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Come With Me on the Yellow Brick Road Virtual Book Tour

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Women’s Fiction / Inspirational / Self-Help

 

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Step onto the Yellow Brick Road with Leslie Zeidel in Come Along with Me on
Our “Yellow Brick Road”
, an uplifting and heartfelt novel
inspired by the timeless magic of The Wizard of Oz. Through the eyes of
three generations of resilient women, you’ll experience their
struggles, fears, and triumphs, ultimately learning how life’s
greatest obstacles can transform into extraordinary strength.

This captivating story can be read through a religious lens, a spiritual
healing journey, or simply as an intimate portrayal of family connections,
bridging generations through shared wisdom and understanding. As our world
grows increasingly chaotic, readers young and old will find comfort,
courage, and inspiration in Leslie’s beautifully woven narrative,
designed to help you move beyond your fears, embrace joy, and navigate
life’s uncertainties with newfound confidence.

Part one of a compelling fictionalized trilogy drawn from the
author’s own life, this book intertwines real-world experiences with
the enchanting metaphor of Dorothy’s Yellow Brick Road. Join Leslie as
she introduces characters that mirror beloved friends from Oz, guiding
readers on their own path toward inner peace, fulfillment, and
victory.

Come With Me on the Yellow Brick Road tablet

EXCERPT

INTRODUCING LESLIE ZEIDEL, THE AUTHOR

Leslie Zeidel, now 73 years old, boasts a stellar career dedicated to advocating for women, the disabled, and children. She earned her degree in Speech and Language Pathology from Boston University School of Education.

She went on to acquire two master’s degrees from Teachers College, Columbia University: one in Speech and Language Pathology, and the other in Marketing Communications, which equipped her with expertise in copywriting for public relations. Driven by her passion, she has dedicated herself to making a difference in the lives of individuals with disabilities, those with learning differences, and professionals seeking to enhance their communication skills.

Leslie’s philosophy towards her field can be summed up as follows:

“To have a part, to speak directly from the heart, a city in a mind … To Give, To Take, and To Live.”

She believes that every person with a disability, difference, or unique ability should have access to competent services that utilize multi-sensory approaches. Her inclusive approach aims to support anyone in need. Communication challenges, including speech, reading, articulation, grammar, listening (to surface and underlying meanings), comprehension, memory, and writing, remain among the most prevalent challenges worldwide.

Leslie is the only speech pathologist who has built large-scale companies hiring other speech pathologists and developing ongoing programs for them to expand their learning. She was the first to negotiate contracts on their behalf with hospitals, schools, nursing homes, and home health centers. Her companies offered services for patients and students as well as value-added programs that were educational in nature for her staff and the communities they served.

Her first of four companies grew from a solo endeavor to employing 1,500 Speech Pathologists serving 476 facilities across 14 states between 1978 and 1984. INC. Magazine ranked her companies 82nd, 84th, and 85th among the fastest-growing privately held companies in the United States. Ad Age Magazine honored her with an award for the best branding in a service business. The company went public on the NYSE in 1984. Subsequently, she founded and successfully sold three smaller companies to publicly traded educational or healthcare companies.

Passionate about her field, Leslie wrote all of the copy for her brand and all of the copy for her value-added programs.

She brought her professional experiences into Follow Me on The Yellow Brick Road, along with a variety of helpful tools to deal with the enormous fears she felt throughout her life. She found that “following the yellow brick road” served as a metaphor instrumental in enabling her to use all those tools. Anyone hamstrung by fear can convert it into combustible energy and harness it for positive ends.

This book is part of a trilogy based on Leslie’s life. It is a gripping story illuminating faith-based tools wrapped in a childhood experience of walking on her own yellow brick road, reinforced by the walls of Children’s Hospital in Boston. She endured 31 operations before the age of 55. Her relationships with men and her family created immense havoc and disruption. She moved through it with the picture in hand of putting one foot in front of the other on her road to victory.

No one has ever explored the insights of The Wizard of Oz into the determinants of adults’ personal and spiritual growth. Dorothy’s ultimate goal was to return home. Each character became self-aware. May each reader find his or her path home to inner peace.

About the Author

Leslie Zeidel

Leslie Zeidel, author of Come Along with Me on Our “Yellow Brick
Road”
, is a compassionate storyteller, innovative businesswoman, and
dedicated advocate for turning personal trauma into strength. Her richly
layered narratives draw from a lifetime of impactful experiences, connecting
deeply with readers seeking healing, inspiration, and inner peace.

 

About Leslie

Leslie holds a Master’s Degree from Columbia University and founded
InSpeech in 1978, revolutionizing speech therapy delivery to institutions
nationwide. Driven by her heartfelt philosophy—“To have a part,
To speak directly from the heart, a city in mind… To Give, Take, and
Live,”
—Leslie transformed her vision into reality, building and
taking her company public within a decade.

 

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French Cruises Can Kill You Virtual Book Tour

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The Hassle High Mystery Series, Book 3

 

Cozy Mystery

Date Published: 11-14-2020

 

 

Cozy Mystery with Death Romance and twists on a French Cruise with the
Hassle High group. Complete with occult, kidnapping and French
Recipes.

 

French Cruises Can Kill tablet

EXCERPT

Cast of Characters (on cruise)

 

Maria Bruno Cohen, Principal, in charge of the group from Hassle High. Married to Al Cohen but has a passion for Detective Hunky Joe Viola.

