Book Excerpt: Tales of the Ocean City: Battle in the Sky Book 1 by Christopher Kaufman

 

“Vispushin! Aloft! ” cried Harl’ut.

With a thrust of her wings, the white pegasus shot upwards through billowing clouds. Harl’ut stood with his arms held out, balancing on her back. They burst into vast heights, the realm of Kurl’wra, the morning sun, whose powerful beams illumined iridescent mist on his golden skin. Far below, the ocean roared and thundered.

Vispushin reached the pinnacle of her high arc.

“Now…” she thought to him.

The pegasus hovered and Harl’ut dove backward from her haunches. In a swan dive, he clove through tiers of frothing clouds. He used his chest and arms to glide in a spiral through the planet Tir’whol’s thick atmosphere. He reached the cool misty air just below the clouds, jack-knifed and straightened, and sliced right into the churning ocean currents.

Dark purples and greens suffused his eyes as he penetrated cold shadowy depths. He arched his
back, frog-kicked and drifted lazily up towards a ceiling of shimmering blue light.

He felt rough tickles on his skin as he passed through a multitude of bulbous purple sea stars. A powerful current buffeted him as he reached the water just below the surface.

“Here!” Vispushin’s voice shimmered in his mind like watery light. With a vigorous kick, Harl’ut vaulted through crashing waves and snagged the sharp hoof of his bond-mate.

“Aloft!” he cried again.

Blazing glare trails blinded him. He grasped the white-gold mesh which clothed Vispushin’s supple form and clambered onto her heaving plush back as she strove upwards.

Reaching the air above the clouds once again, she settled into a steady rhythm of flight towards Ocean City!

It was time, he thought, time to join fully in the city life, The Ocean City…

Harl’ut pictured clearly in his mind the city carved from great spires of rock at the belly of a massive volcanic mountain once worshipped as the god, Pla’than’taa!

Now a vibrant city teeming with life. A place of hope, dreams and vision, where a young civilization was turning the corner into the future. A future Harl’ut yearned to be a part of.

The piercing cry of a sea-eagle shattered his thoughts, a winged shadow passed across the sun at a great height.

Harl’ut leapt to his feet, cupped his hands to his mouth and issued his characteristic call…

“Keeyaaaa!”

The giant eagle paused in its flight and answered, then turned and flew off.

– Excerpted from Tales of the Ocean City: Book 1: Battle in the Sky by Christopher Kaufman, Three Dashes Publications, 2025. Reprinted with permission.

A young civilization is turning the corner into the future, but first they must face a terrible enemy from their deepest past – THE VORM.

The main characters are a young man named Harl’ut and his lifelong companion Vispushin – who is a perIanth, a kind of telepathic pegasus. Join them on this epic adventure as they lead a group of young warriors into the heart of the Vorm Hive.

Book One: Battle In The Sky is the first of five books which comprise the opening series of this epic tale. Here, Harl’ut and Vispushin and The Princess Bryn’lynn, engage in desperate battle over the southern plain with savage Vorm warriors. You will be uplifted by the passionate and thrilling conclusion of the first installment of this fantasy adventure. 

In Book Two: Descent Into The Abyss, Harl’ut recovers from his harrowing adventure from Book One: Battle In The Sky. He walks through the streets of The Ocean City, visits the Sculpture Garden and his friend, Elá, the bard, and engages in exciting training games with warrior/mentor, Calanctus. Then the story takes you down the throat of the vast volcano, Pla’than’taa, once worshipped as a god, where Harl’ut enacts a deadly initiation ritual, confronts the barbaric past of his people and battles a terrifying monster. 

Pick up your copies at https://kaufmantales.com/. 

Christopher Kaufman is an author, composer, presenter, illustrative artist and performer. He started imaginative fantasy books with illustrative art at the age of nine. During high school years he found music and attended The New Orleans Center for The Creative Arts and went on to major in music composition in college. He finished his schooling – earning his DMA in music composition at Cornell University where he studied with Pulitzer Prize Winning composers who prize his abilities as a composer.

Christopher is the type of person who needs imaginative fantasy scenarios to get to sleep. Therefore, he emerged from Cornell, not only with his degrees in music, but with the full event structure for his classic epic fantasy series Tales Of The Ocean City in his mind.

He began writing the story down in the early 2000’s, but it did not really come to life until he developed his home music ‘laboratory’ and started creating the music and text at the same time. Thus books one and two of TOC came about simultaneously as both graphically illustrated pages and effulgent audio albums filled with cinematic epic symphonic music.

They exist now as physical books and audio albums (that go together) and the new Video Book version.  He performs live tours with the music pouring through speakers, live narration and the colorful pages streaming on screen – a true immersive multi-media experience.

He also maintains his career as a composer for the concert stage with a full body of work, from solo works thru orchestral. He specializes as well in ‘environmental works’ which feature soundscapes crafted from hundreds of natural sounds, live musicians (from soloists, chamber groups and to full orchestra), videos filled with both natural and artistic images and readings from the works of John Muir and others.

His home page is – soundartus.com. 

His author page is talesoftheoceancity.com.

His you-tube channel is SOUNDARTUS.

Visit him at Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/talesoftheoceancity.

Christopher believes in the transformative power of imagination.

“Live with imagination!”

 

Book Excerpt: Unorganized Crime by Judy Serrano

 

“When you think about it, I really only need one hostage,” he said as he put his hand on the small of my back and gave me a gentle shove. The helicopter was in the air, and I fell helplessly into the clouds. I grabbed hold of the landing skid and dangled above the water. We were not quite high enough yet that I would turn to dust if I were to drop. “Let go!” he shouted from below. I saw Gage take off his boots and put his wallet next to them on the ground. “Jasmine, jump!”

