own power to create a meaningful life.

With themes of courage, self-belief, and vision, Bold Moves is crafted for dreamers, doers, and anyone ready to rise to life’s challenges. Whether you’re seeking a daily boost of inspiration or a deeper journey into self-discovery, this book meets you where you are and propels you forward.

From a creator who has faced adversity head-on and emerged stronger, Bold Moves is more than a book it’s a call to action for anyone ready to take charge, push boundaries, and step into the life you’re meant to live. Quotes and Reflections for Building Confidence and Resilience

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0DNB7C1P1

Contemporary saxophonist, author, and music producer Jackiem Joyner released his 7th album, Touch, worldwide in 2019.

After more than 12 years as a recording artist, Jackiem continues to stand out with electrifying live performances and brilliant music productions. As a performer, he has toured over 30 countries and performed with the likes of the late George Duke, Marcus Miller, Keiko Matsui, Donnie McClurkin, Angela Bofill, Najee, Kirk Whalum, Peter White, and many, many more. Joyner’s radio success is widely known within the industry. Joyner has two number 1 hit songs, five top 10 billboard singles, and a number one debut album under his belt. In addition, he published the highly acclaimed science fiction novel Zarya, which received high praise and a five-star rating on Amazon. In Zarya Episode II Sochi Unleashed, the epic series continues.

Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.

– Francis of Assisi

The web is a wonderful tool. There’s instant access to a wealth of knowledge on any topic - including Self-Publishing. Here are a few examples to help authors along the way.

How to Create a Book Marketing Plan That Actually Works

Most book marketing plans fall into one of two traps: They’re either overly vague or they bury you in tactics. Learn to create a long-term marketing strategy.

https://kindlepreneur.com/book-marketing-plan

Book Cover Images: An Author’s Guide to Using Stock Photos

Whether you hire a book cover designer or make them yourself, there’s a good chance that your book cover will use stock photos. Understanding the rules on stock photography and intellectual property can save you from legal woes.

https://kindlepreneur.com/stock-photos-for-book-covers

The Art & Science to Amazon Editorial Reviews

Are you using the Amazon Editorial Review section for your book? Unsurprisingly, this section is very important to your customers.

https://kindlepreneur.com/amazon-editorial-reviews

Author Lead Magnet Ideas

Having a mailing list is a phenomenal way to announce upcoming book launches, but having a highly targeted, perfectly interested audience is the best kind of list to have. How can you create a list like that for yourself? Offer a lead magnet that is impossible for the right readers to resist!

https://www.atticus.io/author-lead-magnet-ideas/

How to Write an Author Bio

Tailoring your author bio to the audience who will see it is super important. As an example, if you are a middle-grade comedy has an author bio that reads like a middle school textbook, your audience may be confused and wonder whether you’re able to even write comedy. Probably not going to connect with potential readers or help your sales. https://youtu.be/ha1NzqmpBpI