Connie Langsberg Shares Her Pure Imagination in The Perfect Tear

A sharp rap echoed from the door, and he started. Charles jumped up, knocking the chair over, but he did not stop to right it. He covered the few feet between the table and door and flung it open. The night air invaded the stuffy cottage, and the sting of it forced him to take a deep breath. 

Master Fretwell, a portly man with white hair and a crumpled cloak, stood in the doorway rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Charles resisted the urge to grab the doctor and march him into the bedroom where his wife lay so ill. Instead, he stepped back and waved the man inside. 

Master Fretwell entered, removed his hat, and bowed his head. “Forgive me for taking so long. I’ve been at the Abbey.” He spoke in a cheerful but weary voice. “Mother Superior had an emergency. The children in her care came down with the measles.” Master Fretwell gave Charles a wry smile and struggled out of his coat. “Her penny-pinching ways are legendary in these parts, so for her to call me out, well, I knew she was in over her head.”

Charles grunted. He had no desire to make small talk, but the doctor was an important man, and Charles did not wish to appear churlish. Maria’s life could depend on this tired looking man. 

Master Fretwell rolled up his sleeves. “Now, my good fellow, what seems to be the problem?” 

Maria’s scream from the next room spun Charles around, and he sucked in his breath. “My wife.” He couldn’t keep the panic from seeping into his voice. “She’s getting worse.” 

Charles followed Master Fretwell into the room where Maria lay. He struggled to control the shaking in his legs. The doctor set his bag on the floor next to the bed and leaned in. Maria’s eyes squeezed shut, and another moan erupted from her. The doctor placed his hand on her stomach, and his eyes widened. Charles stepped to the side of the bed and peered over the doctor’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with her?” 

The doctor straightened up, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. They look like a caterpillar crawling across his forehead, Charles thought to himself. He shook his head to be rid of the thought. His wife needed him alert and ready. 

Master Fretwell bent down to Maria and took her hand. “You’re not ill, my dear. You’re having a baby.” 

Charles stared at Maria and blinked several times. Baby? At their age? 

The doctor pulled the bedclothes off Maria. “You’re in labor.” His voice was soothing. “I need you to do as I say. I estimate you’re in your seventh month, and the baby is small.” 

Maria shook her head. “I didn’t know. How could I not know?” The doctor squeezed her hand. “It’s unusual at your age, but I have seen it before. Now, Maria, I want you to breathe. Don’t be afraid.” 

Charles held Maria’s hand. He murmured soothing words to her each time another contraction caused her to cry out. It wasn’t long before the doctor ordered her to push...

~~~

“We need a brand new story
 And this time we do not fall from grace 
We are not banished from the garden 
Naked and in disgrace
 In our new story We are kings and queens
 And we finally know what being human means” 
--Connie Lansberg
~~~

The Perfect Tear

By Connie Lansberg

You know, every once in awhile, it's great to read a fairy tale... I enjoyed some of those recently on television, but then they kept on and on pulling in more stories, characters...that I began to think that they had forgotten how to end with a Happy Ever After... It was therefore a delight to read Connie Lansberg's debut novel, The Perfect Tear! 

As a singer-songwriter, Lansberg chose to build her story on top of music...the sounds, the vibrations, the notes. It may take a little time to get into the story because of this, but it soon is easy to follow, especially with Eleanor as our main character facing what is happening in that sound sphere where you may find yourself even too deep to be able to live!

It all started as part of a competition... The contestants were to create musical entities, the winner of which would topple the present leader of their world! Big Stakes!