            I saw him dive into the water, and I let go. This was the most terrifying thing I had ever done. As I hit the water, two strong arms reached for me and pulled me up as I plunged powerlessly into the deep. I held my breath, but I didn’t have much air left. He pulled me up so that I could breathe, and I grabbed hold of his neck. “I’ve got you, Jazz. You’re okay.”

            He turned me so that I could hold onto his neck from behind, and he swam to the shore. The helicopter, which was holding my dad tied up and gagged, was long gone. When we got to the shore, Hector, Gage’s boss, was standing there. He pulled me out of the water, and Gage followed. “Good job,” Hector said to me. “You’re very brave.”

            I watched Gage grab his wallet, cigarettes, and shoes. “You need to quit,” I said. “They’re no good for you.”

            He pulled out a smoke and lit the tip, taking a deep pull off his cigarette. “Someday,” he answered. “Unfortunately, we often want what is no good for us.” I knew to what he was referring, but I let it go. Although you might think that the smell of the cigarette would fill the air, there was an engaging male scent radiating off of Gage that made me almost forget my name.

Suddenly, I realized that Hector was gone. “Where did Hector go? Where’s my mom?”

            “They went after the helicopter, Jazz. I don’t think she’s coming back this time.”

            My mom abandoned my dad and me years ago. They both worked for the FBI, and she never seemed to be able to balance her job and her family. Hector was in charge of all their destinies. As delightfully delicious as Hector was, I always resented him for taking her away. It was my goal to be a cop someday and wipe out organized crime just so people like the ones my parents fought daily would go out of business for good. Of course, I realized how unrealistic that was.

            “I started my own team. You must remember me mentioning that to you,” he said.

            “Yes, Storm. That’s what you call it.”

            We stepped over to his jeep. He reached in and handed me a towel. I began to dry my face and hair with it, as he did the same with his own. Gage was a storm all by himself. He was tall, well-built, and had smoldering dark eyes. His hair fell just below his ears, and I can remember how soft it was when I last ran my fingers through it.

            “I’m not just working for the FBI this time. I have a job out of the country. I’m going to find someone’s daughter who was taken by terrorists.”

            My stomach churned as he opened the door to the jeep, and I hopped inside. “Don’t leave me, Gage,” I said, as my soaking wet body leaked all over his vinyl car seats.

            I reached up for his face, but he grabbed my hand. “We’ve been through this. You’re too young, Jasmine.”

            “Gage, I am 19 years old. I’m old enough.”

            “I’m 27, Jazz. You’re too young for me.”

            That stung. I was waiting for Gage to the be the one for me. I didn’t want anyone else, and even though he may think of me as too young for him, I felt the ache in his eyes. We heard a gunshot, and Gage pushed me down onto the floor of his jeep. He jumped into the driver’s side and took off down the road. “What’s happening?” I asked. “Who’s here?”

            “Someone realized you were still breathing, princess. Put your head down.”

            I stayed down on the floor of the jeep as a bullet hit the windshield shattering the glass. I tried so hard to be brave, but I could barely hold it together. I heard Gage give our location and situation out on a radio. It was only a few moments before everything got quiet. “I lost them,” he said.

“This is all related to my parents, isn’t it.”

            “You know I can’t tell you that.”

            “And the terrorists. Who are they? Who’s the girl?”
            He pulled the jeep over to the side of the road and sighed before looking at me. “Jazz,” he said, putting his hand on the side of my face. “Don’t wait for me. I won’t be back. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m no good for you. Forget me.”

            He grabbed his towel and brushed the glass off the passenger’s seat. Then he held out his hand for me to take, and he pulled me up off of the floor. I sat uncomfortably and refused to meet his eyes. He wanted me to discard him like a pack of cigarettes. I knew he was no good for me, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about him. I didn’t say anything. Clearly, my efforts were futile.

            He put his hand back on the steering wheel, put the jeep back in gear, and we drove down the highway. “Don’t make me come back just to check on you,” he said. “Behave yourself. Move forward. Forget about me.”

                                                                            *****

I waited for him. I anticipated his return. I am now 24 years old, and he didn’t come back in time … or did he? This is my story. Let the ride begin.

As Jazz finds herself falling from a helicopter, Gage St. Claire comes to her rescue. Organized crime is once again the culprit of her parents’ situation, and as usual, she is caught in the crossfire. Gage pulls her out of the water and helps her escape to safety. The love between them is undiscovered as he tries to leave her behind in an attempt to keep her safe and move forward with his black ops pursuit. Jazz becomes an undercover cop with wiping out organized crime forever as her goal. After Jazz exposes one of the largest crime families in the country, quite by accident, she is hired to expose crime syndicate leader Michael Giambetti Jr., otherwise known as Achilles. Achilles earned his nickname because he has no weaknesses. He has no weaknesses, that is until he meets Jazz. Achilles has been untouchable, and if she were to break this case, she could finally prove herself as a serious undercover officer. Her job is not an easy one, and people around her are not who they appear to be. Will Gage come back for Jazz, or will he be lost to her forever? Will she crack the case on her own? Read as this courageous upstart stumbles through another adventure.

 

Unorganized Crime is available at Amazon. 

Judy Serrano graduated from Texas A&M University-Commerce with a master’s degree in English. She is the owner of Make Cents Editing Services and is an English teacher at a local high school. Judy writes romantic suspense, Mafia romance, and paranormal romance. She is the author of The Easter’s Lilly Series, The Linked Series, Ivy Vines, Visions and the Unorganized Crime series. Although originally from New York, Judy resides in Texas with her husband and six cats.

Website & Social Media:

Website ➜ www.judyserrano.com 

X ➜ http://www.x.com/AuthorJSerrano 

Facebook ➜  https://www.facebook.com/JudySerranoAuthor/

Goodreads ➜ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4792103.Judy_Serrano 

 

 

 

Book Excerpt: Dragged Down Deep by Michael Okon

 

The creature was indistinct in the dark night. A howl split the air, the noise somewhere between the lolling of a cow and with the shrillness of a siren. It traveled through Logan, making the fillings in his teeth hurt. If an elephant and a Tasmanian devil had a baby, it would have sounded like this, Logan thought inanely.

