The Jig is Up by M.K. Scott – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. M K Scott will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

I looked forward to sipping tea and exploring Mark’s ancestral roots in Ireland, but oh, what a twist of fate!

My life as owner of The Painted Lady Inn hardly prepared me for this. With my detective husband by my side, we embark on a journey filled with mayhem, murder, and mischief.

As I savor every bite of Irish stew and soak in the breathtaking scenery, little do I know that our vacation will turn into a whirlwind of sleuthing.

Who could have imagined the secrets hidden behind Mark’s family tree? And what dark secrets lurk in this picturesque village, threatening to shatter the tranquility?

The jig is up, and it’s up to us to untangle the web of intrigue.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The rain-slicked windows made it hard to see the fast-approaching landscape—but not impossible. The blue splash of the Atlantic hugged the coastline while roadways and houses grew visible as Monopoly-sized squares when the plane eased into its final approach. The acrid scent of burned coffee filled the coach cabin resulting in Donna Tollhouse Taber, a compact blonde on the other side of fifty with eyes that missed little, wrinkling her nose. “Someone needs to tend to that coffee pot. It might as well be me.”

Her husband, Mark, a small-town detective whose crow’s feet could morph from charming to threatening depending if you were a citizen or a lawbreaker, grasped her arm. “Leave it. We’re landing. Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

“Yes,” Donna grudgingly admitted, twisting in her seat as if to find the offending coffee pot. “It’s just having a sensitive nose makes me notice burned coffee more than most. It could be the flight attendants are too busy making sure everyone is ready for landing rather than attending to the coffee pot.”

Knowing his wife’s antics, Mark shook his head, resulting in a lock of his salt-and-pepper hair catching on his bushy, graying eyebrows. “You’d be the one they’d be urging to stay seated and belted. We’re on vacation. Relax. You’re not back at the Painted Lady Inn serving guests. Before that, you slaved away in a post-operation ward for almost three decades. Have you ever truly relaxed?”

The question rendered her speechless for a few seconds—a rare state, indeed. While Type A personalities were known to be driven and focused, Donna considered herself an A-, goal-oriented, but open to side adventures, especially mysteries. “There was that cruise. Remember? It was going to be so romantic. You missed the boat,” she teased, then grimaced as she continued. “Then that rich guy died under mysterious circumstances.” Her shoulders went up in a shrug. “I guess I can’t count that one as relaxing.”

Her eyes rolled upward and to the right as the plane tires kissed the tarmac, jostling the passengers. “Wait! There was our honeymoon. We went to Arkansas to get away from the stress of your job. Some place quiet we’d both agreed, then we stumbled over that murdered crystal mine owner.”

“Well,” Mark exhaled audibly. “This trip will be different. No murder. No dead bodies. I read up on Ireland, it’s an incredibly safe place. No bears, wolves, coyotes, or even snakes. The website listed feral cats as their worst predator.”

About the Author

M. K. Scott is the Morgan and Scott cozy mystery writing team of The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries, The Talking Dog Detective Agency, The Way Over the Hill Gang, Cupid’s Catering Company, and The Tenacious Librarian series. Morgan pens the tales, while Scott serves as first editor and webmaster. Daughter Sarah handles the social media and Jane the Lab supervises digging in the garden.

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Welcome to the Writing World by Mike Nemeth – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Mike Nemeth will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Welcome to the Writing World

Writing isn’t a vocation you can choose like deciding to be a lawyer or a doctor. People who “try” writing to see if they like it generally fail. Writing is a vocation that will choose you, if you are compelled to put your thoughts on paper, if you can’t help but imagine emotional or exciting scenes in a story, if you must communicate your ideas to people you don’t even know.
If writing is a compulsion and you’ve been chosen by the vocation, you have entered a world in which you are naked and everyone else is wearing clothes. Through your writing people will learn your deepest thoughts, your closely-guarded secrets, and all the information necessary to form opinions of you, your craft, your style, and your entertainment value. When art is released to the public, it becomes fair game for relatives, friends, agents, publishers, critics, reviewers, social media trolls, and readers to criticize (or praise). Get ready, because to write is to be judged.

As a result, well-meaning people advise writers to grow thick skin and/or stay true to their craft and vision and ignore criticism. The urge to embrace positive input and ignore negative feedback is powerful but it leads to Einstein’s definition of insanity—doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. If we don’t listen to criticism, our craft will neither improve nor evolve.

My advice to a new writer is to accept all feedback as potentially instructive but to analyze the criticism carefully to find the useful nuggets.

Friends and relatives are prone to be nice so probe them for deeper reasons for their praise. Why did they like your book?

Agents and publishers occasionally include provide insights beyond “It’s not right for me” or “Keep trying.” When they do, take heed. If they don’t provide anything useful in their rejections, claim them as a badge of courage. Agents and publishers aren’t infallible, and they usually have reasons for a rejection other than the quality of your writing or the quality of your story. Legend has it that Stephen King pegged rejection slips on a nail in his wall and when the nail could no longer support the weight of all the rejections, he replaced the nail with a railroad spike.

Professional reviewers are most likely to provide valuable advice about your craft, your style, and storytelling expertise. Believe them and adopt their advice when compatible with your style and genre.

Social media trolls can safely be ignored unless they have something nice to say about your work. In that case simply thank them and hope their post goes viral.

The last group, readers with verified purchase reviews, provide the input to which I am most sensitive. These people were attracted to my work—the good news—and took the time to provide a reaction after reading some or all of the story—the possibly good news and possibly bad news. If an audience for your thoughts and ideas is your goal, these are the people to whom you should listen. You may find that they “just didn’t get it” and that’s on you as the communicator. On the other hand, they may have liked facets of your work that you can leverage in future works.

The bottom line is, don’t be afraid of criticism, use it to improve your craft. But do as much input-gathering before publishing as possible. Once published, the input can only be used in the next book. So, a final word of advice is to surround yourself with the members of a prepublication critique group, an excellent developmental editor who can furnish advice on content and continuity, and trusted beta readers. The work you do after finishing the manuscript but before publishing it will save the anguish of negative criticism after publication.

