Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Earth's End Trilogy by Sandy Nathan - Book 2!

I had already read the first book, The Angel and the Brown-Eyed Boy, when I was able to pick up the entire Earth's End Trilogy in one book... I'll be reviewing the next two books separately rather than as just one book... But before you start today, I recommend you read my review of the first book to briefly begin to know the characters that will become very important in the next two books...namely, Jeremy and Eliana... 

Because it had been quite some time since I'd read the first book, the second one caught me off guard... Earth's End had already occurred! Very few survived. This is their nearly disastrous story. Interestingly, Nathan chose to throw readers directly into earth's end and then in the third book comes back to provide the story of how the preparation for the disaster had come about. 

Readers are immediately, therefore, thrown into the horror of Earth's Ending...

Lady Grace and the War
for a New World:Earth’s End 2 

Sandy Nathan

“Come on, Ellie! They’ll let us go this time.” Jeremy dashed out of the tiny place where he and Ellie lived. His waist-length dreadlocks flopped behind him and his bare feet slapped the smooth surface of the hallway. The door’s membrane tried to catch Eliana, but she slipped through. His wife was as agile and beautiful as the day they’d met. He carried two bags of survival gear that he’d created from intergalactic junk. 
The goldies had swept the heavens to get him raw materials for construction projects. Before they’d given him something to do, Jeremy’s boredom-induced screaming fits had traumatized the planet. He and Ellie ran through a translucent passage in the planet’s depths, bells booming all around them. Chimes always sounded on the planet, carrying messages. These bells were alarms. 
Horrified faces wailed in the walls, pointing at them with luminous fingers. They were the souls of the departed elders and formed the elastic, semi-transparent substance of the golden planet. The whole world was some shade of amber— ranging from glowing yellow to almost black. Lights shone from the planet’s depths, raking arcs like searchlights and then fading. 
Jeremy galloped past Belarian’s grand, bejeweled palace. “Bitch,” he shouted and kept running. Belarian, the “mother” Eliana had missed so much when she was on Earth, was really her owner. She had tormented Jeremy. He made a quick turn, going up another corridor. Jeremy thought living in their adopted home was like being inside someone’s guts. Undulating, ribbed tubes ran everywhere. The tunnels moved and shifted. But Jeremy knew where he was. They were on a major thoroughfare that didn’t change. “Come on, guys! It’s on!” Jeremy shouted as they ran past James and Mel’s “place...”
That’s all they had: places. No street names, no addresses, nothing but places. The natives didn’t need anything more than knowledge of a place’s existence to find it, but finding anything was hard for the humans. “Come on, we’ve got to go!” Jeremy yelled to the guys. A glass-like amber sheet locked Mel and James into their space. Mel kicked at it with the bottom of his foot. The wall retracted before he touched it. He and his partner, James, slipped through. They took off after Jeremy...
He held his hand up to the door and made various gestures, ending by flipping it off. “We know you’re in there. What you’re doing is illegal. You brought us here under false pretenses...”
He choked out his message to the elders. “We thought you had a free society. We thought we would be equal citizens. We didn’t know you brought us here to experiment on!
“Let us in! You know what I’m saying is true!” He didn’t feel afraid. The elders had confined or tranquilized him after his previous outbursts, but they’d never hurt him. “We can’t stay here any more!” 
You can survive? 
“With the packs, yes.” 
We will send you now. We will send the others later, and your bags. 
Jeremy found himself sitting in the middle of a wide grassy field. He looked around, amazed. Brilliant blue sky. Trees bordering a meadow. Something else: the crash of surf. He was on Earth! He took a deep breath. Good old air. The place looked gorgeous. The trees were huge. Obviously the danger from radiation had been over for centuries.

Eliana had been used by the residents of another planet to persuade people from Earth to escape to their planet before the end of the earth. Jeremy, as well as other scientists and intellectuals, were invited and had accepted, believing they would be free to pursue their lives there...

Jeremy and Eliana had fallen in love and had a child...It was taken away from them as soon as it was born--just like every other child that had been born to earth's former residents. They definitely had not received the expected welcome and freedom.