     It began to move purposely toward them, its arms outstretched. Its eyes shone like blazing yellow neon, mesmerizing them. There was no place to hide in the tidal pool. Logan spun, pushing Elliot toward the parking lot. 

     “That was no turtle,” Elliot gasped. 

     Logan ran, his heart pumping feeling like it would jump from his chest. “Run!” he yelled.

     They splashed heavily in the shallows; their feet weighted with water. Clamoring through the tide, Logan slipped, Elliot pulled him under the armpit propelling him forward. Their clothes were drenched, glued to their perspiring bodies, their feet heavy with trapped fronds and weeds. They made it onto the beach.

     Logan was afraid to look behind them. “Move this way!” Logan pointed to a perimeter of shrubs lining the sand.

     They took off, their arms slashed by the tall grasses. Elliot clutched his phone. He turned for a second, but Logan grabbed the back of his shirt to drag him through the reeds. “Not now, you idiot!” Logan screamed.

     They could hear the heavy splashes of the creature following them. They burst out of the grasses, running at full speed onto the sandy area toward the car. The reassuring outline of the jeep greeted them at the same time a club grazed Logan’s shoulder. 

     Logan heard Elliot grunt with pain, the distinct sound of a fist meeting flesh echoing in the still night. Ham-sized hands gripped Logan’s shoulder, spinning him to plant a fist that landed under his right eye. The night went silent but for the sound of the roaring of the blood in his head. He felt the trickle of blood leak onto his lips after his nose connected with what felt like a brick wall. He was on his knees, looking down at two sets of biker boots, silver skulls dangling over the insteps right in front of him. 

     Logan caught sight of another pair of footwear, polished traditional lace-ups. He pushed himself up on all fours, reaching out and grabbing the legs connected to those shoes. He clutched a handful of beige trousers, the gabardine material slipping in his hand. He recognized the uniform. He felt rock-hard muscles underneath the pants leg. His assaulter kicked, Logan’s head snapping back to see a field of spinning stars. Their attackers were laughing. Logan was outraged. 

     They wouldn’t be laughing when the mermaid from hell pounced on them, he thought grogilly. He opened his mouth to let them know they were about to be surprised by the alleged wild dog or imaginary alligator but decided he’d have more satisfaction watching them wrestle with whatever was following them from the marsh. 

      A strong hand picked him up by the hair and another pounded his ribcage. He winced, his vision blurred, trying to see when the creature from the Black Lagoon would arrive like the cavalry.

     Except that pursuer never arrived. It appeared that the monster had more brains than he and Elliot put together. 

     Logan listened vainly for whatever was following them to break through the marsh, but it must have been scared off. He chose that time to swing wildly, his fist finding a face that must have been hewn of stone. The impact stunned him more than the beating his ribs were taking. His arm went numb from knuckles to elbow. 

     His cheek landed in the dirt while Elliot was thrown against the car wheel. A baseball bat made contact with the windshield, showering them with shards of glass. The bat sailed through the air to smash the side mirror. More glass rained down on them.

Logan lay on his face, every bone in his body aching, his head heavy. He heard new footfalls, lighter one, followed by the sound of a plank of wood connecting with a body.

“Ow!” one of his attackers howled. 

Next he heard several grunts, and the hard slam of bodies falling. 

Logan picked up his head, his vision fuzzy to see two figures in wetsuits beating the crap out of his assailants. Tilting his head, he squeezed his eyes, discerning one was decidedly curvy and feminine. “Penny?” he asked, the word garbled by his swelling lips.

Running feet penetrated the fog that was swallowing his brain. Everything sounded muffled, as if he could barely hear it. There was a loud ringing in his ears.

“Done,” a woman’s voice came to him from far away. “Cowards,” she spat. 

“What do you want to do with these too?” a male voice asked. 

“Leave them. They’re harmless.”

“The boss isn’t going to be happy.”

“I said leave them,” the voice commanded. 

Logan tried to rise, groaned and fell down into the wet sand. “Elliot?” his voice a thread.

“He’s coming around. We have to go!” a man’s barked.

The cold touch of a wetsuit made his skin goosebump as a person knelt next to him. He tried to roll over. Logan felt a soft hand brush back his hair. “Stop tilting at windmills, you silly man. Go back to school.” He caught sight of a smile with a mole on the upper lip.

Logan felt the blood drain from his head as it fell onto a cushion of grass. 

     “Did you see them?” Logan spit out a mouthful of dirt. He was sprawled on a small mound and couldn’t move.

     “My eye is swollen shut,” Elliot’s voice was gravelly. “I feel like I got hit by a train. Am I imagining it, or were we rescued by the creature?”

      “It wasn’t the creature.” Logan was breathless with the effort, wondering if he should share what he thought. “I think it was Aimee.”

“Aimee!” Elliot coughed. “What’s she doing here?”

Logan ignored the question; he was wondering the same thing. 

     Rising painfully to his knees he crawled over to where Elliot was propped against the wheel of the jeep. “Anything broken?”

     “Only my pride. I feel like I’m trapped in an eighties crime drama. What are you doing?” he asked Logan, who was pulling his phone from his pocket with a battered hand.

     “I’m calling the police.”

     “I think that was the police,” Elliot retorted weakly. “What happened to your mermaid?”

     Logan growled, “She’s not my mermaid.” 

     “Did you get any pictures?” Logan asked.

     “Let me see with my good eye.” Elliot squinted as he looked at his screen. “Nothing good. Maybe it was one of those goons setting us up.”

     Logan shrugged. “I couldn’t see much, but I know it was that monster, Mitch and his playmates,” he paused and continued, “And Aimee and some other guy.”