Framed by cops and chased by crooks, a white ex-con and a rebellious black woman become fugitives. They didn’t plan to fall in love.
After serving time for a crime he didn’t commit, Parker and his wife, Paula, hide from an old enemy in an Atlanta suburb. Their fresh start is disrupted when his new boss demands his involvement in a fraudulent scheme that will replace thousands of white collar American workers with artificial intelligence and offshore labor. Parker unfortunately suspects his secret and elusive birth father is mixed up in the fraud. Then a body is pulled from the Chattahoochee River and Parker believes Paula has murdered his enemy, but the police think Parker did it. He and his brilliant colleague, Sabrina, a woman who can trace her roots to Virginia slaves, steal the “smoking gun” that will expose the fraud and go on the run, pursued by cops and crooks. After a violent showdown in a frightening New Orleans cemetery, they connect the dots between a murder, fraud, and a man from his mother’s past. Parker’s loyalties are torn, but he must choose.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The terror Parker felt was what an antelope feels when it is about to be eaten alive by a pride of hungry lions. He took shallow breaths through his nose to mask the sound of his breathing as he listened to the blood coursing through his carotid artery—whoosh, whoosh. Where the hell is my backup?

In the crepuscular light, Parker saw her then. She emerged from her hiding place in the boathouse and assumed the shooter’s stance she’d been taught at the gun range. She gave the hunter no warning, just fired her compact Beretta once, and the man crumpled onto the Cool Crete surface with a thud and a rush of expelled air. That hadn’t been the plan. She was only supposed to balance the threat Parker suspected Meredith had posed. She wasn’t supposed to shoot anyone. It’s so easy to get these things wrong.

A scan of the house’s back windows revealed no sign of Meredith. Parker put a finger to his lips—don’t talk—and motioned for the woman to hurry into the shadows. The wounded man moaned softly, and Parker’s quick check confirmed that he was semi-conscious and neither moving nor watching. Parker took the woman’s pistol and shoved her toward the neighbor’s property. The snowbirds who owned the place were away enjoying the mild Canadian summer during the Florida off-season.

“Run,” he whispered.

She loped into the darkness. He counted to twenty—one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi—then he dialed 9-1-1.

About the Author:Mike Nemeth, a Vietnam veteran and former high-tech executive, writes love stories tucked inside murder mysteries highlighting America’s social issues. THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY won the Beverly Hills Book Award for Southern Fiction and the Frank Yerby Prize at the Augusta Literary Festival. The novel inspired singer/songwriter Mark Currey to compose the song Who I am. PARKER’S CHOICE won a Firebird Award for thrillers and American Fiction Awards for Diverse and Multicultural Mystery/Suspense, and for Romantic Mystery/Suspense. Other credits include The New York Times, Georgia Magazine, Augusta Magazine, Southern Writers’ Magazine, and Deep South Magazine. In 2018, I was named Atlanta’s Best Local Author by Creative Loafing magazine. Mike lives in Villa Rica with his wife, Angie, and their rescue dog, Scout.

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Legacy of Evil by James Peyton – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will award a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

A banished detective. A body drained of blood. Mexico’s vampires are all too human.

After graduating from Harvard, Artemas Salcido is determined to transform Mexico’s justice system and joins the federal police. He begins solving crimes committed by the rich and powerful and is banished to the village of Bustamante.

On a college field trip to Bustamante’s nearby caverns, the daughter of a US senator is brutally murdered. The FBI, the international media, and a Mexican hit squad tasked with making the problem go away descend on the village. When Mexico’s attorney general tells Artemas his career depends on his cooperation, Artemas realizes his life is at stake.

As other grisly murders occur, Artemas’s investigation uncovers an ancient blood cult connected to a powerful financial cabal that stretches from mediaeval Europe to Mexico’s most influential politicians and businessmen. When he disputes his violent colleagues’ bogus solution to the crime, Artemas is marked for death.

Can Artemas’s determination to bring fairness to Mexico’s justice system prevail against the overwhelming power of his government—or will it prove fatal …?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Once the handcuffs brushed his shirtsleeve, Artemas slid forward with the lighting speed he’d practiced hundreds of times in the dojo. A front snap kick connected with Raymundo’s pistol, sending it spinning toward the ceiling. Right foot midair, Artemas repeated the kick, driving his foot into the PGR man’s crotch with a satisfying thwack. As Raymundo gasped and bent over clutching himself, a third snap kick to his face lifted him off his feet and dumped him onto his back.

Artemas caught sight of the other man closing in from behind. He uncoiled his body and delivered a powerful reverse side kick to the man’s solar plexus, doubling him over. He followed up with a snap kick to the face. Like his colleague, the man landed on his back, choking and groaning with pain.

About the Author:

Award-winning author James Peyton’s intriguing settings and memorable characters in his thrillers come from his years of international work and travel. The first two editions of his four-part thriller Artemas Salcido series are now available on Amazon; Legacy of Evil and Terror Crossing, to be followed by La Buchona and Not For Sale. Peyton’s stand-alone adventure thriller, The Royal Fifth, was released in 2022. James has had five acclaimed books published on Mexican cooking, history, and culture. Peyton’s writing reflects a depth of understanding and a unique perspective that sets his work apart.

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Method to Madness by Thomas Grant Bruso – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Thomas Grant Bruso will be awarding $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Five years ago, Jack Ballinger was a police officer.

He has since moved from the small upstate New York town of Black Falls for greener pastures and a peaceful life alone in the Green Mountain State. Time has changed Jack — he is no longer the man he used to be. A significant challenge for him has been the heartbreaking loss of his boyfriend, companion, and one true love, Steve.

Now alone, Jack has yet to deal rationally with the immediate changes of his new life. After losing his partner, Jack drank heavily to numb the pain and forget his life-changing loss. Now, he must find a way to move forward without Steve and the life he built for himself. Joining an Alcoholics Anonymous group helps quiet the voices that still keep him awake at night. But something much darker has followed him to his life in the quiet corners of Vermont.

When Jack thinks he has buried the scars of his past, a new nightmare emerges. How far will Jack go to end the imminent evil in his life and kill it for good?

Trigger warning: this story addresses suicide and suicidal ideation.

Enjoy an Excerpt

My work boots clipped across the newly polished floor, squeaking with each determined step toward the security guard’s office in the back of the mall. I didn’t usually get frightened, but after the week’s events of Jacob Adler’s murder and my recurring hallucinations, I was on guard twenty-four-seven. The wall I’d built after Steve died sent me into a tailspin. I lost my self-confidence to “live on — move on,” as Steve had put it. Getting out of bed was the most challenging part of the day, getting started. But not as difficult as being a suspect in somebody else’s murder.