Jeremy, a brilliant young man who had been told of the upcoming nuclear destruction of earth had created underground bunkers all over the world to save as many people as could be saved. While he loved Eliana, he had almost gone mad without work on his adopted planet...and expressed his anger loudly until they started gathering materials from other planets to allow him to continue his research and preparation for moving back to earth...

And now, after gaining support from a small group who were willing to go back, he had demanded that the elders allow it... They sent only Jeremy... He was alone on, thankfully, an earth that was totally free of the environmental dangers that had been there... what?

He’d been returned to Piermont Manor. He was Jeremy Bentham Piermont Edgarton, heir to all he saw. He was in the good ol’ USA, in the great state of Connecticut. They’d send the others and his stuff soon. Everything was A-OK.

Jeremy was emaciated and arrived naked. No clothes were used on the gold planet and Jeremy had figured the goldies had wanted them to look like them...or else the loss of weight had simply come from having to eat seeds and the tasteless golden glop for thousands of years...

Nothing was left of the estate, he could look out and see for miles, but he slowly began to figure out the location of the various buildings... He knew approximately where the shelter was and wondered how things had gone...was there anybody alive? Occupancy by the scientists and scholars that had been intended for this shelter had been prevented when the nuclear blasts had come so fast. It was the small town of estate workers who had moved into the shelter.  Everything had to move so fast that he'd named his Headman as the leader and, worrying about the occupants, he had thrown out a list of suggestions on how to survive... One of the main commands had been to not marry cousins... Also, no drinking or drugs... The suggestions had remained and became commands... The underground had split based upon those who had followed the commands and those who had not...

Thinking back was interrupted by the sound of wolves...

The wolves howled again, coming closer. That’s when the nerve block wore off. They weren’t sending Ellie or anything else. He’d been a pain in the ass on Ellie’s planet, so they spit him back. They’d sentenced him to death.


But Jeremy was not the type to give up hope, especially when he found her...was it a far-distant relative of Flossie who had lived on the plantation? Was she friendly?

The bitch stood up and yipped, motioning him to follow with her head. She had a rabbit stashed by the oak’s trunk and grabbed it as she trotted into the forest. He could barely keep up with her. Only the howling behind him kept him going. She led him deep into the forest, to a hill he’d never seen with a small clearing in front of it. Flossie took him to a hole in the hillside and disappeared inside. He looked at it, not knowing if he could fit. A howl from the forest behind had him clawing at the hole’s dirt sides. He made his way in, leaving some of his skin on the walls. Inside, Flossie fed her babies while having her own dinner. She ripped the rabbit’s guts open and devoured the contents. She made a handy job of it, also consuming one of the rabbit’s hind legs. The rest, she prodded to him with her nose. 
“Thankee, Flossie,” he said, attempting to speak the brogue of the old village.

Thankfully the hounddog had not turned feral, and even offered him part of the rabbit he'd caught...Jeremy was hungry... but it took some time until he began to eat the raw meat... and gain strength to move forward...

If you can think of any backwoods horror movie you may have seen combined with the totally high tech facilities built to last for thousands of years if necessary, you will begin to understand what Jeremy might run into when he discovers that a shelter occupant has been thrown out  through an escape see if he lived... Fortunately, he was right near the cylinder when Sam was thrown out... Jeremy quickly pantomimed for him to pretend he couldn't breathe and start screaming... Sam obeyed!

And then there were two humans on the earth's surface...

This trilogy has already won many awards, but, hey, books never die...each new reader shares the story and falls into the setting... Nathan has created a brilliant trilogy unlike any that I've thus far read. It merges old country ways with such hi-tech fantasy that readers are amazed by the facility that had been created (mostly seen in the final book) which allowed survival for thousands of years... If you love scifi and fantasy, don't pass up this entire trilogy! Highly recommended!


I used to be a princess. My parents were born in the hungry days of the Great Depression. They overcame the poverty of their youth by becoming extremely successful. I spent my time showing horses and water-skiing behind my dad’s obscenely overpowered boat. That life vanished when a drunk driver hit my father head-on in 1964, killing him. 