      “You think she was working with them?”

      Logan shook his head. “No, they beat the crap out of them. Mitch practically crawled out of here.”

      “Are you sure it was Aimee? This is a major complication.”

      Logan didn’t answer. He spoke into his phone. “Pen? Can you swing by the marsh, and Penny… don’t say anything to anyone.”

– Excerpted from Dragged Down Deep by Michael Okon, Chelshire Publishing, 2024. Reprinted with permission.

 

Logan Osborne has spent his life chasing the shadows of the past.

As a child, he watched helplessly as his father was snatched from a fishing boat by what he swore was a mermaid. No one believed him then. No one believes him now.

Determined to prove that mythical creatures exist, Logan is drawn back to the small coastal town where his nightmares began after another mysterious disappearance stirs the waters.

Teaming up with his pragmatic colleague Elliot Sheppard and his fiercely loyal friend Penny Swanson, Logan dives headfirst into an adventure packed with danger and deception. As they dig deeper, the trio faces resistance at every turn—a secretive agency with its own agenda, a suspiciously unhelpful police force, and Logan’s old flame, who may know more than she’s letting on.

What they uncover is far darker and more terrifying than Logan ever imagined: the truth about his father, the secrets of Minatuck, and the horrifying reality of the Mermaid of the Hamptons.

Will Logan and his friends expose the lies that have haunted him for years, or will they be Dragged Down Deep into the swampy, secretive underbelly of a town that guards its mysteries with deadly intent?

Dragged Down Deep is available at Amazon.

Michael Okon is an award-winning and best-selling author of multiple genres, including paranormal, thriller, horror, action/adventure, and self-help. He graduated from Long Island University with a degree in English and then later received his MBA in business and finance. Coming from a family of writers, he has storytelling in his DNA. Michael has been writing from as far back as he can remember, his inspiration being his love for films and their impact on his life. From the time he saw The Goonies, he was hooked on the idea of entertaining people through unforgettable characters.

Michael is a lifelong movie buff, a music playlist aficionado, and a sucker for self-help books. He lives on the North Shore of Long Island with his wife and children.

Website & Social Media:

Website ➜ www.michaelokon.com

Twitter ➜ https://www.x.com/IAmMichaelOkon

Instagram ➜ https://www.instagram.com/IAmMichaelOkon

 

Book Excerpt: Nurse Dorothea Presents Why Coping Skills Work and What Are Some That Can Be Done Anytime and Anywhere by Michael D

 

“Hi everyone, my name is Nurse Dorothea. Thank you for coming to the after-school club on mental health. I hope to provide you with some tools to manage your emotions and navigate life’s challenges.Mental health is complicated because there are so many things that can affect it. This class was created to show that it is ok to talk about your mental health with others as well as to give you ideas to improve your mental health.

“We will be recording this session. People in the future will get to experience the same things you will today. Sometimes, I will speak to people watching this showor reading the future book about the class. This is an interactive class and I want you all to ask questions as you have them. We will stop sometimes and discuss things with each other. If you are watching the show or reading the book, then I want YOUall to also discuss the questions and topics with those in the room. This book is an experience, and you will only get the full experience by talking with others. Please take breaks from the show as you need to since this will be a long discussion.”

– Excerpted from Nurse Dorothea Presents Why Coping Skills Work and What are Some That Can Be Done Anytime and Anywhere by Michael Dow, Dow Creative Enterprises, 2024. Reprinted with permission. 

 

We are starting the process of removing stigma about mental health issues. Let’s share ideas of the journey to well-being and seek to understand others as they are instead of how we wish them to be. By learning to know ourselves and trying different coping skills that are specific to the situation that we find ourselves in, we can achieve balance and peace. As we deepen our self-awareness and harness tailored coping mechanisms for diverse situations, we pave the path to equilibrium and serenity. Let’s foster an environment conducive to both individual and collective growth within our society. By doing this, we unlock potentials previously unattainable, empowering us to fully cultivate our knowledge, skills, and abilities. With gratitude in our heart, peace in our mind, and confidence in our capabilities, we can face the future with bravery, courage, and determination to help make the best lives for ourselves and others that we possibly can. If society wants something we have never had, we’re going to have to do something that has never been done.

Nurse Dorothea Presents Why Coping Skills Work and What Are Some That Can Be Done Anytime and Anywhere is available at Lulu.

Michael Stephen Dow is married to Perla in Arizona and has 3 kids.  Michael was on a path to attend medical school and then the events of September 11, 2001 occurred.  Michael became angry at the terrorists and decided to join the US Air Force.  He went through Officer Training School and then graduated specialized Navigator training to become an Electronic Warfare Officer.  Michael deployed 6 times for the Global War on Terror between 2005 and 2009 with the EC-130H Compass Call mission.  Michael medically retired in 2010 and then became an US Army contractor serving Wounded Warriors and ensuring they received all of their entitled benefits for 8 years.  Michael always had a love for science and the human body so he then used his GI bill to go through nursing school and graduated in August 2020.  Michael now works as a Registered Nurse at an inpatient psychiatric hospital.  Michael’s education is as follows: B.A. in Psychology from Auburn University in 1999, B.S. in Biology from the University of Alabama at Birmingham in 2001, M.S. in Management from Troy University in 2010, Masters in Health Administration from the University of Phoenix in 2017, and M.S. from the University of Arizona in 2020 through its 15 month accelerated Masters Entry to the Profession of Nursing program.  Michael is the Founder and Manager of Dow Creative Enterprises, LLC.  His books have garnered the Silver Nautilus Book award in 2020 (Nurse Florence, Help I’m Bleeding) and an Award-Winning Finalist in the Religion category for the 2021 International Book Awards (A Prayer to Our Father in the Heavens: Possibly the Greatest Jewish Prayer of All Time).  Michael believes we will need the best of science and religion to successfully navigate ourselves, our civilization, through the future obstacles we will face.  More information can be found at www.DowCreativeEnterprises.com and www.NurseFlorence.org.  Nurse Florence® is a federally registered trademark by Dow Creative Enterprises.  The Nurse Florence® series seeks to promote science and health among children and to help increase the health literacy levels of our society.  With teamwork, inclusion, faith and perseverance, we can bravely face our problems and help each other reach our better selves as well as our best collective good.