I locked up in the office, hung my jacket on the wall peg along with my badge, fastened my uniform hat on top of my coat, and secured the building. I walked around the side of the shopping center to get to my truck, which was parked near the auto shop garage in the adjacent lot. My keys clanged against the side of my uniform work belt.

There was a crispness to the air as it gusted across my face.

When I reached my truck, I stopped and glanced at the imposing three-floor structure of the Rushford Shopping Mall. It had been a game-changer, I told myself. When my life was at its lowest, the job as mall security had saved me. Moving from upstate New York to Vermont and being hired at a stone’s throw distance from where everything had bottomed out of my life, life could not be better. I had to keep reminding myself that I was lucky. This was meant to be.

I was living. No – I was surviving the best way I knew how. The sharp gust of wind filled my eyes with a deep sadness.

I slipped my key into the driver’s side door. I jumped inside, cranking the station to a country song I knew Steve would roll his eyes at, but his enthusiastic expression brightened my mood. I sat in the quiet interior of my truck, my head falling against the headrest, my eyes closing to the welcoming solitude. I drummed my hands on the bottom of the steering wheel.

About the Author:
Thomas Grant Bruso knew he wanted to be a writer at an early age. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since childhood.

His literary inspirations are Ray Bradbury, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, and Joyce Carol Oates.

Bruso loves animals, reading books, and writing fiction, and prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.

In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he won the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes and publishes fiction and reviews books for his hometown newspaper, The Press-Republican.

He lives in upstate New York.

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A. R. Grosjean – Interview and $0.99 Pre-order

Long and Short Reviews welcomes A.R. Grosjean who is celebrating the upcoming release of Hidden Agenda, available for pre-order for only $0.99.

She began writing as Amber Rigby because that was who she was. She thought that when she finally got published, that was the name she’d use so people would see the name and know it was her. That way, she could prove she did it when everyone else said she wouldn’t. When she finally got her first book traditionally published, she was married and her husband asked if she would use their last. So, she decided to use both her maiden and married names: Amber Rigby Grosjean, and she published a few books under that name.

“After a while, I decided the name was too long and it was a constant reminder of what my family put me through. So when I began publishing books myself, I shortened the name to A.R. Grosjean. So in a sense, it is my real name and a pen name at the same time. I only use this combination for the writing world. Otherwise, I’m just Amber Grosjean,” she said with a laugh.

Amber never really thought much about writing when she was a child, even though books where always around the house.

“My mother and little sister always had a book in their hands. I had turned 11 a few months prior. My grandparents, my little sister, and I were on a trip to see my uncle. Since the trip was going to take a few hours, my sister and I brought paper and pens to color and draw. On the way home, I was looking up at the clouds for an idea to draw and a story popped into my head instead,” she remembered. “I began writing as if it was something I’d done a thousand times before. The love that came with it stayed and has only grown since that summer day. To this day, I have no idea where the idea for that first story came from. It was like it was given to me to begin this long journey of being a writer—like it was my destiny.”

She continued, “There was something about creating something out of thin air that had me hooked. I considered myself a writer from that moment on. I couldn’t see into the future so I’m not sure how I knew that I’d be published someday. Maybe it was just hope that had me, but growing up I thought I did know I was a writer. I was writing a book or a story, so in my mind I was a writer. People kept telling me I wasn’t going to get published and I wasn’t a real writer. It was only a hobby, they would say. But I didn’t listen to them. I was too busy proving to them I was.”

To date, she has 23 books published, one coming out next month, and two still in the works. She has three favorites: 1. Fairytale’s Truth 2. Murder Through Time 3. Peterson Estate #1 Birth of a Witch.

Fairytale’s Truth: This is a children’s fantasy adventure. I used my first granddaughter as the MC. Her personality and some true events she’s done has been added to the story. It made her live forever. Of course, I did get permission from her parents before writing the story. My granddaughter had a rough beginning in her life and almost didn’t make it. She has a pacemaker. She’s seven now and has had that pacemaker for quite a few years (she was just over a year old). This is the first book in a series called Fairytale Adventures.

Murder Through Time. I love time travel and this story is probably my best written story. I love the detail and had so much fun moving through time. I thought it was interesting how one person could be killed multiple times and the reason for her murders was actually clever, I think. I can’t take credit for it, the character came up with it.

Peterson Estate: This was my original top favorite story because it had been with me since I was a kid. It was the first finished book I ever wrote and the third book that was traditionally published. Emily Peterson, the MC has been with me almost my entire life and has helped me through a lot of things growing up. I actually lost this story once and Emily kept coming to my dreams demanding I told her story. I rewrote it from memory which turned out making it even better!

One of the stories she’s currently working on is called A Mother’s Pain (women’s fiction/inspirationatl). There are a few true events in this story that happened to her, but she fictionalized it so there are also added elements that didn’t happen. Anna went through a lot as a young mother and wife. She struggles and she is forced to live with her parents twice (husband included). The second time around, her mother pushes her away and finds a way to be the children’s mother instead of Anna. Now Anna must find a way to become strong and fight for her children. This story will be dedicated to all struggling mothers.

“How do you come up with the titles to your books?” I asked.

“I begin with the idea for the story and think of something clever for the working title. Once the story is written, I may change the title or keep it. It just depends if I like the title or not. It also depends on how many other books use that title. I’ve learned that there are a lot of books that use the same titles. It may cause confusion when mine comes out. The title also has to say something about the book, the story within it. I always have something before the story is written. That gives me a chance to start sharing information about the book so I can begin the marketing phase.”

Amber has an entire room devoted to her writing, something she’s always wanted. Her desk in black and small with a shelf. On the desk is a lamp, a Nana mug with pens, a paperweight for decoration, a few pads of stickers, two planners (2023 and 2024), a notebook with all her stories’ notes, her laptop, and a lot of sticky notes. Around the desk, she has two bookshelves (one short, one tall) with books, cleaning supplies, bathroom stuff (because other things are in this space), more mugs that she doesn’t use for drinking, and various other things. There is also a printer, charging station, and drawers filled with whatnots and more pens.

“I have a lot of pens!” she said.

I asked her to share her most embarrassing moment.