Not instantly, though. My dad's death was the stuff of horror movies and plunged my family into years of darkness. 

My old life disappeared. I lived at close to poverty level for a while. What happened in the following decades opened my eyes. I've seen and lived the over-privileged existence I describe in the Bloodsong Series. I've seen how it can warp those who are lost in it. I've seen how the power of money can mask mental illness and allow evil to ruin lives.

I know the mental and emotional landscape of the San Francisco Bay Area, Silicon Valley, as it has come to be known. I know the physical geography just as well; I lived on the San Francisco Peninsula for fifty years. I made my home in the iconic cities and towns of Atherton, Woodside, Cupertino, and Palo Alto during that time. 

How did such a hothouse flower end up writing the rough and visceral fiction I do? It’s because of what happened in those dark years. 

My writing has a bite. My life has had a bite. Recovering from what happened to me has taken many years. And I have recovered. What was legitimately mine came back to me, along with the fruit of my own labor. If your life echoes mine, you might like to see how I healed; it’s in my books. 

My writing isn’t for everyone. I write about people getting better and the world working out, but it’s not always gentle and nice. A reviewer described one of my books as “equal parts horror, spiritual, romance, and action.” If that’s for you, you’re my reader. 

I consider what I write as falling primarily into the visionary fiction genre, which is about psychological maturation and making the world a better place. I have had huge spiritual experiences all my life, as well as gentler, ongoing inner guidance. Whatever is behind these experiences and this earthly life wants me to tell you my visions through my tales: my darkness and light.

Now for my “regular bio”: I’ve been in school a very long time and have two advanced degrees. I’ve had prestigious careers. My writing has won thirty national awards. I’m very happily married; my husband and I have been together forty years. I have three grown children and two grandchildren. My husband and I live on our California horse ranch and love it. We still ride the trails together, metaphorically and on our horses.

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

Bela Abel Opens Wide the Bars Into Prison in The Indian Gift...

Bela Abel is an imaginative writer with a unique perspective about life earned from time spent behind bars in an American prison. His collection of fictional stories take place in the fictional Bayboro Correctional Facility. His characters go through the tedium and violence of American prison life intermixed with magical reality and supernatural elements. These magical elements appear in many ways from subtle signs to overwhelming demonic powers, but no matter how many of those supernatural forces are present in the plot, Abel insists that his short stories reflect the actual life events that had happened to him directly or to people he has been locked up with.
What, Benny?
No, I don’t have a tag. They gave you a name tag because you can’t talk. Very kind of them. No, nobody else is getting a name tag, unless one is a runner. Runners do have name tags. Like this pussy ass, Franklin. Our seg runner, he just passed with hot water. He also brings ice and news. Loose tongue, you know. A man shouldn’t do like that — la-la-la-la-la-la like a market gossip monger. He is an assmonger too. How do I know? I know. You be here as long as I am, and you’ll know it too. This is my fourth year in this apartment. Cozy, huh? Eight feet by eight, two bunks, two tables. All other woodpeckers have less than half as much. All that for me alone. Cripples like me are rare. Yes, I am getting layover men once in a while, like yourself, but most are moved to the hospital in two maybe three days — whenever a room is ready for them there. Why that? It’s simple. Because damn guards hate to walk you down to the hospital every morning for vital signs and every
afternoon for procedures, that’s why! Putting all those chains on you, calling lockdown in hallway, and shit — they hate it. When you are in the hospital seg it all will be just three steps away, you’ll see.
* * * 
Maybe you’re right, Benny, maybe I should get a name tag. Last three days I felt like a hospital runner, or, say, segregation hospital runner, if they have one. No, man, no, you’re not a trouble at all. I actually like that you are here. You’re a perfect neighbor, Benny, just perfect — not a word of complaint. By the way, I meant to ask you about your name, Benny Spaeth. You must be German, I mean of German origin, right? I’ve been to Germany, to Stuttgart. And I used to live in Sweden, in Malmö. Sweden is like a Scandinavian Germany. You see, I’m like everything here, of some outer origin. So you are not from Germany yourself, but you are not from Bayboro either, I reckon? You have this Yankee look, you know. I wish I could hear you talking. Aha, up North. OK, don’t try, I’ll guess. Wisconsin? Minnesota? Aha, Minnesota. You see, that makes two of us. I am from North too. My name is Yukke J-A-R-V-I-N-E-N. Järvinen with “J” almost silent, so it should be pronounced like “Järvinen.” I bet you’ve never heard a name like that. You see, I knew it! But in the place where I came from a name like that is a common name. Yukke Järvinen is a Finnish name. Yes, I am a Finn. Not born in Finland, but of Finnish descent. Now I see you are looking puzzled. I know, and I’ll tell you why I am here. I’ll try. Just lie down and listen. You need rest and the story is not as simple as some of those woodpeckers may think. You’ll see.