Website & Social Media:

Website ➜ www.nursedorothea.com

Facebook ➜ https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100095060389625

 

 

Book Excerpt: A Dream in the Wilderness by Jean Hackensmith

 

Superior, Wisconsin

August 21, 1834

Caleb Wachsmann stood before the four open graves, his two eldest children on either side of him and the youngest in his arms. His entire body was numb. It still didn’t seem possible that all four of them could be gone. But they were. Cholera had taken them systematically, one by one. His father. His mother. His beloved wife, Annie, the mother of his children. His gaze settled on the last coffin, no more than three feet long. Inside was his six-month-old son, Danny. 

Caleb and the older children got sick first. Caleb’s mother had been through other cholera epidemics and knew exactly what to do. They started boiling the drinking water from the nearby St. Louis River and, between her and Annie, and even his father, had forced tons of the bacteria-free water down their throats to prevent dehydration. At one time, Caleb joked that he thought he was going to float away.

He and the older children recovered. Then the rest of the family got sick. The rapid deterioration in their conditions made it impossible for Caleb to keep up with the hydration on all four of his patients. Danny was the first to succumb to the disease. He lasted only 24-hours after the first symptoms appeared. The others lasted two to three days.

Caleb couldn’t help but blame himself. He was responsible for their care, and he had failed.

“Pa?”

Caleb didn’t hear his son’s voice. He was too lost in his thoughts and his grief.

A yank on his shirt sleeve brought him back to reality.

“Pa!”

“What, Seth?” he asked with exasperation heavy in his tone as he looked down at the carrot-topped, freckle-faced boy before him. In fact, all of the children were the spitting image of their mother, and it made looking at them all the more painful.

“Why did we put Grandpa and Grandma and Ma and Danny in the ground? Grandma and Ma aren’t going to like it at all, cuz they don’t like to get dirty.”

Caleb stooped before his eight-year-old son, placing two-year-old Bethany on his knee, then indicated for the five-year-old Jenny to come closer, also. “Remember how I told you that your ma and Danny and your grandma and grandpa are in Heaven with God now?”

The two older children nodded.

“You see, what we put in the ground wasn’t your Mama and Danny anymore, or your grandma and grandpa. The part of her that made your mama your mama and Danny, Danny already went to Heaven.”

“Like their ghosts, you mean?” Seth asked.

“Their spirits,” Caleb corrected. “What’s in the ground is just what was left over and, in time, that part of them will go back to the ground.”

“But it still kinda looked like Ma when you and Father Hauley put the cover on the box,” Seth argued.

Caleb sighed his resignation. “Yes, it did. I don’t know how to explain it better, Seth. When you get older, you’ll understand.”

“So, who’s gonna take care of us now, Pa?” Jenny asked. “Mama and Grandma always took care of us when you and Grandpa were out in the fields plantin’ stuff.”

“I haven’t figured that out yet, honey, but I will.”

The little girl’s green eyes teared and her face scrunched up with her sadness. “I miss Mama, Pa. I want her to come back.”

The sight of his sister’s anguish brought renewed tears to Seth’s eyes also, and Caleb pulled both of them close. Bethany put pudgy arms around her older brother and sister and joined in the hug.

The traveling priest who had performed the ceremony, the only other person present at the burial, looked on in sympathy when he considered what lay ahead for the young father. It was unheard of for a man to raise three children on his own, especially a farmer who spent ten to twelve hours a day cultivating his fields. Yes, Caleb Wachsmann was going to have to find a woman, and he was going to have to do it soon.

– Excerpted from A Dream in the Wilderness by Jean Hackensmith, Jean Hackensmith, 2024. Reprinted with permission.

 

Unable to find a teaching position in the flooded job market that is New York City, twenty-one-year-old Sarah Bentley accepts the position of nanny to Caleb Wachsmann’s three children after the farmer’s wife, parents, and infant son die in the Cholera epidemic of 1834. The twist? The job is in Superior, Wisconsin in the Michigan Territory, an unsettled wilderness located on the northwestern tip of Lake Superior.

Caleb is not looking for love; his heart will always belong to his beloved Annie. What he does need is a woman to watch after the children while he toils in the fields making a living for his family. Sarah turns out to be that woman. She raises his children with a gentle and loving hand and also helps Caleb to overcome an unbearable loss. As Wisconsin vies for statehood, the young couple will face challenge after challenge as they struggle to tame a wilderness that really doesn’t want to be tamed at all.

A Dream in the Wilderness is available at https://www.amazon.com/Dream-Wilderness-Saga-Book-ebook/dp/B0DJS19HMH.

I have been writing since the age of twenty. (That’s 47 years and, yes, I’m disclosing my age.) I am the proud mother of three and grandmother to four wonderful grandchildren. After losing who I thought was the love of my life, my late husband Ron, in November of 2011, I met Rick. So, it is definitely possible to have more than one “love of your life.” Rick and I were married in July of 2018 and are still going strong today. He is my soulmate, my confidant, and my biggest fan. He has read every book I have ever written (even the romances!) 

Next to writing, my second passion is live theater. I founded a local community theater group back in 1992 and directed upwards of 40 shows, including three that I authored. I also appeared on stage a few times, portraying Anna in The King and I and Miss Hannigan in Annie. I am sad to say that the theater group dropped its final curtain in 2008, but those 16 years will always hold some of my fondest memories. 