“I was in the zone while writing one of my books and I reached a scene that was funny so I laughed. I had no idea my husband was standing over me, watching, until he said something. I jumped. Then we both laughed. I had to tell him what I was writing, and it made him laugh that I had laughed. At the time, I was in a room that didn’t have much light, and my desk wasn’t facing the door at the time. It was easy for him to sneak up on me anytime he wanted which caused me to move the desk,” she explained with a laugh. “Today, I have a room that is well-lit and the desk faces the door, sort of, so I can always see when someone enters the room through the corner of my eye, even when I’m in the zone. No more surprises! My husband has caught me yelling at my characters too, by the way.”

When Amber’s not writing, she likes watching TV shows or movies. She also enjoys crocheting and making clothes.

“I have made blankets for my grandchildren when they were born. And I made two stuffed animals. One was a bear for my granddaughter with a pacemaker to match hers and the other was a unicorn bear for my youngest daughter. I also like to doodle and make other crafts. And I like to play games online. Those are addictive. I do have a part-time job cleaning rooms for a hotel. My husband and I have gotten to know the owner and the manager there (we lived there for two years). My husband also does security for them. And I do other things like computer work and printing. I call myself the secretary,” she said with a laugh. “If the manager needs a form, I create it and print out copies he needs. I save the forms in case he needs more later: ‘No sitting on the steps’, ‘out of order’, the form they fill out when getting a room, etc. I’ve gotten creative on some of the signs I’ve made using pictures for a visual effect.”

I asked, “What would we find under your bed?”

“I thought this question was funny so I had to answer it. When my husband and I lived at the hotel, we didn’t have much space so we had to utilize every inch we could including the space under the bed. At the hotel, you would find out out-of-season clothes, extra food, and pans under the bed just because of the lack of space. Then we moved to the house and gained four rooms and a closet (living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, and office). Now we don’t need the space under the bed as much so there isn’t much under it. But you will find a suitcase with my husband’s out-of-season clothes, an empty duffle bag to take our clothes to the laundromat, and Christmas stuff so our kids don’t see it. And maybe some dust.”

I was curious how Amber came up with her characters’ names.

“I’ve gone through a lot of different methods. First, I used only the names of people I knew or knew of. But that was making things harder on me,” she explained. “I bought a book called “Creating Characters” by Readers Digest and there was a section on character names. It said you could just make up the names based on personality, their job, or whatever. So I tried that when I wrote Murder Through Time. A last name—Guilnet (not guilty). When the narrator did this book, hearing the name being spoken sounded so cool. It sounded French and make it appear more real. I thought this concept was cool, but I didn’t want to overdo it. I also get some names online on a name builder site. That’s fun.”

Finally I asked Amber if she had a question for our readers.

“There is a fine line between the fantasy and science fiction, and sometimes I have to guess because the two ran side-by-side. You can have a story about witches and depending how the story is told and what’s in the story, it can be either/or, so it’s hard. All things in outer space is science fiction. Time travel is science fiction. That much I do know. Someone once said that science fiction is ‘it could be true but probably not’, but I believe Superman is science fiction, and I know it’s not possible for people to fly without any assistance. So that’s confusing. Maybe a reader on here could set me straight. I’d love to hear people’s thoughts on it.”

Two lives are forever changed when a virus sweeps the nation.

Thomas stole a serum, trying to better his life. When someone steals it from him, it leaves him questioning the people who hired him. What is the serum? Did he just help them release a deadly virus?

Rick was just a janitor. During the outbreak of a deadly virus, his wife speaks her mind and gets the two of them kidnapped. Now she’s dead.

Thomas and Rick separately search for answers. They join a group searching for the same thing as they are. The group knows who released the virus. Did this man do it? Or was it someone else? Why would someone intentionally release a deadly virus? And how does Ming and Rick play into this? Did Ming know the truth?

About the Author I was bullied my entire childhood and through high school. It ended when my family and I moved to Fort Wayne, IN during my junior year in high school. By then, my life and choices had already been affected. I tried to commit suicide when I was ten years old. I’m thankful today that it wasn’t successful. A year later, I discovered writing and knew that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I read everything on writing and did everything on my own, not knowing what I didn’t know. It took me twenty years to get my first book accepted by a traditional publisher. I’d say another ten years later, I changed my publishing routine to self-publishing and rewrote all of my books and changed my pen name to A.R. Grosjean, which is what I write under now. To this date, I have 23 books published in various genres including fantasy, science fiction, romance, paranormal, thriller, mystery, children’s books, YA, and more.

If I’d Never Heard of Me, Would I Read My Book? by Ross Victory – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Ross Victory will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

If I’d Never Heard of Me, Would I Read My Book?

Yes, I would read my books. The biography of Ross Victory paints a portrait of an artist whose works are not merely products of imagination but also powerful extensions of his life’s narrative. The loss of his father and brother, pivotal moments in his life, fuel his creative expressions, which would resonate with anyone who has faced personal tragedies and is seeking solace or understanding through storytelling.

Ross’s literary works, like his award-winning memoir “Views from the Cockpit,” offer an intimate look at family and loss, which universally touch readers. His background as an English teacher imbues his writing with clarity and subsequent educational value that enriches the reader’s experience. Additionally, his engagement with themes of intersectionality and family in his YA horror series “Grandpa’s Cabin” shows a range and depth that promise a compelling read across genres. Also, Ross invests time and effort in his cover art with evocative images like planes crashing in the distance, a boy emerging from an egg, and an evil grandfather character rising from the ground. The colors are always bright, and the covers make you think.

Moreover, Victory appears to be a multidimensional character of the author—his music while confronting contemporary issues like racial injustice and mental health. His advocacy for the Bi+/LGBTQ communities and against elder abuse adds layers of social relevance to his works.

This artist does not shy away from the complexities of the human experience but instead embraces them, weaving them into his art. Your curiosity would be piqued by the promise of engaging narratives and the transformative power of Ross Victory’s words as they reflect a journey through hardship toward advocacy and empowerment.

At eighty-four years old, widower and award-winning geneticist Bernie Crenshaw has reached the end of his life. Bernie gifts his only grandson, eighteen-year-old Inglewood high school senior Nova, his multimillion-dollar property located in Los Angeles’ Hollywood Hills.