Lerion felt his nerves uncoil, and his step became light.
He'd worked for this opportunity almost from the day
his two co-creators sung him into being. Yes, he
deserved to win.
The winning design needed to uphold and even surpass
the standards of genesis set by the Ancient ones. The
winning novice needed to enhance the evolution of
their society. He wanted to be certain he had achieved
this. Novices were forbidden to participate in any
creative partnerships. The act of co-creation was a
privilege afforded to those with twelve activated
strands of DNA. Lerion had switched on seven of the
twelve that lay within each of his sells. The knowledge
of his accomplishment failed to satisfy him...
~~~

Tsera, the lady on the cover with the windblown hair😊 had been ruling the land for a very long time. 

The dual pink moons hung low on the horizon. They lined up at an angle, which told Lerion he would be late if he didn’t quicken his step. He allowed the sacred energy emitted by the city’s impressive dwellings, which were hewn out of crystals and rose thousands of feet into the sky, to move through him. The imposing outcrop was the result of an ancient trauma, and Lerion often spent hours wandering through the maze of majestic formations. He considered it a form of personal meditation. 

The Dutriad, shaped like a double inverted tetrahedron, dominated the city center. One tip rested on the ground while its opposite point reached into the atmosphere. It had no visible means of support and was considered a masterpiece by Tsera’s predecessor. 

Tonight, the steps abounded with animated novices. They came ready to hear the outcome of their creative endeavors. Lerion threw his shoulders back as he approached the structure, then flinched. The physical intensity of their combined excitement tore through him, and he had to steady himself. He looked around then took a breath and marched up the stairs. This public ordeal would all be over soon. Lerion forced his lips into a polite smile to feign interest in the creations of his fellow novices. Their zealous chatter and heightened alertness pulsed the length of the room. They seemed foolish to him, but he concealed his disdain. In his society, social transparency was the norm, but Lerion enjoyed a secret talent. He excelled at hiding his feelings from the collective. This gift came in handy as he struggled to maintain a pleasant countenance...

~~~

Lerion wishes to become ruler of his world and is the finalist selected to seek leadership. Tsera is, however, not ready to give up her throne...and by various actions, readers find that Lerion is held, searching for Three Vibrations!

And magically as time goes by, our Eleanor is growing rapidly, not yet knowing that she has been born to a mother with a wonderful gift, and at the right time Eleanor would receive that full gift to continue her mother's work. However, her mother dies...

As does the world around them begin to die, thanks to Lerion.

Eleanor's father cannot take care of Eleanor, needing to find work and he places her in an Abby, where other children are being sent, while parents tried to make a living in this new desolate land... When she goes, her father gives her a beautiful comb which would have come to her, with training, from her mother. She wraps it in old material and hides it at the bottom of the bag she would take with her... It would be a major tool to use in performing her duties...For instance, she would tip one of the prongs to make a sound, then she would repeat the sound with her voice...and...magic!

Mother Superior has been making a fortune on taking in these children, but is very harsh to them, despite the concern from the other nuns... 

But Tsera comes to meet Eleanor and begins to explain what her mother would have been doing...For one thing she learned that there were others who also had this gift to help nature in any way needed. Until she is 16, however, Tsera gave her "songs" which she could use in the meantime! Some of them Eleanor already knew from singing along with her mother...