 

Al Cohen, silver curly haired, tall, retired Teacher married to Maria.  He is a fish collector and  dislikes Joe Viola.

 

Detective Juliet Smith,  A beautiful Amazon and Joe’s partner. She is so beautiful she doesn’t need to hold up a hand to stop traffic.

 

Detective Joe Viola,  He is hunky and dark Italian looking. 30 plus years ago, Viola and Maria were police partners. They were engaged to be married. Joe dumped Maria  at the altar and married someone else named Brenda. He divorced her a year later. He now thinks he is in love with Maria and has asked her to marry him and divorce Al.

 

The Faculty (on cruise)

 

Fred Kelley, warlock and Science Chair. He was involved in the Summertime Murders at Hassle High.   He practices witchcraft.  He believes to teaching students how witchcraft relates to science. Well known on TV talk shows. Very charismatic.

 

Megan Murphy,  Math Chair she is a nice woman, but not too swift. Was  she really a Fulbright scholar? She has been to South Africa before. 

 

The New Faculty (on cruise)

 

Tim Leary, Social Studies chair, an aging young hippie who knows his history.  A Georgetown graduate. But there are no records of him down at the Board of Education, so who is he really?

 

Vanna Hayes, science teacher ,  she is black and looks like an Egyptian Queen. Knows the Naidoo family. 

 

Ben Franklin, Japanese exchange Math teacher. Very quiet and very intelligent. He spent a year in  South Africa. 

 

Desiree Cavalier, French teacher, born in Normandy, very pretty.

 

The French Police ( on and off cruise)

 

Detective Marcelle, Tall and good looking and smart with excellent English

 

Detective Jonas, a nice detective.

 

Detective Krause, a French sidekick of Detective Marcelle, he knows more English then it seems.

 

Sergeant Treetoe, a French policeman.

 

The Crew

 

Captain Brin, a French Cruise Captain. He is not happy about the murder  on board his orderly ship. 

 

First Officer Welt, he wants to help solve the crime.

 

The Captain’s cat, who keeps her own secrets

 

The Fellow Passengers

 

Beth and Todd Princeton are from New Jersey in their early fifties. They dislike the students on board the ship. They both wear the same colors every day. They don’t drink, so what are they doing on an eating and drinking cruise?  Something isn’t right with these two….

 

Richard and Roxanna Jones both from Florida they are retired and play golf. They seem pleasant enough, but they knew the Naidoo family from the Diamond District in New York City.

 

Ed and Maureen Stickley and Nancy and Stewart Riley are neighbors who travel together. They are from Poughkeepsie New York, where Maria, the Principal has relatives. They are in their sixties. 

 

Drs. Beth and Howard Getty met in South Africa and are married. They are in their twenties. They are black surgeons. They work for Doctors without Borders.  

 

Laura and Vincent Connelly owners of a diamond mine, they live in South Africa. They look very waspy and are in their forties. Laura seems to know a lot about African masks. Why are they on this cruise and not their private boat? 

 

Blick, an accountant from London who is not what he seems to be. He is traveling alone, because his wife refused to join him. 

 

Peter and Wanda Naidoo the parents of Brady

 

Chad Naidoo, Brady’s brother

 

The Students   (Nut Squad)

 

The Nut Squad is the name of a group of artistic students from Hassle High.  They are not scholars. They won this trip to Monte Carlo by presenting Hamlet the Musical. They wrote the play and preformed it. Because it was seen by the President of Tomato Cruises and they were asked on this cruise to perform a show on board. The show is Tartuffe the Musical , their second creation. They have helped Maria and Joe solve murders before. The Squad is made up of Martha, Brady, Tim, Jeff, Rebecca and Laura. 

 

Jeff is the leader of the group. He really likes Maria.

 

Brady Naidoo, a student with little to say. He is from South Africa 

 

Tim, a student well known for his sleight of hand. He is Spanish.

 

Maria , smart  Spanish student who should have graduated a few years ago.

 

Rebecca, very good at sports and driving.

 

Laura, good at math bad at English skills.

 

A few characters are the nameless crew members.

 

Chapter One Lyon

 

       Frankly, I couldn’t believe we were on our way to the ship in Lyon  for the Tomato River Cruise. I ‘m Maria Bruno Cohen, Principal at Hassle High  School in Queens New York. My students, the Nut Squad, had won a cruise for their presentation of the Hamlet the Musical at the school. They have been invited on a free cruise through France in exchange for their performances on board the ship. The owner of Tomato Cruises also gave a free trip to me and my husband Al. The plane trip had been exciting as I tried to keep a lot of liquor out of the Nut Squad’s hands , not an easy thing to do, since quite a few of them were legal age in France.

     “No drinking of liquor on this plane. No student drinking. “ I announced clearly as we boarded.  The Nut Squad groaned. 

     They were  called the Nut Squad because they were artistic and did crazy things. But a principal can do nothing but try to keep them away from the booze! We  all got to Paris tired and sober. At least Al and I were  tired and sober.  

     We piled into the cars sent for us by Tomato Cruise lines and arrived at our hotel near the Opera House.   The drive into Paris from the airport was wonderful. One could see the Eiffel Tower and the skyline of Paris in the distance as one got closer and closer.  