Years after Bernie’s death, Nova hosts a wild twenty-first birthday party weekend filled with alcohol, music, and OnlyFans web cameras. After a handful of eerie encounters in the surrounding Los Angeles forest, Nova’s friends allege that his grandpa’s cabin is the burial ground for people who disappeared during their childhood.

The birthday weekend shifts from celebration to terror as the friends piece together that the man Nova knew as “Popsi” matches the profile of one of the most notorious wanted criminals in Los Angeles-“L.A. Love Hunter.”

Will Nova preserve the Crenshaw family’s sadistic legacy, or will he choose the rare and valuable gift of friendship?

Enjoy an excerpt

Nova did not understand why first grade had ended early. Dozens of armed security guards descended on the elementary school with their guns drawn. The events of the day, which started with learning to tell time on a silly- framed clock and identifying vowels in sentences, had become disjointed puzzles in Nova’s six-year-old mind, a mind easily distracted by dogs’ tails and why his father shaves his face, but his mother shaves her underarms. Today, his bite-sized body would experience panic, and his mind would be introduced to a modern emotion: terror.

Mr. Woodrow, a frumpy man, only thirty-five but looked sixty, paced the classroom, which was decorated in circus-themed letters and talking numbers. His face was pale and fear-stricken as he explained today’s events to the officers, who observed him with deep suspicion.

“Sir, six-year-old kids don’t just run away from chocolate chip cookies and story time. We need you to breathe and tell us the last time you saw the twins.”

Two chairs, which had been occupied before the recess bell, were now empty. A class of twenty bright-eyed first graders was now eighteen. No one knew where the twins had gone.

After hours of waiting, the class was escorted to the pickup lot, where Nova found his mother, Stella, standing next to their black Range Rover and anxiously biting her left thumbnail down its nail plate.

“Oh, my God!” Stella burst out as she hugged Nova’s frail body tightly. She kissed Nova’s head repeatedly. “Are you okay? You must be so scared.” Nova stood motionless and confused by his mother’s panic.

About the Author: Ross Victory is an award-winning author and singer/songwriter from Southern California. After the loss of his father and brother, Ross dove into self-discovery, reigniting his childhood passion for creative writing and music production, launching an independent writing career. Victory has dedicated his life to empowering his community while entertaining listeners and readers. Victory provides a multi-format creative experience in Urban Adult Contemporary music and literature, with a focus on creative non-fiction and thematic novellas. Topics include: adventure, family, religion and philosophy, and identity.

Victory is best known for his father-son memoir, “Views from the Cockpit,” and multimedia production brand, “Books & Bangers.”

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Writing the First Chapter by Emma Dakin – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Emma Dakin will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Writing the First Chapter

It’s hard to entice the reader into the book without overloading them with information. I have so much information: back stories, clues that are important, a description of the setting that can set the mood. It all seems important, and it is. But if I unload that information as if I’m giving directions to the reader, they will close the book. Occasionally, I’m lucky and think of a way to start my story that begins with action and weaves setting, character and clues into that action. Usually, I write out all the information before the action starts. Pages of “information”. Then, I cut and paste those preliminary pages into a different file, and start over at the point where the action begins and proceed from there.

The first line needs to engage the reader. I’m fond of Dick Francis’s first lines: “You are a spoilt bad-tempered bastard,” my sister said, and jolted me into a course I nearly died of. (Flying Finish) and “I stood on the outside of disaster, looking in.” (In the Frame.)

I enjoy those first lines and even enjoy my own first lines: “I had expected my hostess at the tea party to be boring. I hadn’t expected her to be dead.” (Hazards in Hampshire).

A line like that puts you into the center of action immediately. It also tells you a little about the setting. While Claire is observing the body and considering what she should do, she can reveal to the reader who she is, where she is, and what problems she has at the moment. This is more effective and more interesting that telling the reader that Claire has just moved to this English village and doesn’t know the villagers well, that she is in her forties, has inherited money, but works as a tour guide. The readers will learn all that as they follow her immediate problems with a dead body.

Every first chapter doesn’t have to start with a body, although that will certainly grab the reader’s attention. If the story starts more quietly with only a minor problem, you need to move quickly into a major one, or at least, one that is major to your protagonist.

Crime in Cornwall starts: “The walls were shaking again. The noise level from the neighbor’s back garden rose like the roar of a football crowd and had reached that stage of raucous shouts mixed with wild music that made sleep impossible.”

The first paragraph establishes where the protagonist lives and her personal circumstances. It places her in an English village and highlights the problem with her neighbors. The body appears at the top of the third page.

While it is important to know the back story of your characters and the clues that the reader needs, it is not necessary to put them all into the first page. Trust yourself to sprinkle them in as you go. Readers are intelligent. They will pick up what they need to know.

Claire Barclay and her band of tourists are full of enthusiasm for her trip to Sussex and Kent, the beautiful southeastern part of England. A tragic death of a young man the son of the guest house manager sends Claire into comforting mode and makes it more difficult for her provide a bright and care-free holiday. Laura was not surprised at her son’s death as he had been a drug user and she expected he had taken contaminated drugs, a common fate. But the police lab said otherwise. He was murdered. Claire’s fiancé, Detective Inspector Mark Evans, investigates, so Claire is involved and privy to much information. Too much. In spite of her busy life with demanding guests, she discovers the motive for the murder and finds herself in danger.

A fun tour of Sussex with the extra treat for mystery lovers as Emma Dakin ties places to favorite books. —Rhys Bowen (NYT bestselling author of the
Molly Murphy and Royal Spyness series

If you are looking for a cozy crime novel that evokes a wonderful sense of place – look no further. Emma Dakin skilfully weaves a new mystery into a fascinating and informative tour of Southern England featuring heroine and literary tour guide, Claire Barclay, and a host of interesting characters.
—Julie Wassmer, Author of The Whitstable Pearl Mysteries

This engaging story will appeal to traditional mystery-lovers who like their murders set against the authentic backdrop of quaint English villages.
—Clara Benson, USA Today bestselling author of the Angela Marchmont Mysteries

Enjoy an Excerpt

Approaching the small town of Rye, I marked the route to Canterbury and the road to Hastings where I’d take my guests later in the week, I didn’t know this area well but had done two quick reconnaissance trips earlier. Jacqueline Winspear set her books near here in the war years. Her descriptions had given me a sense of familiarity with the green land around me, but the miles of delta before the sea surprised me. Rother Manor, our guest hotel, was large, but not, I was sure, large enough to have ever been a manor house. The name was probably applied to the house recently to attract tourists. The common meaning of ‘manor’ was a large house on a huge estate, but sometimes it just meant a large house. Mark told me that his colleagues sometimes called their police district their manor. I ruminated on the application of the word. I tended to do that. I’d not brought guests here before, but it looked ideal, sufficiently old to satisfy the North American appetite for a romantic setting but not so old it was decrepit. Laura Wright, the manager, had seemed organized and experienced.