Maria laughed. “Which song, sweetheart?” 
“The ‘Be Will Be’ song.” 
“I’ll start then, shall I?” Maria said. 
Eleanor listened for a moment 
and then joined her light, 
childish voice with her mother’s. 
What will be will be, if it’s meant to be, 
And if it’s not, we then must see
 Even that, my love, is meant to be. 
You cannot miss what is not yours
 Of that my love, you can be sure.
 But if a thing is meant to be, 
and you are brave and can believe, 
A certain magic you can weave
 to bring the thing that’s meant to be
 Into your own reality.
~~~

Every time her mother had worked in her garden or collected herbs, and more, she would sing... So when Eleanor started working in the Abby garden, she would do the same... and the garden grew and flourished and provided plenty of food for all the children and nuns... Soon Eleanor and her friend took over the gardening efforts and during that time, they met two lads who had been scouting around and finally

made contact with the two young girls... In fact, there in the enclosed garden, the four of them had grown up together and were great friends. And as they grew older, their feelings grew stronger. But the two boys had kept a great secret from the girls...and it caused much turmoil when it was revealed! But this is the romantic part of the tale and is wonderfully drawn out to pull readers into the plight of the two young couples!

One of the more interesting characters is Mother Nyx who has been changed and placed in a prison she can't escape by Tsera. She was a friend of Lerion, but is the type that will play both sides in order to achieve what she wants... But she's become something quite different since she's been banned into a strange cave-life existence, drinking strange potions...and not remembering much, if any, of her previous life...

She's fun because readers are never quite sure what she is really up to, especially when she starts "helping" Eleanor in her question to find The Perfect Tear...

There's another little character that plays a major part as Eleanor's best friend. You can see him in Eleanor's arms on the front cover of the book... And whenever he's around, you'll hear a bell ringing...

Note that the pictures shown here are not in the book, which is straight text. These pictures were permitted for use by the author who is working for future uses of her story. The Perfect Tear is completely new, yet holds some remnants of past stories we seem to remember. Her first statement about not being banished from the garden allowed my mind to roam over similarities and a welcome change where love is the driving force and even though there is much turmoil and desolation, the ending indeed is a happily ever after story that is wonderfully conceived, engineered, and presented. You may find that some of the musical correlations are beyond readers experience, but they are easily learned and followed as we move into chapter after chapter.

This was a thoroughly enjoyable experience for me. I enjoyed also listening to many of the author's songs...and found a number which somehow reminded me of parts in the story... You can ignore them or listen, based upon your interest!

Best wishes on this possibly being made into a movie...but for now, I highly recommend that you read the book and get to know the story because later, original music just may be added and we can really see how much music changes the world through songs and love...

GABixlerReviews

Connie Lansberg is a singer/songwriter and now author based in Melbourne Australia. She’s had her original songs placed in some of Australia’s best loved TV shows that play around the world and The Connie Lansberg Quartet is a fixture in the Melbourne jazz scene. Her most recent original musical project, Alone with Bees, performs her songs written especially for The Perfect Tear. This is Connie’s first novel and the movie is coming.

She also received several grants from the Victoria Council of the Arts for the development of mobile phone games that she created.

Connie joined the Melbourne Writers Group in 2010 to work on ideas and scripts and during this time the idea for The Perfect Tear began to develop and take shape. She continued her education by taking scriptwriting classes at the Australian Film and Television School in Melbourne and later, worked exten- sively with Marcy Kennedy on the book. She has two more stories to complete The Perfect Tear Trilogy and is hoping to have the second book finished by 2016.

“The first thing anybody tells you about this business is to say what makes you unique and different, but I couldn’t and the very idea of it never sat well with me and after much deliberation, I finally realized why.

Because, I’m not unique or different–I’m exactly like you and I love that.

We each have a unique filter through which we interpret the world, and with this filter in place, I write stories and songs and you might find them surprising or intriguing or confronting, you may relate or you may not. They may make you laugh and sometimes, even cry.

You may or may not understand what I’m trying to say and you may not understand me, however, rest assured, once we get past the filters, at our core, we are wonderfully and beautifully, exactly the same.”

For Limited Time get free ebook here:  theperfecttear@gmail.com

Greeth by Charles LaFave - Full of Surprises and Awe--including a Marriage Proposal!

Setting the Mood...

Peter Buraku rushed up the double flight of sandy colored steps, just a minute shy of being late to his job at Chuo Soap, when he caught the ugly green scent of a corpse on the wind. He kept going. He hadn’t been late to a job in eight years. Not since his arrest. 
If he lost his job, he’d be begging in Taito-ku in two weeks and starving in a month. 
The smell caught him off guard. It doubled up his stomach in an ugly way. He felt and there— gomen, gomen nasai!— he pushed through like an oshiya on the subway. The scent, sticky on the wind, caught in his nostrils more firmly. Nothing smelled quite like that. A deer left to rot in the woods for a good while might smell nearly that way, but not quite. And he heard the sounds, the wet sounds of muscle and bone moving, like someone tearing pot roast apart with two big forks. Vomit caught in his throat and he looked up the stairs toward the sound. It was his father. Eyes like dry stones set deep back in the sockets, nose missing, lips missing, teeth showing through in rictus. Across the forehead, a long green gash showed through to the brains. The body stood near the side of the swinging glass doors Peter had meant to go through. Stood looking down at him, mouthing something liplessly. Pointed a grisly, rot-blackened rot-blackened finger at him. 
Peter crashed into a woman and convulsively vomited on the steps. Eggs, milk, and the wet sloppiness of banana slices soaked in stomach acid churned out. Half seemed to come out through his nose. He stumbled over the slick step, caught the cold iron rail, and threw up some more onto the grass. He heaved until he was empty and spat on top of it. 
The old man still stood by the doors, waiting. Time had done a number on him, but nothing could erase the quietly sad, patient expression in his eyes. The faces of the men and women hurrying into the soap factory showed no sign of surprise or terror. No one else could see the corpse of his father. It was a vision for Peter alone...
If anything, his father deserved a look in the eyes. Peter knew he’d want that look. He remembered how lonely his father could be. How it seemed like, aside from his son, he hadn’t had a friend anywhere.
Peter passed without giving his father the look. "I can’t do anything for you. You need to leave me alone now. You don’t know how much I need this job." His father reached for him, and Peter stepped away and walked through the glass doors.

But as the grave had slowly filled,
an idea already grew in the back of his mind.
 He heard the sound of black wings
fluttering across the yard.
The sound of something pounding at the glass.
~~~