      All the students, fourteen of them,  had teachers’ rooms near their rooms, to keep an eye on them. Though personally I wasn’t so sure about the teachers! Maybe a few of them needed looking after too. From the faculty was  Fred Kelley tall, thin, dark,  a professed warlock, with an edge of something slightly evil about him,  with his basic black outfits and maybe some witchcraft items in his suitcases. He had been raised in a coven. He also had no taste in women. His last fiancée turned out to be a murderer.  I knew him from summer school. I was keeping an eye on him. I didn’t trust Kelley. Mr. Kane, the superintendent insisted I take Kelley on this trip, “to help him get over his bad experience with his ex-fiancé and summer school.”  Kane really liked Kelley. I think it was because Kelley had been a media attraction with his weird warlock ideas. 

       Megan Murphy,  short, cubby grey hair cut short, Megan, was the Math Assistant Principal, not brilliant but sweet I knew from experience the students could run rings around her. Then we had three new teachers sent by the superintendent to join my school when we got back in September.  Superintendent  Kane insisted I take them with me to France. This was because new teachers were cheaper than older ones. 

       “Great experience for the new faculty. Gives them a chance to meet you and the students in a natural setting.” He rasped this at me on the phone as I was packing. 

     “Yes sir!” I replied.

      What was I supposed to do, he’s my Boss!  So, I had Ms. Vanna Hayes,  science teacher, a slim, twentyish something black teacher who really looked like Nefertiti.  This was her first teaching job.  She was lovely to look at, all the Nut Squad boys were staring at her  all the time. I hoped that is all they did to her on this trip. 

       Then I had Mr. Ben Franklin, yeah, that’s really his name. He was, of all things, from Japan. He was an exchange teacher. The superintendent had promised me he was an excellent math teacher. Megan had promised me to check that out. Though Megan as a math chair was not really noted for her math skills. We would just have to wait and see. He was very quiet and very short. I hoped he liked kids.  

       Next was Ms. Desiree Cavalier , she was the new French teacher. About twenty-five , with a nice figure and long blonde hair. She was born in Normandy. Her French was very good. 

       Jeff on the Nut Squad told me. “Hey, Teach, I mean Princey, our French is like okay too!” I nodded. I couldn’t wait to hear it. The thought of hearing it kept me up nights. Anyway, I was glad to have Ms.  Desiree.  There was one  more  teacher the superintendent had included for me. 

      Mr. Tim Leary, yeah, I know, but it is his real name, I checked his passport even. He was thirty  with long hair pulled back in a ponytail, and six foot four at least. He was as tall as Kelley.  He was going to be my new social studies chairperson. 

     “He has been teaching five years at Townsend Harris High School and is a wonderful teacher. He just got an Assistant Principal  License.  He’ll be great at Hassle High.” The superintendent announced in an email to me on my last day at home. 

      Well, here we all were.  We’d spent one night in Paris. Al  my husband, and I had gone to bed early. We had a short dinner with his French  cousins in a nice restaurant. Al was born in France.  I gave instructions to the teachers to keep track of the kids.  And I wasn’t woken up except for breakfast! A miracle! And as we ate the continental breakfast in the hotel, no problems were mentioned from the night before in Paris.  I didn’t ask for any either.  We piled into the cars out front and left our hotel in Paris for the TGV train to Lyon. 

       The French countryside was beautiful, lots of farmland and trees, it was very green. I loved the white cows. So different from our black or brown cows.  There were fields of corn which Al explained was used to the feed the cattle. The French didn’t eat corn like we did. 

      Suddenly Al and I had company in our seats.  Jeff  tall blonde and very thin ,and Martha long dark hair and big brown eyes, came and sat next to us. 

     “ Hey, this is great !” said Martha. “It is really pretty. Princey, do you know where the teens hang in Lyon?”

     “Yeah, we would like to meet some French teens you know.  Especially the girls?” Jeff winked at Al.  Oh boy, I thought. 

       Al frowned a little at Jeff and the wink. “ No,” he answered.   “ And I don’t have any relatives in Lyon to ask about that.”

        Well, that was handled with tack I thought. Jeff frowned at Al. “Could you phone a relative and see if they know? Otherwise, we can look it up on social media. Yeah, on second thought that’s what we’ll do!” Jeff stood and smiled at me. Martha stood and followed him to the back of the train car where the teens were sitting together. “Hey! Like who has a working cellphone?” Jeff yelled at them. 

         When Jeff yelled, a couple dressed in the same style of  black clothing, black shirts and shorts, sitting across from Al and me turned to us. Who wore black in  ninety-degree heat?  I guess they thought I should do something about Jeff. I shrugged back at them. Did they think I could control this group? They were in for a surprise. It would be along train ride if they thought I could do that.  Hopefully, they wouldn’t be joining us on the boat. 

        With no more teenager confabs we arrived in Lyon.  I was pleased when Mr. Leary got all the students together with their luggage. We stepped off with our luggage, which was rapidly taken by porters. Mr. Leary was explaining, “Lyon is an UNESCO site. It was once the capitol of Gaul.  We will be touring the city quickly on our way to the boat by bus. Please follow your teachers.  I will describe what we drive past. The bus is over there.” He pointed to the bus. He headed for the bus. Eleven of the students kind of slowly followed him. They were carrying their luggage to be handed to the porters waiting to load the luggage on the bus. 