The Indian Gift: 
The Chronicles of Bayboro Correctional Facility III

By Bela Abel

Many people like me who are from the country seldom know the realities of the people living in today's world... For instance, I have never seen an individual intoxicated... I have never known somebody who was in jail... Perhaps that is the reason I wanted to read Bela Abel's book; it is illuminating to say the least... For me, it was an introduction to some of those individuals who find themselves imprisoned for one crime or another. 

...that Yukke Järvinen is 
locked here for four lives.
 Locked, although, as you can
 see, I can’t run anywhere
 even if I wanted to. 
I am mobile like a two-legged

 dog. Yeah, although all that

I am telling you, Benny, 
does not mean a thing, or,
 even if it does, it means little.
 And, sure, I can read you,
 you want me to tell you what
 does mean a thing then, 
right? You do, Benny?
 I’ll tell you then.

After I read it, for me, a criminal individual to know... No I am neither naive nor uneducated, but Abel's books opens up a world that many of us would never know intimately. He introduces us to people who have a story to share... I appreciated the opportunity...

The Indian Gift is an anthology with the title story closing the book. You can find story summaries on the author's web site. Each are unique and have new characters; all are prisoners in fictional Bayboro Correctional Facility...

Blur. The first story reveals the plight of the physically handicapped in prison. Normally alone, they had housed a wounded man there until arrangements can be made to move him to the hospital. My first thought was that Yukke was so lonely and in need of company that he started talking and never stopped. He had a captive audience at first, but soon the other man tried to start communicating even though he couldn't talk.

By talking to his silent roommate, readers learn the life story of Yukke Jarvinen...

You, Americans are caring, I know. See for yourself — a handicapped cell, wall handles, and shit. Same in the shower room. I think if I was to be hanged, I bet my gallows would have a handicapped ramp. I would be hung with my wheelchair. Whoosh! No, Benny, don’t laugh. It’s bad to laugh in your condition, you can’t shake. No, just listen, listen. Whoosh! The damn wheelchair falls down the hatch, and I am hanging like a piece of Finnish cervelat. You know what cervelat is? It is sausage, salami. You know, I bet salami is a Finnish name!...

Needless to say, he kept right on talking, except when one or the other needed to sleep... I think this was the perfect story to begin the book and I enjoyed it and certainly did get to know Yukke!

Farewell to Jimmy Lee was sad and to many will be unfathomable. Consider if you would how you would "throw a party" or celebrate when one of your friends is being released. All of the options were explored, including sharing an "intimate" party... or other rites that have been used:
Like, say, the Brotherhood boys just give each other a damn good last day beating. All getting together in a circle and beat the lucky one, one who is leaving. They beat the shit out of him, taking turns, one after another, until he will crawl out on his four or will take a nap. Then, on the next day, on his way home, he will feel how much his friends care...
The horrible thing was that it was almost understandable why violence would be considered a positive sign of congratulatory farewells from his close mates...