I moved from Superior 15 years ago, seeking the serenity of country living. I also wanted to get away from the natural air conditioning provided by Lake Superior. We moved only 50 miles south, but the temperature can vary by 20-30 degrees. I guess I’m a country girl at heart. I simply love this area, and am lucky to, once again, have someone to share its beauty. I love the solitude, the picturesque beauty of the sun rising over the water, the strangely calming effect of watching a deer graze outside your kitchen window. Never again, will I live in the city. I am an author, after all, and what better place to be inspired than in God’s own backyard.

Let’s Connect!

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Book Excerpt: Vanity Project by Andre Spiteri

 

Detective Inspector Brian Brandon stared into the bathroom mirror, but a stranger stared back at him.


Three weeks of forced leave, and he didn’t recognise himself anymore. His wavy salt-and-pepper hair was frizzy, thinning on top, and appeared far heavier on the salt than it had been that morning when he’d checked himself in the hallway before leaving for East Strathburgh Police Station to plead his case. His face was pasty and puffy. Careworn. The face of a man who has had too much time on his hands and far too little to fill it with for much longer than is healthy. The knot of his blue paisley tie constricted his fleshy neck, which was spilling over the collar of his white poplin shirt. A shirt with a tailored fit that, through some process he vaguely understood but couldn’t quite fathom, had become too tailored in all the wrong places.


He closed his eyes and held onto the sink with both hands, a captain steering his ship through a thicket of fog.


‘I’m fine, sir. I assure you,’ he’d told – practically begged – DCI Lowe five minutes earlier. ‘Champing at the bit. Raring to go.’


What he hadn’t told Lowe was that he wasn’t sure how much longer he could trust himself to keep his head without work to occupy him. His thoughts were racing at breakneck pace, taking him places he’d rather not visit for fear he’d want to remain there. Permanently.


Lowe had given him a long, appraising look from beneath his legendarily bushy black eyebrows and leaned forward in his faux-leather office chair. Brian, standing in front of Lowe’s cluttered glass and brushed-aluminium desk, had shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, like he needed to go to the lavvy.


‘It’s too soon, Brian,’ Lowe had said, steepling his fingers under his non-existent chin.


‘It’s been long enough,’ Brian had insisted. ‘I’m polis. It’s what I do. This kind of thing… it’s…’ He’d waved his hand around, looking for the right words. ‘It’s par for the course in our line of work,’ he’d ended flatly.


Lowe had raised his eyebrows. One of the hairs was sticking out at an obtuse angle, giving him an oddly comical look.


‘Have you spoken to somebody?’ Lowe had asked. His tone was gentle. Fatherly. But there was steel in his eyes. ‘It helps. What you’ve been through—’


‘I’m fine,’ Brian repeated, a tad more forcefully than he’d intended.


He’d stopped, then. Taken a breath. Held Lowe’s eyes with an earnest gaze.


‘Look,’ Brian had said. ‘Try me. That’s all I’m asking. If I can’t hack it, I’ll be the first to tell you. No need to worry about that. We’re understaffed as it is. So what do you have to lose?’


Lowe had sighed then. A deep, heavy sound that Brian hadn’t been sure what to make of. Was Lowe about to relent? Had he managed to wear him down?


‘Let me think about it,’ he’d said at last, weighing every word.


‘But—’


‘I said, let me think about it,’ Lowe snapped. ‘Take the win.’


Brian had pushed down several smart retorts and nodded deferentially.


‘Thank you, sir,’ he’d said finally, trying not to grit his teeth.


Now, standing in front of a rust-spotted mirror in the lads’ lavvy across the hall from Lowe’s office, a grey shadow toyed with the edges of his field of vision, and he opened his eyes before it could take on a more substantial form. His thoughts turned to home. To the bottle of Monkey Shoulder in the cupboard under the sink. He pushed them away. Opened the cold tap. Splashed his face. The freezing water jolted him.


Aye, that was better. Once he got back to his flat and peeled off this ill-fitting suit, maybe he’d go for a run. Clear the cobwebs. Put himself on the road to well-being and prove to Lowe he was walking the talk.


He turned the tap off, pulled a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser and patted his face dry. Then he took a deep breath. Steeled himself. Walked out of the lavvy, through the corridor, toward the carpeted stairs that led to the station’s entrance, and the parking area outside.


‘DI Brandon!’


Lowe’s voice, calling him from his office doorway, stopped him mid-stride. Brian’s heart skipped a beat.


‘Come back here, will you?’ his senior officer added and strode back into his office without waiting for a reply.


Brian followed, his stomach clenching. ‘Sir?’ he asked from the doorway.


Lowe gave him another one of his appraising looks. His unblinking stare made him feel vulnerable. Naked.


‘Fine,’ he said, after a pause that felt like it had gone on for hours. ‘You’re right. We’re stretched thin and I can’t spare one of my more experienced DIs.’


Brian’s knees almost buckled with relief. His lips curved into a smile.


‘Does that mean—?’


Lowe lifted a hand, palm outward, in a silencing gesture.


‘Just so we’re clear,’ Lowe continued, ‘I’ll be watching you like a hawk. The second I sense you’re not up to the job, I’m putting you back on forced leave, you hear?’


‘Loud and clear,’ Brian said, with feeling.


A brief memory flashed. 3 a.m. Two days earlier. A half-empty bottle of Monkey Shoulder standing on the coffee table. Hunched on the sofa in a frayed terry-cloth robe, counting out how many Nytol one-a-day tablets he’d managed to scrounge from his medicine cabinet and wondering what would happen if he took them all. Washed them down with long gulps of the water of life.


Something prickled behind Brian’s eyes.


‘I won’t let you down, sir,’ he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt.


‘Let’s hope so, Brian,’ Lowe said, turning his gaze to his laptop – a sign Brian was being dismissed. ‘Let’s hope so.’