I loved trying out new guest hotels and the whole experience of taking a tour to the sites of mystery novels. The tourists shared my itch for mysteries and were usually interested in what I offered. I’d had a career as a teacher of English to executives in many parts of the world. I enjoyed it as I was fascinated by linguistics and the way people use language. Now at forty-eight, I had achieved stability with a reliable partner, my own house and tour business and a legacy from my much-missed step-father. I should be able to feel comfortable, not always expecting a disaster. I admonished myself. This time the tour will go smoothly. This is a beautiful house; you will enjoy it here.

Rother Manor House was a three-storey rambling Victorian and was as close to a gracious house as was possible at the edge of Rye. The grounds were beautiful. Laura’s son, Reece Martin, looked after them she’d told me. He was in his late twenties and committed to creating beauty. The owners of the guest house were glad to hire him, Laura had told me, as staff was hard to find. It was unusual to see so much land around a house of this age in a town but it made a picturesque setting for my visitors. Across the street and well below it lay the cricket grounds, still green in the July heat. Beyond the grounds, the salt marsh stretched to the sea. The tourists would love this view.

I pulled my eyes away from the vista and turned into the car park, a graveled area to the left of the entrance. After unloading my small suitcase, knapsack and briefcase from the van, I climbed a few steps to the front door. It was unlocked. I entered into a long hallway and saw a side table with an open guest book and a prominent bell. I called for Laura but there was no answer. I hit the bell. No one came. I hadn’t told her the exact time I’d be here. She was likely nearby. I wandered into the lounge which was off the hallway. A small table held two cups and saucers, sugar and a milk jug and a plate of cake. My guests weren’t arriving until tomorrow. She could have others guests tonight, but I hoped that cake was for me. I dropped my luggage on a chair in the lounge and walked down the hallway to the rear of the house. There was no one in the kitchen. I pushed through the back door and stepped into the garden. The minute I opened the door I heard the keening of a woman in distress, a soft, desperate cry that rose in the air and hung there. There was anguish in every tone. The hairs on my forearms rose and I stood frozen for a moment.

The wail receded, then rose again. It came from the area at the back of the property. I walked towards a shed. I moved cautiously to the open door and peered in.

Laura was sitting on the floor beside a young man who lay still. His skin on his arms was pale, deadly pale. His head was turned so I just saw his dark hair. He was muscular, wearing a black T-shirt, denim jeans, black trainers. At first, I thought he’d fallen or had a seizure of some sort. Then I saw the Prenoxade kit open and the syringe on the floor nearby. Prenoxade, naloxone, the life-saving remedy for drug poisoning. Tour guides carried it; police carried it; teachers had it handy and, apparently, so did mothers.

About the Author: Emma Dakin writes a series of mysteries set in Britain. Her protagonist is a tour guide who takes different characters in each book to the sites of mystery novels in the countryside. She appreciates the elegant, people and humor of each area. But in that idyllic country, Claire stumbles on murder. Author Emma Dakin has five books so far in this series with the latest release September 12th 2023. An historical mystery set in Vancouver in 1886 is due out soon. She won a prestigious 2022 Lieutenant Governor’s Community History Award for her non-fiction account of life in the 60s.

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If I’d Never Heard of Me, Would I Read My Book? by Austin Camacho – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Austin Camacho will award a randomly drawn winner a $25 Amazon/BN GC. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

If I’d never heard of me would I read my book?

Well let’s see…

I love books that feature a true hero, and Subtle Felonies has one. Hannibal Jones is a private eye in the classic hardboiled mold. He has a clearly defined morality all his own, he’s tough when he needs to be, but tender when that’s called for. He also has a smart mouth and is clever enough to solve a twisty mystery. He may seem familiar, because I’m a fan of Lew Archer, Travis McGee and Phillip Marlowe but being a man of mixed race raised in Germany gives him a unique perspective when dealing with the book’s diverse cast. This is a man I will be happy to get to know.

I like to really feel the setting, and this book explores the DMV (District of Columbia/ Maryland / Virginia) to give me the sights, the tastes, the smells, the sounds, the FEEL of the area.

I love a books that really move and once Hannibal sinks his teeth into the mystery, events move at a breakneck pace. The feeling of urgency to find the missing man never slackens. Almost every chapter ends with a cliffhanger. It seems like there’s no place in the whole book where it will be easy to put it down for the night.

Most of all I love a good mystery. Subtle Felonies has a plot that twists like a corkscrew with clues scattered about the landscape. There ARE enough clues in plain sight to solve this mystery and figure out who the ultimate villain is… but you won’t. and in the meantime, a series of bad men and women appear with their own schemes that only confuse the sleuth trying to sort out the big villain’s plot.

And, even if I had never heard of me, I’d read Subtle Felonies because it’s part of a series of complex mysteries Hannibal Jones has faced. Each of his previous seven adventures is populated by its own cast of fascinating characters, explores parts of the Washington area, moves at its own frenetic pace, and offers opportunities to get to know this knight errant in dark glasses, DC’s professional troubleshooter, Hannibal Jones. I’d want to read it because I’d know there’s more great reading ahead.

Is retired basketball star Xander Brown missing, or kidnapped? His crazy family and dangerous friends draw DC detective Hannibal Jones into a deadly chase to find – or rescue – a complex man. In public, Xander is a husband, father, partner, friend, but who is he in private? Which role took him away? The search moves at breakneck speed across the posh suburbs and angry alleys of the nation’s capital, forcing Hannibal to confront tough truths and deadly risks. Will DC’s troubleshooter save a life or lose his own?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Charlotte took a deep breath while examining Hannibal. Her eyes scanned him top to bottom. He felt the way he did in the airport when they put him in the chamber and told him to raise his arms overhead. Was she staring into his eyes, or wondering about his dark glasses?