Quincunx was a personal story of how a man, simply called Q, came to the author to buy his legal services, using coffee as his trade... Actually, what he wanted was to have Bela write out his personal that time Bela had begun writing on a routine basis...
But I remember when I saw her there, everything was crystal clear and I said to myself, ‘Gee, Marty, look at that whore! What a whore — just what doctor had ordered!’ “I remember it was nicely cool night, not too cold, it was only early October. Someone’s car on the lot was open and radio played ‘Tainted Love.’ It was all in sync — I saw her there, standing at the time of my utmost need — right at that moment, didn’t you get it, Belkins?” “Yes,” I sang, “tainted lo-ove!”
Q nodded to me. “That’s it. There she was — a whore and maybe even worse, a slut. Or, actually, neither one. It is important, Belkins, to put it down. I mean in a sense of a motive important. I’ve got the motive; OK, I was motivated, you know, yes, that’s the word!” “Tainted lo-ove,” I sang. “Q, what are you here for, what have you done? Is it a rape, assault, murder? Or what?” Was it in my question or something else that spurred Q for a moment? But he suddenly stood up from my bunk...
Abel is a great storyteller. His words ring true for those who are living in correctional facilities. There are four additional stories in the book... But it's not meant to be totally entertaining, except maybe for those who have had the experience and can relate or disagree with the author. I knew a pastor who had left the church I was attending at that time, to take on a prison ministry... Some of you may be called for a mission of some sort. I have tried in the past to find somewhere where I could easily pass on my books to the prison library, with no success... This book is an excellent way to begin to consider sharing with our prison population. Or, to help as you consider former inmates for positions in your community and/or for jobs... Highly recommended  in general, but social workers, sociologists, teachers, prison workers, and people in similar positions, should consider this a must-read in my opinion...


You'll Know the Music - but Not the SongWriter...Harry Warren

Use of Excerpt Approved by Author,
 Guy Graybill

One Warren tune, "Chattanooga Choo Choo," became the first gold record...

The Great Unsung Songwriter
Harry Warren may have been the most prolific songwriter in America, Italian-American or otherwise! Yet, a quarter century after his death, he remains unknown. During my seven decades of attending movies and listening to music, I'd never noticed the name of Harry Warren. One must ask why Dmitri Tiomkin or Irving Berlin had their names splashed before movie audiences while an equally prolific songwriter--a man whose songs won three academy awards and who had 42 of his songs on the old radio show, "Your Hit Parade" (Berlin had but 33)--had gone unheralded.

Harry Warren was born December 24, 1893 in Brooklyn, New York. His parents were Italian immigrants. His given name was Salvatore Anthony Guaragria. It is said that his sisters renamed him as Harry Warren. In 1918 he and Josephine Wensler were married. The had two children, Harry Jr. and Joan. They lost Harry Jr. to complications from pneumonia is 1938. When Harry died in 1981, he was buried in Los Angeles.

In one parallel with his competitor, Irving Berlin, Harry, too, lacked formal training in music. However, once his songs became noticed, his talent was in demand for years, writing songs and movie scores. Many of the top singers of their day, household names in America, were busy belting Harry Warren tunes and getting rich in the process. He wrote songs for three major motion picture studies, MGM, Warner Brothers, and Twentieth Century Fox. The three Harry Warren songs that won Academy Awards were:

Other songs that got considerable attention were "No Love, No Nothin'," "Serenade in Blue," "September in the Rain..."

"We're in the Money," and "Shuffle off to Buffalo." In 1980 the aging songster was invited to return to writing songs for a movie. Thus, at the age of 86, Harry Warren was again writing songs; but the picture was never completed. Still, despite one of the most impressive musical resumes in America, outside the music industry Harry Warren has remained a virtual unknown.

Salvatore Anthony Guaragna might still get the deserved recognition if fans approached the federal and New York State governments. Resolutions and even a day of recognition might be established. Imagine a day when radios set aside time to play some of the top Harry Warren tunes and backed them with appropriate remarks. Harry Warren deserves such recognition. Even those  too young to remember any of the early Harry Warren titles, would surely recognize a Harry Warren song that we've not even identified to this point, a song that was quite popular for its very catchy melody, even if the words were uninspired. Likely, the most memorable Harry Warren song is "That's Amore."