– Excerpted from Vanity Project by André Spiteri, Maverick Words, 2024. Reprinted with permission.

 

How far would you go to protect yourself if the truth is too hard to swallow?

DI Brian Brandon’s first murder investigation after a forced leave of absence seems open and shut. A love triangle gone horribly wrong.

But, the more he digs into the life of the victim — freelance cybersecurity consultant Ray Higgins — the deeper he’s drawn into a complex web of greed and betrayal.

With bodies piling up and the press baying for blood, Brian faces a race against the clock. What he hasn’t planned on is that his own demons are also hot on his heels.

Can he uncover the killer’s true identity before they catch up with him, or is he doomed to pay the ultimate price?

Vanity Project is available at Amazon UK and Amazon US.

 

André Spiteri is the author of award-nominated crime thriller Back From The Dead and other novels featuring struggling characters with troubled pasts. He was born on the sunny island of Malta in 1982 and lives in Edinburgh with his wife, their two daughters, and two cats. 

Website & Social Media:

Website ➜ www.andrespiteri.com

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Book Excerpt: The Shards of Lafayette by Kenneth A. Baldwin

 

“Are those Boelcke’s goggles?” Marcus asked. 

Smith nodded and took them off.

“I Convinced Mustermann to leave them here as a sign of good faith.” Smith’s eyes glossed with a peculiar sheen. He laughed to himself and whispered. “I’ll be damned, but they work.”

I stared, grasping now for the first time the importance of Smith’s experiment. 

“You watched the fight through the goggles?” I asked.

“Hardly thought to grab them when the bomber showed up, but I’m sure glad I did.”

Marcus squirmed beside me.

“What do you mean they work?” he asked, a trace of anger on the edge of his voice.

“I mean that while Private Whiskey pulled his risky spiral, it just so happened to coincide with the German’s bottom gun jamming.”

“How do you know?” Marcus stammered.

But we all knew, at least after the fact. The bloated pause before Lufbery opened fire—a gun jam would explain it. A flash of sympathy for the pilots raced through me. How they must have panicked when they realized…

“It’s just like Mustermann said,” Smith replied, tossing the goggles brusquely to Marcus. “There’s something inside of you that goes off. And as you believe it, the plane gets a bit of a glow to it. Like the glow of a Christmas tree from down the hall after too many drinks. Hazy like, almost blurry. It’s like you could swear someone was shining a blue flashlight on the jammed gun.”

I turned to Marcus. Part of me wanted to flaunt how I’d been right, that the magic was real, but the danger of the immediate situation cut the wind from my sails. Instead, I hoped he would at least see reason. He saw red.

“Luf downed that plane because he’s the best pilot we have.”

Smith raised his eyebrows.

“Best American pilot, you mean.”

“Best Allied pilot.”

“Not by the numbers,” Smith said flatly.

“Then forget the numbers,” Marcus spat back, his voice raising.

I furrowed my brow.

“Marcus, you have to start believing. Why else would the Germans send a bomber after Mustermann if not to keep him quiet? These goggles are important. This mission is important. They must be on to something.”

“On to what?” Marcus asked. He shook his head “What? Blue flyers and special goggles? Smith, what if this is all part of a larger cup and ball routine? If I were Ludendorff, one of my top priorities would be finding a way to make the other Allied commanders lose faith in General Pershing. Isn’t this type of goose chase exactly the thing to accomplish that?”

“You think the Germans would sacrifice a Gotha bomber in a show of pageantry? Have you lost your mind?” I asked incredulously.

“I appreciate the point you’re trying to make, Marcus. But like it or not, she’s right.” He looked at the goggles with a faraway frown. “It’s too many validations. I don’t know if those goggles are some kind of military innovation or if they’re the product of some devious enchantment or what, but they worked for me just now. Could it be that the Gotha had some type of technology synched up with these goggles to show me what I expected to see? Maybe. But that’s not technology our government has any idea how to replicate.” 

“But, sir—”

Sharp shouts from Dupont and Atkins cut short our conversation. Calls for help mixed with rudimentary commands in German.

“This day keeps getting better,” Smith said as he peered through the trees toward the wreckage. “The pilot survived.”

– Excerpted from The Shards of Lafayette: Drops of Glass Book 1 by Kenneth A. Baldwin, Eburnean Books, 2023. Reprinted with permission.

 

1918. France. Reports of unexplained rogue attacks have come in from both sides of the Western Front.

When Marcus Dewar is tasked with investigating the aerial bombardments, it’s not because of his aviation record. To make a name for himself, he will have to escort his best friend, a woman named Jane Turner known for her witchlike repairs on damaged aircraft, through some of the war’s most dangerous battle zones.

But when they learn the rogue pilots seek out arcane devices filled with magic powerful enough to alter the war, it will take more than some hedgewitch tactics and smart flying to return with their lives.

And in a conflict that values human life so little, that’s the least they have to lose.

The Shards of Lafayette: Drops of Glass Book 1 is available at Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Drops-Glass-Magic-Shards-Lafayette-ebook/dp/B0C42B144X .

Kenneth A. Baldwin writes stories that blur the lines between history, magic, dreams, and reality. He loves finding oddities in history books with unbelievable tales or unexplained phenomena. His first series, The Luella Winthrop Trilogy, takes place during just such a time when late 19th-century Victorians struggled to balance a surge of occultism and never-before-seen scientific advancements.

Before he started writing novels, Kenny paid his way through law school by writing, performing, and teaching humor. You can still catch him on stage or in corners of the Internet that feature sketch and improv comedy. Now, he lives nestled under the Wasatch Mountains with his wonderful wife, sons, and Golden Retriever.

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Book Excerpt: Ring of Rosin by Nancy Golden

 

Thirty minutes later, they were all seated in the library, looking attentively at the messenger, a slim, proud youth about Rugal’s age possessing the distinctly dark, handsome features of a citizen of Tolan.