        The second he turned his head, Jeff, Martha and Tim, who was  six-foot three , thin and with black hair and tan olive skin, started to walk off in the other direction. I went after them.      “Get on that bus. I won’t spend the time searching all of Lyon for you today. If you guys wander off, I will not be happy!” 

        Martha and Tim looked slightly guilty at getting caught. Jeff didn’t. He smiled at me. “Okay Princey, we’ll do it.  We just wanted to look around ya know?”

       I nodded my head. I knew alright!  Al had come back. He was trying to get me to head for the bus too, I guess. Or maybe he thought I needed help with crowd control. Al had taught for many years too. We all walked together to the bus and boarded it. One emergency search for missing students averted.  Leary started the tour on the bus.  He knew his material but had a speaking voice that could make you nod off to dreamland. At least there were no further incidents  and we got to the boat. As we were leaving the bus for the boat, I made an announcement.

      “Remember  students you are going to a formal dinner tonight at seven to meet all the other passengers. You are to dress up for dinner. Good behavior is expected.” I concluded. The students all clapped my little speech. Jeff spoke up.

      “Yeah, everybody look cool for tonight like Mrs. Bruno says okay?” He turned and looked at me. “Don’t you worry, we got it.”

     Why didn’t I believe it?  

     Anyway, the boat was straight ahead and so was a cat. It was a yellow striped tabby cat, and very big, sitting on the gangplank.  The kids all petted it as they went by. We got on board. I had put Ben Franklin in charge of giving out cabin assignments for the kids. The rest of the teachers and Al and I walked up to the reception desk on board. Franklin went first and he started  to hand out keys and assign rooms. I observed for a minute, but all looked well. Al was talking to the desk clerk, who gave him a key. 

      “Mr. Cohen,” he said, “your luggage is in your room.” He smiled. 

     “Thank you,” replied Al. 

      The service was wonderful. I turned to the teachers, “see you at seven.” Al  and I started walking to our cabin to see what it was like. As I passed Ben Franklin I said, “please give me a copy of the cabin assignments when you are through.”

     “Yes, Mrs. Bruno,” he answered softly. I waved at the students who were standing around and walked after Al to our cabin in the middle of the ship. 

     Al opened the door. There was a nice bowl of fruit and two bottles of wine from Captain Brin on our desk. The cabin was small, especially with all my luggage, but okay. I always over pack. Al used to hate that fact that I overpacked, now he just shakes his head. That’s what over thirty years of marriage does to you. There was a balcony with two chairs on it. A queen size bed,  a television on the wall, a safe in a cabinet that had a few dresser drawers in it and a small refrigerator. Everything was compact but very nice and clean.  The empty luggage could go under the bed and in the closet. I had a feeling everything would be fine. Al was smiling. 

      “Nice,” he said, “ and we are alone for a while till dinner.”  I smiled at him. 

       We were trying to work on our rocky marriage this trip. Thirty years ago, I had been engaged to Joe Viola, a NYC detective. We had met again. Hassle High had had a few murders take place and Detective Joe Viola was assigned to the cases.  Joe wanted me to divorce Al and marry him, even though, thirty years ago, he had dumped me at the altar. I was thinking about it. 

     “I plan to unpack a bit. Why don’t you open the wine and pour us a drink? Do you think the cat is on the ship?” I asked. I opened one of my three suitcases. Al had packed only one. I pulled out dresses and hung them on the closet. Just as Al handed me a glass of wine there was  a knock at the cabin door. Al opened it. 

       Ben Franklin was there. He had a list of cabins with assigned students in them. I thanked him and Al softly closed the door.  We both kicked off our sneakers and sat on chairs on the balcony. We looked over the river at Lyon before us. It was a pretty site.  The Basilica of Notre Dame de Fourviere was in the distance. The sun was setting. Suddenly the boat started to move. We were on our way. I glanced at the clock on the wall of our cabin. At least an hour before I had to dress for dinner. This was great! I sipped the wine which was quite good. Al and I just sat there and watched as the boat moved off from Lyon. It was a nice calm moment.  Little did I know, it wouldn’t last. We finished the wine and got showered and dressed for dinner. Al looked great in his jacket and tie. I looked pretty good since I had lost twenty pounds and could finally get into a petite size eighteen gown.  We both walked hand and hand to the front of the boat where the restaurant was located. We were both eager to see what the students were wearing and meet the other guests. 

 

Chapter 2

Five Star Dinner

       Jeff walked up to me with Tim, Martha and Brady. Brady Naidoo was the black quarterback on the football team and point guard on the basketball team.  He was nineteen .He had just finished his senior year and gotten a scholarship to Florida Southern College. He was planning to be a doctor. A nice kid with a beautiful singing voice. In Hamlet the Musical he played Laertes. His father was a South African diplomat at the UN.  All the students looked good, I almost didn’t recognize them. Everyone was dressed so nice.  Jeff and Tim were in suits and ties as was Brady. Martha had on a lacy cocktail dress. 

     “ You all look great!” I said.

     “Thanks,” Tim replied. Martha smiled at me. 

      “ You look lovely, Mrs. Bruno,” she said. 

      “Thank you, Martha,” I replied. What was this? They were practicing good manners. 