Were his black suit and white shirt inappropriate for the season?

“Ben told me that you were very good at finding people,” Charlotte said. “And that you were trustworthy and above all discreet.”

“Yeah, and he probably figured you’d be more comfortable with a black investigator.”

She grinned. “Yes, there is that. You wear those shades all the time?”

“Unless I’m asked not to.”

“Well then, would you mind?” She leaned in. He removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his suit jacket pocket. She leaned even closer.

“Blue? No, I think hazel eyes,” she said. “Where’d you get them?”

“You’d have to talk to my parents about that.”

About the Author:Austin S. Camacho is the author of eight novels about Washington DC-based private eye Hannibal Jones, five in the Stark and O’Brien international adventure-thriller series, and the detective novel, Beyond Blue. His short stories have been featured in several anthologies and he is featured in the Edgar nominated African American Mystery Writers: A Historical and Thematic Study by Frankie Y. Bailey. He is a past president of the Maryland Writers Association, past Vice President of the Virginia Writers Club, and one of the directors of the Creatures, Crimes & Creativity literary conference – now in its 10th year. The 8th Hannibal Jones mystery, Subtle Felonies, was released September 27.

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The Big Shakeup by Nancy Boyarsky – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post was part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nancy Boyarsky will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Everyone is innocent until proven guilty, or so they say.

P.I. Nicole Graves arrives early at work, just as Los Angeles is hit with “the Big One,” a long-predicted, devastating earthquake. When the building stops shaking, Nicole finds Jerry, her boss, in his office dying of a gunshot wound. It appears to be suicide.

Nicole is shocked to learn that the police have decided Jerry’s death was murder and even more shocked that she’s their only suspect when there’s no shortage of people with motives. And there’s the question of why the detectives are pursuing this one case when all city workers, including the police, are in an all-out search and rescue operation for survivors. All she can do is evade capture long enough to prove her innocence and catch the real culprit.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The shaking was gathering force. Nicole crawled further into the desk’s knee space, tried to brace herself and grip its legs. Holding on was next to impossible when the desk jumped with every jolt. Even more frightening was the noise. It had started as a rumble but now sounded like the roar of an oncoming train.

Every instinct told her to run, get out of the building. But with so much movement, she knew she’d never be able to stand up, much less run down eight flights of stairs. As the shaking continued to build, all thought disappeared. The whole thing had lasted a mere three-and-a-half minutes. But if Nicole knew anything at that time, it was that shaking would go on until the building caved in and buried her.

About the Author: Nancy’s award-winning Nicole Graves Mysteries have been compared to Mary Higgins Clark and are praised for contributing to the “women-driven mystery field with panache” (Foreword Reviews) as well as for their “hold-onto-the-bar roller coaster” plots (RT Book Reviews). Her debut novel The Swap—book one of the Nicole Graves Mysteries—won the prestigious Eric Hoffer award for Best Micro Press Book of the Year.

Nancy has been a writer and editor for her entire working career. She coauthored Backroom Politics, a New York Times notable book, with her husband Bill Boyarsky. She has written several textbooks on the justice system and contributed to anthologies, including In the Running about women’s political campaigns and The Challenge of California. She has also written for the Los Angeles Times, West magazine, Forbes, McCall’s, Playgirl, Westways, and other publications. She was communications director for political affairs for ARCO.
In addition to writing mysteries, Nancy is producer and director of the “Inside Golden State Politics” podcast.

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What Kind of Writer Am I? by Lachi – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a voritual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Lachi will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What Kind of Writer Am I?
Before anything else, I am a world-builder. It’s difficult to get engaged in character motivation without being deeply engulfed in the scene. I believe the setting itself is a main character and deserves to be well developed, have its own voice, and its own sense of humor, loss, love and pain.

I also hold character development right up there beside stage setting. Through immersive multi-POV with quippy, distinct internal monologue, I really love exploring 4-dimensional characters who kick butt, but whose motivations grow and change along with circumstances, and whose generational traumas seep through in unexpected ways. As an author with a disability, I also like to make sure disability is represented in everything I write, whether it be a main character working through their neurodivergence to socialize or a side character casually dealing with random bouts of inaccessibility.

In ‘Death Tango’, a horror-tinged whodunit mystery wrapped in Sci-Fi, I get the opportunity to dive headfirst into all of these passions in a future cyber-laced New York City run by corporations and robots alike, where folks work from home, order in, and communicate via second life-esque social media. And our four headstrong mains must work to overcome their own traumas to figure out how to save the city from a growing plague.

In a Utopian twenty-third-century New York City, where corporations have replaced governments, AI dictates culture, and citizens are free to people-watch any other citizen they choose through an app, this horror-laden Sci-Fi Thriller follows four mis-matched coeds as they attempt to solve the murder of an eccentric parascientist. Only someone or something able to navigate outside the highest levels of croud-sourced surveillance could get away with murder in this town. If the team can’t work quickly to solve the case, New York City will be devoured by a dark plague the eccentric had been working on prior to his death, a plague which, overtime, appears to be developing sentience.

Enjoy an Excerpt

It is nine years ago. I stand alone on an unstable rock. Beneath that rock are a few precarious slabs of granite. Beneath the granite lies a hundred feet of air, of silence, of potential bone-shattering death. Surrounded by a dusk sky, Mount Venom—the cliff aptly named for the lives it has claimed—stretches endlessly beneath my quivering legs and far beyond my blurring vision.

Through the blaring wind, I hear several SOIs—School of Intelligence kids—hurl down demoralizing insults from the cliff’s edge. “She’ll never make it!” “Fall and die, swine!” Each year the SOIs goad us TFs—Testing Facility subjects—into scaling the cliff. If successful, the TF is accepted as an equal, putting an end to constant ridicule and torment. There is little sympathy for those who accept the challenge and fail. I tell myself to reach for the next stone along the slope, to keep my hands steady, to breathe.

I near the finish line.

Every inch of my body tastes it as much as my mouth tastes it. Get there; say nothing; feel no pride. My face wet with tears and mucus, my fingers slippery with blood, I feel around for my next grip and pull on my burning calves. I have only two heaves left. Two heaves, and no more being treated like trash.