Some of you may remember the songs by more recent musicians...For instance, this was one of my favorite Harry Warren songs...even though I didn't know who the songwriter was...

It is both sad...and wonderful...that songs continue after the death of the world's great songwriters...but I have to agree with Author Graybill that, especially for those who have received Academy Awards for their music, they should not fall into the past...unknown... 

Monday, November 28, 2016

Seb Kirby Brings Readers Another Great Psychological Suspense Novel!

Trust is like that. You can break it for a good reason. 
But it still remains broken. --Harlan Coben

I’m lost in a dark, dark place and, try as hard as I can, nothing helps me to understand. When I seek answers, I see only broken shards of my past, flashes lighting this darkest of places for an instant, shining bright then fading as soon as they appear. Fragments of time, light and dark, great joy and great sadness, overlapping incidents in my life that I thought were lost forever. And when I look again, it’s as if what I’ve just seen has never existed.
I open my eyes and look around...facing a woman who looks at me with care and concern. I say the only thing I need to say. “Where am I?” She smiles at me. “You’re at the Pinetree Medical Practice. I’m your doctor, Jane Wilson.” 
“How did I get here?” 
“Your friend Marianne brought you here.” 
“Why would she do that?” 
The doctor looks up from the notes she’s making on her screen. “Because you’re distressed.” She pauses. “Can you tell me why you’re feeling so anxious?” 
I don’t know why she’s asking me this. Why should I trust anything she says when she won’t tell me where I am? “I don’t know.” 
She keeps prying. “What can you tell me about the last twenty-four hours?” 
“I can’t. It’s a blank.” “And that’s why you’re distressed?” How could she know how this feels? I’m alone, lost in a cold emptiness with no way back home. Why can’t she be straight with me? “I don’t know. Just tell me where I am?”
“You’re with me, your doctor, Jane Wilson, at the Pinetree Medical Centre.” 
“How did I get here?
 “Your friend brought you. Do you remember her name?” 
I’m so alone, how could she tell me I have a single friend in this world? “I can’t recall anyone bringing me here.” 
The doctor returns her attention to the screen. “I’m going to ask you some questions. They’re going to help me find out what’s wrong with you. Is that all right?” 
“If it will help.”
 “OK. Tell me about yourself. What’s your name?” 
I know who I am. No one can take that away from me. “Isobel Cunningham. Issy to my friends." 
“So, you won’t mind if I call you Issy?" 
“That’s fine.” 
“And where do you live?” I know that, too. “Bentham Gardens. Apartment 21.” 
“And how old are you?” 
“Forty-one next birthday.” God, I’m that old? 
“Any brothers or sisters.” “I’m an only child.”
 “You’re married?” “To John. We’re divorced.”
“Any children?” I feel a jolt of pain as she asks me this. I don’t know why I should feel this way. I give her the only answer I can, the one I need to give. “No children.” “And your parents?”
“Jenny and Tom. They’re separated. She lives in Reading.” I can say this, but if I closed my eyes, I wouldn’t see them. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen them. 
“Spell WORLD.” Now she’s saying I’m stupid. Who would ever want to ask a forty-one year old woman that?
“Why wouldn’t I be able to spell it?” 
“Just try.” 
“OK. W-O-R-L-D.”
 “That’s fine. Tell me, Issy, do you suffer from migraine?” “I don’t know. I just want you to tell me where I am, how I got here.” The way she’s acting, you’d think I’d just asked her that. Why can’t she just level with me?
The doctor returns to her on-screen notes. “Your records show that in fact you do suffer from migraine. You’ve been managing attacks for the last three years, linked to periods of stress, as often as not.” 
“If you say.”
“Where do you work?” I can feel a pain tightening in my abdomen. A shadow of something or someone heading towards me. “Ardensis Partners.” 
“And what’s that?”
“It’s an ad agency. I’m a consultant there.” 
“So there’s the stress.” The doctor takes in a deep breath. “Issy, you’re confused and disorientated. You know all the details about who you are and about your family and where you live and work, yet you’ve lost your bearings somehow and that’s what’s making you feel so distressed.” 
“There may be a physical cause. I’d like to take a look at you, if that’s OK?” 
Now she wants to touch me. There was someone who touched me last. Someone I trusted. Someone I don’t want to trust again. I remove my clothes and lie on the table. “I just want you to tell me why I’m here. Where I am...”