Greeth

By Charles LaFave

Peter Baraku, a man with a destiny, although he never knew about it. Peter from an early age was fascinated with life--with making it. And, as a wizard, he was able to do so. Until he tried it on a human... As a result, Peter, as a wizard, had two hearts which were bound together by authorities which prevented his being able to use his magic...


It had been eight years and he was working in a soap factory, trying to make enough to keep his mother and him alive...Fortunately, one of the golems he had made long ago had remained and she took care of his mother, thankfully, because he'd never have been able to pay somebody to take care of her.

I suppose this doesn't sound too weird yet...but it's going to get there quickly! If you love dark fantasy, I guarantee that this book is one of the most original you will read and that it will be "almost" totally satisfying. I say that only because the ending was not one I would have preferred, but it left me wondering if there was going to be a sequel...we'll see. This book totally stands on its own so you will be mesmerized by the original creativity and the ingenuity it obviously took to write this epic story! This is this author's debut and I was amazed at the quality and the diversity of the material, yet within a cogent underlying continuum that keeps readers moving forward into the climatic action at the end.

Peter flinched at the sound of the word. 

He was thirteen the first time a Japanese

 kid called him uizado. Split Peter’s scalp

 with a rock and ran away. The first signs

 of hatred and resentment exploded after the

 war ended. After the Others put their mark

 on the world. It became an even uglier

 word then, spray painted on people’s doors, 

tied to bricks thrown through windows,

 found pinned to the bodies of the

 dead.

~~~

This is a time when humans and wizards have adjusted to living together and with wizard help, humans certainly have the opportunity to live much longer since the wizards create healing spells that are stocked and maintained for use on humans... Wow! 

But we all know peace doesn't live long and, when some things started happening around the world, like the lost sounds of insects--in fact they just weren't around to bother us anymore--or, more importantly, to help us! So where were they and why had they left?
Unfortunately, later they would find out where...and why...

And then Peter got an offer he couldn't refuse. The father of an old girlfriend of his, who he stilled love, came and offered to get his wizard skills returned...and once done, he'd pay much to have Peter find his daughter and get her home...

And now the real horror of the book begins...Peter and Ishmael, a mega-rich corporate owner, set off. And I'll save you by not sharing what happened to Peter next, other than to say that he was a one-eyed wizard when it was done...

On to Julie...who was now a member of the Praesidium, the group that had taken Peter's wizard skills away!

It's good they can't see me. The Praesidium uniform inspired as much fear as it did awe. She could see it in their faces when they looked at her. Uizado, they’d say under their breath as she passed. They’d be wrong, of course. Julie Alvarez wasn’t a wizard. Just a well-trained human. 

Neither the uniform nor the car technically belonged to her. Her employer issued those. The only things that belonged to her were her underwear and the rapier. 

The latter was a gift from her grandfather when she graduated the fencing academy at eighteen. She had it with her when she took the silver medal at Oslo and later at her grandfather's funeral. Her fingers traced the worn handle absentmindedly, making their way to the brass cage that made up the guard and down to the leather of the pommel. 

You’re pensive this morning, little one. You want to talk? 

"No, Espiga. Not today. I’m just thinking, that’s all." It had been quite a shock, on her eighteenth birthday, when she’d held Espiga, her rapier, and first heard the deep, rasping voice in her mind. Julie had exchanged a knowing look with her grandfather, who then told her the story of the haunted blade. The voice had become so normal she felt lost without it. Julie carried Espiga everywhere.