I notice a small gap between two large stones above me. As I place my dampened hands into the hole for leverage, the rubble on which I stand gives out. My legs dangle freely. I have the willpower to lift my body onward, but my concentration is broken by a pair of black-gloved hands that pop out of the fissure above me.

Someone is hiding behind the rocks.

Tech Sports knitted in thin red stitching on each glove slides into view. My body ignores the anxiety presented by this new predicament, and I continue to lift. The gloves grab both my forearms and yank. I am now dangling by the grip of those hands; I am now at their complete mercy.

“Friend or foe?” I manage to growl between pained gasps, the wind forcing hair into my mouth.

“You’re so close,” replies a male voice I can hardly distinguish.

“I know! I know! Help me up!” I yell. My legs work uselessly to find hold. Receiving no verbal or physical response, I wriggle my shoulders. “Hey! Help me up!”

“Beg me!” the voice demands, barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears. I fend off a rapidly growing well of despair. Despair is a choice, a manifestation of surrender.

“Please!” I bark, the word taking with it all of my remaining willpower. I look up wide-eyed at the gloved hands, ignoring the falling stones as I await my fate.

“This is for putting in the application!” he yells, and with a quick jolt he lets go of my arms.

I fall.

I keep my eyes open, desperately hoping for something to grab, but all I see are a mix of gray sky, red rock face and my flailing arms. I hear my bones smash against the jagged teeth of Mount Venom and scream one long uninterrupted exhale, silenced only by the jarring collision of the back of my skull against the cold, hard pavement.

I don’t feel the fracture. I only hear it between my ears. Pop.

I lie at the foot of Mount Venom, looking up at dark clouds, a metallic taste oozing over my tongue, a harsh pain working its way down my neck. A thick puddle coalesces under my head as onlookers gather.

My vision snaps away instantly with a blink. Surrounding echoes fade slowly as the internal sound of my curtailed heartbeats takes over. Suddenly I feel cold and heavy. I am motionless, no longer taking in oxygen.

After an onslaught of euphoria, I feel my brain flatten. I hear its slight gummy movements of deflation against my last few heartbeats. And somewhere between no longer feeling the ground beneath me and no longer feeling the air around me, I realize I am dead.

I perceive only a black vastness about me. Like an autumn leaf I float in the Cartesian circle that is the keen awareness of my nonexistence. A mix of bliss and terror. I try to hold on to something physical, something I can understand. “You are safe. You are safe,” I repeat, exercising the remnants of my inner monologue.

Then I begin to see things.

A single bright blue diamond, about the size of a fist, appears five feet before me. It is soon joined by two more on either side, followed by two more still, until a string of blue diamonds surrounds me. I realize I can see my entire periphery, no longer limited by physical eyes. A light source switches on behind me, revealing that I am floating at the center of a rotating diamond-rimmed disco ball.

Trying to locate the light source, I push my perception upward, downward, left, right, only to find that I, myself, am the source of that light. The speed with which the disco ball spins steadily increases, faster and faster, until all is a blur of spinning frenzy. Suddenly thousands of quick snapshots of familiar faces speed toward me: my friends, my bullies, the dark skin of my estranged father, the Spanglish ravings of my drunken mother, their parents, their parents’ parents. Images of a cottage in France, a village in Africa, past wars, ancient discoveries, tree scavenging, gasping air, breathing ocean, swimming in gas, feelings of remorse, loss, shame, excitement, immense love, bitter anguish, and a desperate need for acceptance. Every imaginable emotion ravages me whole.

I experience my consummate past. A massive rewind that stops at a sweeping explosion. A sphere of white fire so bright, it could hardly be described as fire. I am an endless wave of raw emotion drowning in the unyielding flames. And in that eternal instant I understand everything.

Again, all fades to black, the warmth, the understanding. And though the blackness around me is infinite, I sense a presence. I am not alone.

“Look around you,” the presence communicates to me, not through sound, sight or touch, but through direct understanding. I am certain it is—at least in part—a being other than myself. I hold fast to my mantra. “Do not fear,” the presence continues. I allow the mantra to fade. “Do you see how far the blackness reaches, stretching beyond infinite horizons? That is how much you do not know, how much you’ve yet to learn.” A brief silence. “Fear is the great enemy of knowledge, and you, Rosa, are the switch between them.”

“Me?” I manage to convey through the slivers of my consciousness.

“Us.”

“Us? How? Why? What do you mean?” My figurative words come childlike and excited.

“You already know how,” the presence responds as it fades. “You already know why.” I feel a growing bitter loneliness as the presence drifts away.

“Wait!” I yell. The blackness around me congeals to a bumpy dark brown. “Come back!” The glistening euphoria gradually declines as my flattened brain begins to restructure. A physical atmosphere swiftly surrounds me, and a palpitating sensation starts beneath me, causing me to rise and fall. The pulsing sensation reveals itself to be my heart grappling for a pulse.

A crashing ocean of white noise fills my head. I feel that I have a head. A body. Arms. A face. My face.

I open my eyes as the rush of noise fades to the sound of an open room. I am lying on a bed in the infirmary, surrounded by the school nurse and Dr. Ferguson himself, their blurry faces examining my head wound.

Dr. Ferguson bends forward. “You had a very nasty fall, Ms. Lejeune. Do you remember that?” He watches a nurse as she dabs a cloth at my face. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

About the Author:Lachi is an internationally-touring creative artist, writer and award-winning cultural activist living in New York City. A legally blind daughter of African immigrants, Lachi uses her platform to amplify narratives on identity pride and Disability Culture. In her public life, Lachi has helped increase accessibility to the GRAMMY Awards ceremonies as well as create numerous opportunities for music professionals with disabilities, through her organization RAMPD. Lachi also creates high-quality content amplifying disability. She has hosted a PBS American Masters segment highlighting disabled rebels and releases songs such as “Lift Me Up” and “Black Girl Cornrows” that elevate disability and difference to the pop culture market. Named a “new champion in advocacy” by Billboard, she’s held talks with the White House, the UN, Fortune 100 firms, and has been featured in Forbes, Hollywood Reporter, Good Morning America, and the New York Times for her unapologetic celebration of intersectionality through her music, storytelling and fashion.

In her free-time Lachi writes sci-fi and fantasy novels with diverse, headstrong characters, focusing heavily on atonal world-building, quip-ridden character development, likable villains and psycho-spiritual discourse.

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