      Al was waving at me from across the room. He had picked out a table with another two couples. I waved back. 

      “You make sure everyone behaves Jeff, Martha,” I said.  Suddenly I had a yellow tabby rubbing my legs. I pet her in the hopes she would move along. She did. She headed for the Captain.

        Brady spoke. “You don’t have to worry, everyone’s just so excited to be here.” 

       I smiled  and walked away. I walked to Al. The waiter pulled out a chair for me. I sat.  I introduced myself. “ I am Mrs. Maria Cohen. This is my husband Al.” 

      Al nodded and smiled at the other two couples. One couple about fifty years old was looking at me strangely. I reached up to pat my hair, was it out of place? Nope. 

    The husband of this couple introduced himself and his wife. “We are Beth and Todd Princeton. We saw you on the train with the noisy students, I guess. They needed to be controlled better.” He wasn’t smiling as he said it. In fact, he was frowning at us.  They both looked like Kelley, dark and pale and never in the sun. Both were dressed in black evening wear. 

     Oh dear. They were the couple that Jeff yelled in front of, guess they don’t have any teenagers at home. 

    I smiled again, and kind of grit my teeth. “Yes, I’m their Principal, we are going to present the entertainment for part of the trip. They’re quite talented actors. “ I took a great big deep breath.  “I ‘m sure you’ll enjoy them. We’ll be presenting in the cocktail lounge in a few days.”

     “Oh,” sniffed Beth. “We don’t drink.”

     Oh boy.  Why did these two book a cruise noted for its food and wine tasting?  Beth the wife, was still looking at me as if I was supposed to say something. 

    “  I’m sure you could come up to see them anyway and have a soda or something.” I replied lamely. I was stumped. What did they want from me? Thank goodness the other couple spoke up.

     “We are  Richard and Roxanna Jones. Happy to meet you all.” He said. They were our age about sixtyish.  They looked like a pair of tennis players or golfers.  They both were very fit. Both were bronze with grey short hair.  Their haircuts were almost the same and they were both dressed in beige. She was in a beige and lace dress. He was in a beige suit. 

      Al and I smiled at them. 

     “We’re happy to meet you all too,” said Al.   He even looked relieved . A looked at me. I knew what he was thinking. It was nice to meet a normal couple after Beth and Todd. We were both thinking the same thing. 

         Thank goodness, the waiter arrived! I order a glass of champagne. To hell with not drinking! The  waiter came back quickly with drinks. Everyone had a drink,  but the Princeton’s had seltzer.  We had a grand dinner, Moules Marinieres for appetizer, steak with small baby green beans ties with ribbons, and the desert was chocolate mousse to die for.  I would have to get the recipes from the cook! Everyone enjoyed their meal and the conversations got better as we went on. The Princeton’s were from New Jersey, why am I not surprised? And the Jones’ were from Florida. No surprise there either with those tans.  We all walked to the lounge and bar to have a goodnight drink. Even the Princeton’s ordered Shirley Temples! I guessed that was a special treat from the way  Todd ordered them, making sure no liquor was involved, please! Anyway, we talked about travel and the guys got on sports, the women talked about children, grandchildren  etc. Al and  I don’t have children, but we admired the baby pictures of the grandchildren anyway. It was a pleasant hour.  We said goodnight and went to our room. The faculty members had not joined us in the bar and thank goodness no students did either! 

 

Moules Marinieres

12 dozen mussels

1 stalk celery

½ cup onions, chopped

Salt pepper

½ pint white wine

Clean mussels and put them in a large pan with celery, onions, salt and pepper. Cover and stream. When mussels open throw out one shell each, leaving mussel in one shell. Place in casserole and cover. Pour liquid from large pan into saucepan. Make sure you strain out the sand.  Add the wine, heat and pour over mussels and serve. 

      

     

 

 Chapter 3  A Wicked Night

 

 

About the Author

Constance Meccarello-Gerson

Constance Meccarello-Gerson was born in Poughkeepsie N.Y.  She is a
graduate of Florida Southern College with a BA in Acting. She also attended
the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. HB Studio, Actors Studio, in
NYC.  She is a member of SAG, Alpha Gamma Delta, Alpha Si Omega. Her
MFA in Acting is from Brooklyn College.  She has appeared on TV, film,
and on stage in NYC. For 20 years she taught as a mentor and teacher of
English and Theatre arts for the New York City Department of Education and
for the University at Santa Cruz. She also taught for ten years as a Speech
Coordinator at Touro College. She was an executive at Bloomingdales. Her
writing as appeared in Musings, also in the Best American Poets
series.  Murder at Hassle High is her first  cozy mystery.
Summertime Murder at Hassle High is her second and  French Cruises Can
Kill You  is the third.  She wrote Armera a sci fi mystery and her
Snowball the Sherlock Rabbit series, a group of children books.
Currently she lives in NYC with her husband Alain, a parrot named Benji, and
lots of fish. She is currently writing Death In a Dorm, another cozy in the
Hassle High series.

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Seven Point Eight: Beyond Virtual Book Tour

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Seven Point Eight: Beyond cover

Science Fiction

Date Published: 02-08-2025

Publisher: Magnetic Lion Productions

 

 

Everything is connected. Each event happens for a reason.

If you could remote view worlds beyond your own, where would you go?

How far could you reach?