Sugar for Sugar
A Gripping Psychological Thriller

By Seb Kirby

I greatly enjoy reading books by Seb Kirby. Check out my reviews of Take No More and Each Day I Wake. If you enjoy psychological suspense, do consider this author, starting with today's, which I read in one day... It is fantastic!

It is difficult to imagine losing parts or all of your memory. As we grow older, many of us lose our thoughts such as what we were looking for--it may take a while but we usually do remember. But  Issy Cunningham had become unable to remember her recent and immediate memories. She would ask questions such as to "Where am I?" but would then immediately forget the answer so that she would ask over and over...

Lesley pauses from taking notes.
 “So, how was Mr. Aspinal
when he was in charge?”
 Marianne leans forward and
 lowers her voice. “I don’t want
 to speak ill of the dead but if
 you don’t get this from me
you’ll certainly get it from just
 about anyone else here. To
 put it simply, he’s been a disaster.
 You know what they say. 

All power corrupts.” Ives cuts in.
 “It went to his head?”
 “In Mike’s case you might
 say that.” She pauses.
 “Oh, don’t get me wrong,
Vince thought he’d made a good
 choice when he appointed Mike
 as acting CEO while he was
 away. But from the start it’s
 been one of the worst decisions
 he’s ever made.”


But this was not just a medical issue that resulted from her being assaulted... She remembered she was divorced and in her early dreams she remembered loving her husband....

But she couldn't remember the traumatic event which happened years ago that had begun changing her...

And she certainly didn't remember, or even know, that her boss had been murdered the same night of her assault...

The police had already found from security cameras that she had been with him that night...but she remembered nothing...

The only fortunate thing for Issy, which in her condition, was that her boss, who had been acting on an interim basis, had been so cruel as a boss--telling everybody that he would get things in good shape while he was in charge--that he had made everybody hate him at work...

Detective Inspector Stephen Ives, a 25-year-veteran still grieves for each individual who has been killed during criminal activities, not understanding the willingness for humans to consider life so lightly... He has a personal bias against "creatives" who work in advertising, so he struggles hard not to allow his feelings to become part of this investigation. But as a meticulous officer, he is soon finding evidence that supports Issy being involved... 

Was the rape assault too much for her to deal with... But why, then, did they find evidence in her office that would lead to an assumption of pre-planning?!

There are other persons of interest as well and the investigation becomes more and more complicated, while at the same time, Issy has more and more flashbacks that is filling in the blanks of her memory... and the memory of her losses bring back all the heartbreak she had faced those many years again...But at least she now knew why she was divorced. 

Because of the specific type of loss she was experiencing, she began to make notes as a reference to ensure she didn't lose what memories she'd already regained... So far...

  • I find the phone and stare at the notes there. 
  • Why did Colin need my help? 
  • Mary is a good friend. 
  • I should have trusted my mother. 
  • John, how did I ever lose you? 
  • Mike is dead. Why do I feel so guilty? 
  • Colin behaves like he owes me. 
  • How I love you, Kelly.

  • The ending was certainly a surprise and could not have been foreseen. Yes, there were several clues, but not enough to even guess at what happened! And, is that what makes a totally satisfying closure...Well, almost... I had to wonder if there would be a followup to this story...Surely, there had to be something good come out of this...that's my opinion; my hope!


    Seb Kirby is the author of the James Blake Thriller series (TAKE NO MORE, REGRET NO MORE and FORGIVE NO MORE), the Raymond Bridges sci fi thriller series (DOUBLE BIND) and the psychological thriller EACH DAY I WAKE. The new stand alone psychological thriller SUGAR FOR SUGAR, available now.