~~~

So our main male character is now a Wizard. Our female main character, a highly trained human with a magical telepathic sword...Then we also have a brother-sister who we meet concurrently--the sister a hardened warrior and the brother, a wizard whose life is surrounded in music, evening using his guitar (and strings) to defend himself. These four are later brought together to fight...Greeth...and her minions (who have been visiting here today...).

Some scenes are, just, gross! Others will make you gag, but, by that time you will be so engrossed in the story and the desire to find Greeth, that you'll be hooked on the book just as I was! My honest opinion...somebody in the business of fantasy movies should be sent this book...it's made for animation applications for so many of the scenes that you can actually visualize them in your mind.  I would love to see that movie, setting a new standard, I believe, for dark fantasy. Wow! Don't miss this one! It's unbelievably unpredictable, and totally memorable, even the ending which I was sad about...

GABixlerReviews

Growing up, Charles LaFave spent more time with books than with people. One might argue that this is a terrible way to raise a child. Of course it is. Definitely socialize your child if you have one. On the other hand, it undeniably fostered an incredible love for books that continues to this day. Before his writing career took off, he worked as a body removal specialist for a funeral home, a network engineer, a construction worker, blogger, and a paperboy. Not necessarily in that order.

Merlin Sherlock Visiting Today...Sharing Humor, Wizardry, and a Bit of Mystery...

She rightly points out that I have referred
to her several times, as such she must be a
part of the context as well, yet I have left
her a disembodied voice, a name, a
suggestion here and there but no person
upon whom my poor abused reader can
latch any concrete image. I doubt any
sensitive reader would find my delicate
style one to leave the imagination
impoverished nor abused in but this one
sense, but I will graciously accept her
proposal if not her words and take a
moment to describe my imperative
interlocutor...

They call me Merlin Sherlock not because that's my name and not because I'm particularly good at being a detective. And certainly not because I saw them coming. They take you at age thirteen without any choice or foreknowledge on your part. One day you are drowsing in your father's study over a tome of fairy tales with no idea that they are all true. Not literally. Literarily, perhaps. All kernels of truth coated over with fancy.
Then they take you for thirteen times thirteen years during which you only age thirteen which, if you have followed the math, you understand I am one hundred eighty two years old, can pass for twenty-six but according to Melda have all the social sophistication of a retrogressed twelve...
Melda suggests I describe her as a
twenty-six year old Wanda Sykes with distinctively stiff and red hair as this will call up for many people a useful if not perfect image. I do not know Miss Sykes and am quite certain that as such the image will not work for my intended audience. She will distract me and has several times from the purpose of this exposition which is, in short, to beseech my fellow wizards to refrain from the scurrilous sobriquet of Merlin the Sherlock...

They Call Me Merlin Sherlock

By Carl Stevens

From hence, ye Wizards, undeceiv'd,

Know one false word is ne'er retriev'd

And he with caution bold.

Not all that peeves your mocking eyes

And heedless hearts is sad misprize,
Nor all that glisters gold.

Be prepared...if you see a chauffeured-driven can pulling up outside your

home, you just may want to consider whether you want to hide...or possibly enter into the past where you may never escape...

"You've got to be kidding me."

Seriously, if you're a fanatic mystery fan, do realize that this book is more humorous, especially at the beginning, and in a very droll manner.  There is one save to we Americans--a lady who purports to look like Wanda Sykes, is from America, and certainly plays a major role in balancing out the confusion in English--historical UK English versus American English, that is-- and, to my American ear, even spoke, although I was reading, as if I was listening to Styles. How extraordinary, don't you think?

Now I enjoy the straight-faced humor of Sykes and her very pointed backlashes to questions, so do prepare to follow her lead in "understanding." LOL... 