And what would a nefarious organisation do with your abilities?

Tahra Mamoun has always known she was different. When she discovers
powerful remote viewing abilities, the enigmatic businessman, Max
Richardson, rescues her from a miserable existence to work at The Institute.
She discovers her ikigai in the form of brilliant physics professor, Dr Paul
Eldridge, seizing a unique opportunity to play a major role in a
mind-bending project.

Tahra must navigate worlds beyond as a chosen one, pitting her wits against
aliens with agendas in a series of quests that challenge her faith and her
deepest fears.

Written in the style of a TV series, Seven Point Eight has a twist of
sci-fi intrigue which combines love, betrayal and ambition with psychic
powers, stunning alien worlds, ancient secrets and quantum physics in a soap
opera for the soul.

Seven Point Eight: Beyond tablet

EXCERPT

Prelude

Room 104

 

If there was ever a sense of being stalked, then Ava had that now. A presence lurked, giving her a feeling of being watched. Whoever that was, they were ambiguous, often fading into the shadows. The London Underground and its heady concoction of commuters, tourists and Londoners offered a safe haven though, one of sanity and normality.

Ambling through the connecting tunnels, she passed a number of people absorbed in the music that played on their Sony Walkmans. There were even a few buskers, one of which performed a superb rendition of George Michael’s ‘Faith.’ When passing the latter, she rummaged in her purse and dropped a few coins into the upturned hat on the floor.

She caught a train on the Victoria Line, finding the carriage busy. The smell of sweat and perfume accompanied the passengers, and their ignorance allowed her to feel anonymous. She hid among them, focusing her eyes ahead. While the train accelerated and decelerated, Ava tried to distract her worried mind by glancing at people’s reading material.

Just the daily news.

Just a romance.

Just a true story in a magazine.

If only life didn’t feel like a movie.

The carriage rocked and screeched in the dark tunnels, and she reached her destination after several stops. Pushing through the crowds, she slid her ticket through the slot at the barriers and exited, wondering if her stalker was still watching.

The Tube station opened onto a main road. Ava crossed a street full of terraces and traced her usual route. A woman with long dark hair was watering hanging baskets at the front of her house, and she was a familiar face on this frequent journey. She smiled, which was reassuring even though they were strangers. Once or twice, there’d been children at the door too: a few in their teens and a younger boy, who’d hidden behind his mother, cautious but curious. Ava gave her a sideways glance while she passed, returning the smile. However, due to being distracted, she bumped into a man walking in the opposite direction. Her bag fell on the floor and the contents spilled onto the pavement. Flustered, Ava bent down to pick up her belongings. The younger boy emerged, and helped her with the contents of her bag.

“Thanks,” Ava mumbled.

He giggled and ran back to his mother, while Ava zipped up her bag and continued on her way.

She walked through the local park, spotting an Afro-Caribbean man playing football with his two teenage sons. He was a regular and acknowledged her, missing a pass in the process. An elderly gentleman walked a multitude of dogs and tipped his hat, as usual. The most intriguing character was a man in his forties, and he always sat on the same bench, watching, contemplating whether or not to approach. He often hid behind a book, or sipped tea from a polystyrene cup. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t recollect where or when she’d encountered him. For a moment, they locked eyes and she noted the hint of affection.

It was both comforting and downright spooky that she encountered the same people each time she made this journey. She didn’t know if these people recognised her, or it was simply her imagination. After all, she was just a student majoring in science.

Ava arrived at an austere building, an architectural vampire that sucked any ounce of happiness she could muster on her journey. It amplified her sense of being watched. Every fissure, every crack in its stone structure harboured a presence or aftershock. Light possessed a life of its own, dancing a cosmic waltz with the dark shadows. She wondered if the people here, or the place itself was disturbed, whether this insane place was enough to drive sane people crazy.

She reached the reception.

“Hi, I’m Ava Kavanagh, and I’ve come to see Maria Martinez.”

She signed into the visitors’ book, and a matron with a bouffant perm escorted her to the low security wing. It sat at the end of a long corridor, illuminated by garish fluorescent lighting. Ava focused ahead, ignoring the strange activity in her peripheral vision.

The route to Maria’s room passed some unusual residents. In Room 94, a man with dark floppy hair sat on his bed, surrounded by reams of paper. Despite months of noticing his behaviour, Ava finally enquired.

“Is he a writer or something?”

Her escort gave a curt reply, which Ava didn’t expect.

“We call him The Scribbler. He writes constant gibberish, rows and rows of symbols. We have to keep a good supply of pens and paper, otherwise…well…”

She wondered if he was aware of the symbols’ meaning, or experienced eternal frustration because no one could understand them.

They passed another character, a blonde woman with an intense stare. This time, she wasn’t restrained and she crouched on the bed, teeth bared like a rabid dog. When she saw Ava, she snarled.

“What’s wrong with her, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Her escort acquiesced to her questions again.

“Schizophrenia…she hears voices, which instruct her to do evil. Because she enjoys inflicting pain on others, we have to isolate her most of the time.”

Ava rested her fingertips on the window.

“Like Maria’s original diagnosis?”

Her escort tried to smile in sympathy, although she said nothing. The intense character behind the door glared at Ava, those fierce eyes like daggers.

“She reminds me of the girl from The Exorcist,” Ava said, averting her eyes.