    He says: "I've been an avid reader from an early age - my grandfather ran a mobile lending library in Birmingham and when it closed my parents inherited many of the books. From the first moment I was hooked. Now, as a full-time writer myself, it's my goal to add to the magic of the wonderful words and stories I discovered back then."

    Sunday, November 27, 2016

    Guest Poet, Nicole S. Brown, Shares...They Follow Me

    They Follow Me 

    (excerpt from Trials of a Northeast Louisiana Child)

    These important aspects,
    In living the way,
    And being what God wants
    Me to be.
    In whatever circumstance,
    I choose to dance,
    Shout, and say amen,
    Because goodness,
    And mercy,
    Follow me.
    No matter,
    What plans,
    The enemy has for me.
    No matter what,
    I receive,
    In funds for my work.
    No matter,
    How others,
    Frown at me,
    And make ugly smirks.
    I choose to continue,
    To do God’s work,
    Because I want to,
    Dwell in the house,
    Of the Lord forever,
    Not with Satan,
    In Hell.
    So what if you or Satan,
    Despise me,
    The Lord,
    Will prepare,
    A blessing on the,
    Table in the presence,
    Of my enemies.
    The more I do,
    For righteousness sake,
    The more the Lord,
    Will put on my plate.
    So Satan hate me,
    I don’t care.
    I’m doing what,
    My Father says,
    He said in,
    His word that,
    Goodness and mercy,
    Shall follow me,
    All of the days,
    Of my life.
    Because He is my shepherd,
    I shall not want.
    For He made me lay down,
    in the green pastures,
    Of Northeast Louisiana.
    He led me beside the still waters,
    And down the Mississippi,
    And is leading me continuously.
    He restored my soul,
    Here in South Louisiana,
    And He’s still restoring me.
    I have walked and,
    I am walking,
    The valley of,
    The shadows,
    Of death.
    I’ve feared no,
    And will fear no,
    Evil because,
    God has not,
    Given His child,
    A spirit of fear.
    He brought me here.
    He’s keeping me.
    And I’m here because,
    I want to be here.
    He anointed my head,
    With the oil of my gifts,
    To serve Him and the,
    Kingdom of God with
    From your human,
    Eyes you may,
    Think my life is the pits.
    But I’m living in my destiny,
    And I’m loving it.
    Psalm 23 is,
    A passage of scriptures,
    That is dear to me,
    And one of the first,
    That came to my memory,
    As a child,
    I knew the verses by heart.
    But now that I’m living,
    Life as an adult by far,
    With some making,
    Fun of me.
    For the Lord,
    I’m still working.
    They may not know,
    That they are being used,
    By the enemy.
    Keep making fun,
    Of me.
    I’m where He wants me to be,
    Along with you,
    And the enemy,
    Persecuting me,
    I’m as happy as
    Can be because,
    God’s goodness,
    And mercy,
    They follow me.

    The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever. Psalms 23:1-6

    Nicole S. Brown is the author of School Days, Holidays, and All Days That Lie Between (ISBN: 1449560954), More School Days, Holidays, and All Days That Lie Between (ISBN: 1449983952), Who Do You Love? Love Story in Poetry (ISBN: 1450549322), Who Do You Love? Love Story in Poetry (clean cut) (ISBN: 1451534981), God's Calling You to Live a Life That's True (ISBN: 1449549829), All About Slime (ISBN: 1448699290), All About Slime (clean cut) (ISBN: 145634711X), Trials of a Northeast Louisiana Child (ISBN: 144956609X), her first novella, The School of Hard Knocks (ISBN: 1460903579), and Life Support (ISBN: 1467945277. Nicole, a native of Monroe, LA, is the youngest of seven children, and was formally educated in Monroe, LA. Nicole is a Louisiana and Mississippi-certified, K-12 teacher who holds certifications in the following subject areas: Chemistry, Physics, General Science, and Music. She is also a member of Zeta Phi Beta, Sorority Inc. She holds a B.S., in Chemistry Education from the University of Louisiana-Monroe. Nicole worked as an elementary general music teacher for two years in Baton Rouge, LA, in her second year of working in Baton Rouge; she wrote and published seven books of poetry.

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