Now that is not much of an introduction I will grant you, but as those were the very words with which she entered my life I record them as is.
"Madam, not being the offspring of a goat, I do not kid at all. Whom, might I enquire, are you to come knocking at my door at this unseemly hour?"
"Imelda Jones and it's half past nine."
"Is there a younga Jones as well? And please do not cloud the issue with chronometrical machinations. I am having breakfast therefore it is breakfast time. Since you are here, do come in and join me for a cuppa as some would have it."
"Well, thank you, I would be glad to have it as well though I am here about your ad in the paper."
"As, as provider or seeker?"
"Excuse me?"
"Of employment. I have had two notices in The Times lately. One seeking clients and one seeking an assistant in my business with the clients."
"The latter. Assistant. Employment. Do you actually live in this exhibition hall?"

~~~

OK, now stay with me... Consider the hand-drawn cover, albeit entirely representative of the contents...(By the way, have you noticed I'm starting to use words I don't usually use? And, also, please realize that if I've included words that might have never been accepted into the dictionary, but used in the book...well, they are apparently part of the mystical Victorian age and have since past out of style except for our Merlin Sherlock...)

Plus the exchange between him and Imelda...

Well, one begins to wonder, you see...

Say, for instance, Imelda's question about where he lived. It was, of course, a perfectly good question given that she would be working there...

Well, I'll just add the name of this domicile...

Wilberforce Keep and Village of Ceremonial Alfrodshire Outlet Mall Emporium and Historic Refuge...(Maybe something like I've envisioned - so you can understand Melda asking, now can't you?)

Second Baronet Richard Grand

In any event, finally they did get a request for assistance for a client...

"Mister Barlow, jolly good of you to come on such short notice. Do forgive that, exigencies of the time, donchya know? Care for tea, brandy, a crumpet?
..."Sir Richard to be perfectly correct. We stout and proper Englishmen must have our traditions, hey? But to business. You must forgive me. Normally I would give you the complete Baronetcy social ditering treatment and it would be a full hour before I brought up the other B word, but as I said, exigencies of the time. So direct to business...we must have a bit of privacy in this first meeting, I think."
"Certainly, Sir Richard, and you will find the Thaddeus Barlow Detective Agency is nothing if not discreet. Could you describe the item, Sir Richard?"

Patrick Henry in his shop...
"Now that sounds a bit chaotic but the fact
that it got into a collector's hands so quickly
meant that the provenance was as tickety-boo
as you might like because he insisted on a
letter of authenticity..."
(which was stolen along with the teapot!)

"With pleasure, or perhaps I should say distress. Well, here it is. It is one of the six drum-form teapots known by Paul Revere, the very same Paul Revere Known for working in silver and riding about in the night shouting about redcoats. Five years before that escapade he made this teapot for Massachusetts governor Hutchinson as a present to His Royal Majesty King George the Third. At the time it was a token of colonial loyalty to the kind...The silver itself may be worth less than one thousands pounds. The workmanship may bring it up to a full thousand. The provenance, the history, is worth half a million."

And so it was that The Thaddeus Barlow Detective Agency was commissioned to conduct an investigation, and hopefully, recovery, of a Paul Revere Teapot worth half a million dollars based on its provenance.

And, as they say, The Game is Afoot! Which may or may not have actually been said by Sherlock Holmes...Lol

Now I have to say an old story, A Christmas Story" came to mind as I was reading this book. Not because it is anything like that story, but because of my personal feelings about it... I seem to be the only one in my family who never made it through the entire movie, while the rest diligently watch it each year... Sooo, what I'm saying is that I am aware that I lack a sense of humor in many things. So I hope this review provides sufficient information upon which you can consider your own personal tastes and decide whether you would enjoy a whole lot of Sherlockian, mystical humor at the same time you're solving a mystery. Once you are around Chapter 4, the routine investigation becomes much more familiar and I began to enjoy that, especially with the exchange between Thaddeus and Melda as they became more familiar in their working relationship. The book does indeed have merit for its type, so do check it out further and read other reviews.

The particular family dynamic, which I won't go into, was sufficiently bizarre to add to the attraction of the story--while at the same time, I found it a fairly easy mystery to solve...As to whether I think Thaddeus should be given the nickname of Merlin Sherlock, I agree with him..."the puerile mocking moniker of Merlin Sherlock" just does not work... In fact, I'm not too sure about the mystic part either, LOL...


GABixlerReviews

Jack London lamented that he had spent his life as a working class intellectual rubbing shoulders with the underprivileged on tramp steamers, in gold mining camps, on wharves and in warehouses while reading extensively and writing books of serious social and philosophical merit only to be renowned for writing about dogs. It irked him yet inspired me decades later. Eighteen-wheelers, psych wards, factory floors and the halls of academia and corporate America may not be perfect matches to London’s, but they have all been part of my own working class adventures. I have lived in numerous careers the fiction that each was intrinsically important while in fact each was merely research for the role of Carl Stevens, Writer. Professor-in-training (in three fields so far, philosophy, history and psychology), nurse in a psychiatric facility, long-haul truck driver, security guard, waiter, bartender, clerical worker, manual laborer, engineer - they were all facades I presented while my true life’s work went on behind the scenes, reading and writing and incorporating life experience with the scholarly to create the self-identity that is now creating novels. Four novels speak for the success of this creative self-identity. If a hundred years from now people neglect the layers of substance and only laugh along with my exciting tales of adventure and if I am still alive, then I will be proud to have failed like Jack.

Delusional by Scott Spotson Fun Magical Mystery With Romance to Keep Things Going...

The Hope Diamond, a perfect cut, 45.52 carats of glittering violet-blue, shone in the floodlights, perfectly ensconced inside its display case in the Annenberg Hooker Hall of Geology in the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, D.C. 

The priceless gem rotated counter-clockwise every ten seconds, one-quarter turn at a time, showing the awestruck viewers every angle of its stunning beauty. Every forty seconds, the diamond returned to its original position. 

A throng of people surrounded the marble display case, gawking at the famous diamond through exceptionally thick, yet clear glass. The carefully placed lighting sparkled through every one of the blue diamond’s 74 facets.