They turned the corridor, passing Room 101. An Afro-Caribbean couple lived there, and usually talked to an invisible crowd of people. Sometimes Ava caught them in the act of giving a speech, or trying to tend to non-existent children.

“Lost in their own little world, aren’t they?” she said.

“We call them The Time Travellers because they insist they’ve visited the past and future.”

Further down the corridor, where a broken fluorescent light flickered, Ava looked through the next window. A man with fair hair stood in front of a wall. Without warning, he extended his fist and punched it, although he didn’t react to the pain. He remained oblivious to their presence and Ava’s gaze.

“What’s he doing?”

“He believes he can walk through walls, although sadly, the bones in his hand have disagreed with that belief many times. I don’t know what’s worse: his wall or book obsession.”

All these residents had a back story: why they became mentally ill, why they were doomed to spend the rest of their lives scribbling, snarling, punching walls, or acting out another reality.

She followed her escort through double doors to enter the next corridor. They soon found Room 104, and Ava paused outside.

“Why did you tell me about those patients? Isn’t that confidential?”

The matron patted her arm and answered, “Don’t you worry about that.”

Looking through the door’s small window, she asked, “Has there been any change in Maria’s condition since I last visited?”

Her escort turned a key in the lock.

“She’s still in a persistent vegetative state, exactly the same as the day she arrived.”

Ava gazed at the solemn figure in Room 104.

“She’s the only living relative I have. I hope one day I’ll discover where we came from, who our parents are, and if our father is still alive. Did you recover the file from her previous institution?”

“I’m sorry, it’s still missing.”

“Does anybody else visit her? They may be able to offer some clues to her history…why she ended up in this institution, when and why she cut her wrists…”

“We don’t have that information, I’m afraid.”

The matron opened the door and Ava entered, determined to present a face of hope to Maria, her sister.

787878

It was a relief to turn the key in the front door of her flat and collapse on the sofa. Ava closed her eyes, trying to dissolve the day’s frustration, but she didn’t succeed. The institution always tainted her with a feeling of hopelessness. There were too many questions and no answers.

She decided to grab a takeaway, but when she opened her handbag, Ava noticed something strange. It hadn’t been in her bag before she left the flat. She pulled out a red silk scarf. It looked vintage, like it had lived and been loved by some unknown woman. Ava recalled dropping her bag earlier, but that still made no sense. Someone would steal something from her bag rather than put a scarf in it. With the fabric wrapped around her fingers, she wandered over to the bay window and gazed at the twilight sky.

“What’s happening to me?”

 

About the Author

K.M. Gruchelska

K.M. Gruchelska is a speculative fiction writer who travels extensively,
having lived in Europe, the Middle East and Central Asia. Her career has
been varied and exciting, from a stint as a fitness instructor, to working
abroad teaching English as a Foreign Language in schools and universities.
She is currently based in Uzbekistan, where she coordinates a centre for
academic writing.

She is a child of the world, full of conjecture and imagination, and she
regards herself as a global citizen. Her characters and situations reflect
the diversity and wonder that she experiences during her travels, combined
with a philosophical flavour and human drama.

In everyday terms, she enjoys different cuisines and making bougie tea, and
has a cat that she adopted from Saudi Arabia. She considers the cat to be
her soul animal because she hates water but loves tuna. Her secret dream is
to own a pancake bar and an English school.

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The Generals Princess Virtual Book Tour

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The Generals Princess cover

Military Romance

Date Published: January 23, 2025

Publisher:
MindStir Media

 

 

Cara is almost fifty, and nearly penniless. She needs a fresh start and
when a unique job falls in her lap, she moves to Saudi Arabia to work for
the royal family, never dreaming the change would quickly spiral into a
nightmare. Cara is alone and powerless, trapped in the crosshairs of a human
trafficking ring.

Meanwhile, the kidnapping of a young, American female triggers a risky
military rescue with General Sam Kennedy leading the Special Forces team
into Riyadh, throwing Cara and Sam into the same chaos. Cara is now enmeshed
in the spinning wheels of this deadly conflict, managed from the White House
Situation Room, and exploding in real time within the opulent Royal
palace.

Unravel the threads of survival, courage, and unexpected love in this
gripping tale of resilience against the odds.

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EXCERPT

P r ol o g u e

 

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

January 3, 2005

“MISS HART,” THE DRIVER BEGAN, speaking slowly, rubbing his chin with one hand and shifting the car into park with the other. “Mr. Assad say you no have burka. I bring for you.” The man stared, face for-ward, while he spoke although he pointed over his shoulder to the limo’s back seat. “Put it on.”

Sitting behind and to the driver’s right, Cara watched his muscles move at the hollow of his cheek. “Excuse me,” she said gently. “Mr. Tawfik? I don’t understand. What do you want me to do? Put what on?” She heard him huff in response. “Anyway, why have we stopped?” Her anxiety was growing, along with uncertainty regarding her decision to travel so far from home.

She looked out the sedan’s window to an enormous building, a sidewalk leading to a glass revolving door. Then she twisted toward a busy road on her left, searching for an escape route, and shook her head, hearing the warnings from her adult children, Nick and Vicki, plead-ing with her to stay in Florida and not take that job in Saudi Arabia. “Crazy,” they called it. “Dangerous.” Cara swallowed hard and forcefully exhaled. She remembered her excitement when she signed the employ-ment contract, packed her clothes, and finally boarded the plane. The driver muttered in Arabic. Cara heard disgust on his tongue, and she breathed slowly to steady herself.