Dressed in riding leathers, the youth had thick black hair and the beginnings of a beard. He bowed formally from the waist, and with Rugal’s nod of acknowledgment, he began to recite his message:

“I, Johan of Sharvindar, in the name of King Handerbin of the kingdom of Tolan, bear greetings from my sovereign and wishes of health and happiness to the esteemed royal family of Elayas. News of Oldag’s overthrow and the restoration of King Rugal, rightful sovereign of Elayas, in accordance to her laws and traditions, has brought us great joy. Our sorrow has been long in knowing that the evil king Oldag’s birthplace was Tolan, and it gladdens us that he has finally met with justice.” Johan paused for breath, and his listeners leaned forward in anticipation of his words.

“We wish to reassure you of our good intentions. Long have our countries viewed each other with mistrust, kindled by Oldag’s rebellion. We are also aware of the theft of the Ring of Rosin, and we believe that those responsible are members of the Kargoliths, who have come to inhabit what has been the unsettled territory of Tolan, earmarked for future expansion.”

“How did you know?” Rugal interrupted. “About the Ring of Rosin?”

Johan met Rugal’s gaze squarely. “King Rosin had the ring made by one of the most skilled craftsmen in all of Tolan. It is a fragment from the stone of fire.”

Mura nodded. “That makes sense. I know my cousin had made a special commission for its creation. I was never told the exact details, but that it arrived from a mysterious location. I remember the day it was shown at court for the first time.”

Rugal’s voice sharpened. “That still doesn’t explain…”

“We intercepted a message from the Kargoliths, which is what prompted King Handerbin to send me here.” Johan hesitated, leaning forward. “The leader of their tribe has the Ring of Rosin. King Handerbin has sent me to help you retrieve it. You will need a guide, someone familiar with Tolan.”“Just what are you proposing?” Jackal stood up, shoulders tense.

The Swordsman put up a hand. “It’s okay, Jackal. It makes sense.” He glanced at Soldar, who nodded. “The Kargoliths have been searching for the shards of the stone of fire for many years. It is woven into their history. Fables of old, when the wondrous bird captured it and flew to the mountains, are told around their campfires from one generation to the next. If they have the Ring of Rosin…”

“They will not give it up. This is the Year of Wisdom and the Day of Questioning approaches. They will demand King Rugal’s presence.” Johan looked significantly at Rugal. “For only he will be able to activate its power on that day.”

Rugal cocked his head. “Day of Questioning? I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Soldar cleared his throat. “An oversight on my part, Sire. We did not cover the fables of the Kargoliths, as I saw no need.” He glanced at Johan and raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“It certainly seems relevant now, Soldar,” Rugal let out a noisy breath. “Please explain.”

His eyes contemplative, Soldar exhaled. He turned his attention to the dark youth, and Johan nodded almost imperceptibly. Soldar turned back to Rugal.

“The Ring of Rosin has a property that no one knows about. It has been entwined in the lore of Tolan and the Kargoliths for many years and is thought to be conjecture. Apparently, that is not the case, or it would not have been stolen. Not only does it identify the true king of Elayas, but it also imparts wisdom to the king.” Soldar paused and rubbed his eyes. “The Kargoliths must know the Ring of Rosin has this power.”

Johan spread out his hands. “You are correct, Soldar.” He bowed his head briefly. “But there is more to the fable.” He continued with a storytelling inflection to his words, “The rightful king of Elayas will be able to ask the Ring of Rosin anything he desires, and the ring will impart that knowledge to him, but only once in every ten years. This day is designated as the Day of Questioning.”

Rugal’s eyes narrowed. “Anything? Even another person’s most deeply held secrets?”

“Yes, indeed,” Johan agreed. “Which is why it is so powerful. But it will only respond to the queries of the King of Elayas, and only for the Time of Sun Shadow on the Day of Questioning. This is when the sun is completely engulfed in shadow, but only for a few minutes. It is as if it is nighttime, yet it is still day.”

The room remained quiet as everyone contemplated the ramifications of what had just been revealed. Finally, Rugal rubbed his cheek. “So, they stole the ring in anticipation of the Day of Questioning. But what good will it do them without me?”

“Exactly,” Johan replied. “That is why I am here.”

– Excerpted from Ring of Rosin by Nancy Golden, Golden Cross Ranch LLC, 2024. Reprinted with permission.

 

Many, many years ago, a wondrous bird flew into the mountains of Tolan. In its claws, it bore a giant stone, a stone of fire. The bird dropped the stone somewhere in the mountains, where it shattered. The one who finds its fragments shall have power beyond belief.

The Ring of Rosin has unexpectedly disappeared. Join King Rugal on his quest to recover the ring symbolizing his right to rule, forged from the stone of fire. A mysterious companion joins the young monarch on a perilous journey. Rugal’s shadowy ally leads him to the nomadic Kargoliths, who are locked in an ongoing dispute with the neighboring kingdom of Tolan. As destinies intertwine amidst the clashing cultures, the fates of Elayas, Tolan, and the Kargoliths hang in the balance.

Will the Ring of Rosin’s power on the Day of Questioning help Rugal defeat the foreign threat to Elayas, or will it be used to destroy him?

Follow King Rugal as he faces the greatest threat to his reign since his coronation. An exciting adventure of valor and unlikely friendships the whole family can enjoy!

Ring of Rosin is available at Amazon.

>Nancy Golden wears a lot of different hats – She is a wife and mom, author, engineer, professor, horsewoman, and small business owner. She is also the founder of a writing group – the Carrollton League of Writers. Nancy lives in a suburb of Dallas, Texas and she loves to ride bicycles and horses. She is a member of the National Space Society, and she has been a Trekkie for as long as she can remember. Nancy Golden Books provides a great reader experience with well-crafted writing that will brighten your day.

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