~~~

The extraordinary Hope Diamond had been stolen.

Delusional

By Scott Spotson 

with Sue Publicover

This story certainly got my attention! The Hope Diamond Stolen! As soon as I read what

happened, I immediately thought of Parker--you know, the thief, or one of the thieves from Leverage... I enjoy the whole team on this TV program. Like Parker, the thief who stole the Hope was caught on camera--a few seconds! They couldn't figure out how she got in, how she made the switch and where, after she slid behind a building column, they never were able to find her actually leaving the building! 

But in fact, this thief routinely had been performing such heists, but had never even gotten close to being caught!

Her husband certainly didn't know! But then, he was a senior Manager at his company, Clearwell, and was having an affair with one of his employees... At least that's what his wife assumed... His wife was very rich and did not want her husband to work, rather to stay home and travel and do other interesting things rather than dull work...

Patricia also worked at Clearwell--hard-working, dedicated. She had noticed Paul but considered him off-limits since he was married and also a boss, even though not her immediate supervisor...
Patricia didn't feel secure in relationships. She had been in two, both of which had left bad memories and a desire not to fall in a similar trap.

Nevertheless, when Paul suggested he run with Patricia during her routine lunch-hour exercise, she agreed...

To her relief, Paul was inside his office, reading his email. He beamed at her. “Okay, ready to go?” They walked over to the fitness center, chatting about work and the latest projects they were involved with. Before they parted ways for their respective locker rooms, Patricia asked, “Paul, what did you have in mind for jogging? Would you prefer to run by yourself or…?” Paul stopped in his tracks. He turned and faced Patricia with a surprised look on his face. “Well, I definitely don’t want to hold you back. I mean, I know you’re in much better shape than I am. Maybe you could show me a good jogging path and I’ll try not to pass out,” Paul answered. 
Patricia stared at him briefly, as she had never seem him hesitant before. “Sure, Paul, I can show you one, but you wouldn’t be holding me back. I mean, I just run for fun.” 
Grinning, Paul pointed at her just as he held the door of the men’s locker room. “Make it really easy. I’m getting old.” Waving at her, Paul disappeared into the men’s locker room. Patricia walked into the women’s locker room, feeling a rush of adrenaline that made her heart race. She definitely felt the flicker of flirtation coming from Paul. Yes, he was always easygoing. She’d often observed his interactions in the office—friendly, sincere, likable. His body posture seemed eager, yet relaxed... And Paul was a dynamic manager who was respected in the marketing department; he clearly showed he welcomed responsibility and could rise to a challenge...

~~~

The room went quiet. All eyes turned to Special Agent Swift. Swift clasped his hands. “We’ve all seen the footage of the woman we think was involved with the theft of the Hope Diamond from the Smithsonian and we’ve been perplexed as to how she got in and out of the gallery without any apparent entry or exit. Then there was what seemed to be the same woman with the same motive at the theft of the Van Gogh painting from the Art Institute in Chicago.”

~~~

The book switches back and forth between the robberies and the beginning relationship between Paul and Patricia. The latter, however, is the predominant portion of the book, so think about it more as a romantic suspense  as opposed to a police procedural. In fact, the police, FBI and everybody else interested in the thefts were stuck in the mud, you might say... Until...

Fortunately, Patricia had hired a private investigator because things were beginning to happen... Ray had been following here and saw the amazing first attempt on Patricia's life! She had been waiting for the train and, while Ray was watching from a hidden location, he saw a woman who was staring at Patricia. He saw her raise her arm and and bring it down quickly, as if throwing an invisible ball toward Patricia... She then walked behind a post and Ray was waiting for her to leave...but he never saw her again...

The next thing he knew Patricia was surrounded and being pushed toward the end of the platform!

Ray peered out from behind the post. His eyes soon focused on a slim woman, dressed in a black leather knee-length jacket, black slacks, and crimson red stiletto heels. Her long red hair flowed in waves over her shoulders. Ray walked to the side to get a better view of this woman without drawing attention to himself. He wandered over to a bench by the wall and sat down, pretending he was texting on his phone. He glanced over and noticed an intense expression on the woman’s face. She appeared to be staring in Patricia’s direction and soon walked toward where Ray had last spotted Patricia.

...On her way, despite her lack of attention to her surroundings, Patricia became vaguely aware of a few people closing in on her path. Startled, she looked up at her fellow passersby. There were three women and a man, all standing by her intended walking trajectory, but otherwise not seemingly associated together... Despite the coordinated glares from the four strangers, Patricia brushed aside her initial anxiety, remembering what Dr. Zohar had said about taking control. She told herself that the eye contact in a place like a train station was normal; that after seeing her walk by, they would avert their gazes and go back to their business. Instead, her skin prickled with a sense of dread. All four strangers were now flashing expressions of disgust and hatred at Patricia, gazing intensely at her. In tandem, they pointed at her. They closed in, their steps in controlled harmony, like soldiers following a drill...

~~~

The obvious question is, since Ray was following the disappearing woman, did he reach Patricia in time? But an even better question would be, how did Ray live when he was knocked off the Tower Bridge!

Even when Ray and Patricia had gathered enough, they felt, to take it to the police and FBI, they had continued to maintain a hands-off attitude...

So, as Ray and Patricia continue to do their own investigation, more and more weird appearances, crazy interactions with people around them and much more keep readers entertained. This one isn't too big of a mystery but solving it is not the issue... Seeing what happens is! Fascinating, unbelievable, confusing, frustrating...anything can happen as long as you keep reading... Enjoy!

GABixlerReviews

Scott Spotson creates a wide variety of fiction, but what his works have in common is a sense of wonderment - about the relationships we value in our lives; about the world we live in. He loves magic and wizards and witches! He has written "Life II," a time travel novel that follows a man's new path through life when, in the year 2013, he returns to 1987 as his 16-year-old self; "Bridge Through Time," the time travel sequel to "Life II" with a good dose of science fiction; "Seeking Dr. Magic," a novel that imagines what happens when a powerful wizard comes of age as a contemporary, charismatic young man and wreaks his havoc upon the world, which is yet unaware of his existence; "Delusional," in which a woman in love suddenly experiences hallucinations and resolve to track down her tormentor before it's too late; "The Four Kings," in which four arrogant wizards take over governing present-day North America; and "You Know You're Thin When...," a humour book using large single panel cartoons, for ages 12 and up.

Related Articles

• Book review: Delusional by @scottspotson (authorleefrench.wordpress.com)