Forty minutes ago, Mr. Tawfik quickly introduced himself at the Riyadh International Airport. “I drive for the royal family,” he had said, tucking the sign with her name on it into a folder. “Mr. Assad sent me.

This way, please.” Tawfik took the handles of her two suitcases and pointed toward the exit with his bearded chin. She followed behind, struggling to catch up. Her athletic shoes shushed against the tile, sounding as if she were jogging.

The man was slender, perhaps twenty years old, like Nick, Cara thought, remembering the tiny apartment she had shared with her son out of necessity in Florida. At that moment, Cara questioned why she had left her children—again.

Tawfik harrumphed, and she looked at the man behind the steering wheel, head covered in white cotton, a black circular band securing the cascading fabric. Cara leaned slightly forward. “Please tell me again what you want me to do. I’ve never worn a burka.”

“Cover yourself.”

Cara’s eyes grew wide. Her open hand floated to the front of her black short-sleeved top. Carumba! I’m here an hour, and already in trouble! She thought of the women at the airport coffee shop and how they were confined under black burkas, their heads completely covered except for their eyes. She pressed her lips together and chastised herself, remember-ing the athletic jacket in her handbag, which she forgot to put on while hurrying through the crowds to find her luggage. After reading that New York Times article which described Riyadh as a modern bustling city that welcomed Westerners, she presumed yoga pants, a t-shirt, and sneakers would be fine. How foolish of me. Her initial excitement faded, and she began to second-guess every decision that led to this trip.

“I am sorry if I upset you,” she said. “I can put on a jacket. I have one in my handbag. Could you make the air conditioning colder?”

When he didn’t answer, Cara sighed, lifted both hands and pushed her long, dark hair behind her ears. She looked out the window to the bustling sidewalk filled with pedestrians in white robes, headdresses, and black burkas. Only rarely did someone in Western clothes walk past the sedan.

She surveyed several of the massive storefront windows. The clos-est displayed mannequins of both sexes in exquisite robes, their hands positioned toward each other as if in conversation. The signage stated: Harvey Nichols Department Store, and next to that was Louis Vuitton, and then the Saudi Fragrance House. Cara remembered a short snip of an article about this famous shop, which opened in 1932 and knownfor its exotic blends. She silently promised to pay it a visit at some point. But then wondered why they had stopped here now? This isn’t where I’m supposed to go! “Mr. Tawfik,” Cara began as her heartbeat quickened. “I wonder…”

“No!” he bellowed, interrupting her. “Air is cold.”

“Um, Mr. Assad said I would go directly to the palace.”

Tawfik muttered under his breath. “Next to you. Burka and scarf are in bag.” This time, he glanced into the rearview mirror. “Cover your arms and hair. Put on now! We wait.”

Cara shook her head and glanced at the seat to her left. She picked up the waiting leather tote and peeked inside. Her trembling fingers reached in and pulled an array of black wrinkled fabric into the light. She caught a glimpse of the driver’s dark eyes, still focused on her from the rearview mirror above a small bouquet of hanging white flowers.

Raising the clumped material so the driver would see that she intended to follow his instructions, Cara paused, letting the fabric lay on her thighs. In response, the man turned his body and reached his arm over the seatback, startling her.

Tawfik shoved a piece of folded ivory paper toward Cara. Repeatedly, he waved the note close to her sweat-moistened face. The tiny waft of air caused by the driver’s frenzied movements pushed two seconds of relief toward Cara’s perspiration-covered and exposed arms and shoulders. There was barely any air conditioning in the vehicle, and despite the perfumed flowers hanging from the rearview mirror, a stench floated on the air.

Week-old cheese and BO, she thought, then tried to force her face to relax, remembering he was staring at her. She did not want to offend, not any more than she already had.

“Madam,” his tone was flat and cautionary. “Take letter. It is from boss, Mr. Assad.”

Through pursed lips, Cara took a stabilizing breath. She reached her bare arm toward Tawfik, took the stationery, and unfolded the note with trembling fingers. Seeing the royal

family’s raised crest, crossed palm trees, and swords calmed her. She read every word, satisfied that the note was authentic, and stuffed it into her purse.

Cara moved the burka to the leather backseat and laid the scarf beside it. Following Mr. Assad’s letter and instructions, she unzipped the front.

“Everything will be fine,” Assad had promised in the note. “Follow my requests, and I will see you later.”

Cara pulled one black placket behind her back and slid her hands into the sleeves before pulling the fabric onto her shoulders. The connect-ing length of material clung to the perspiration that ran down her spine and dotted her shoulders. The remainder of the cloth pooled on the seat behind her. She tugged at the two front panels until they met between her breasts, and her fitted top and yoga pants disappeared under yards of black. Dragging the matching scarf over her hair, she looked out the car’s window for possible instruction.

Spotting several women on the sidewalk, she pulled the scarf against her head, mimicking the passersby whose hair was covered. Then Cara shrugged, grabbed both fabric ends, wrapped them under her chin and around her neck, tied them together at the back, and let the rest fall. She offered a half-smile to the driver, hoping for reassurance, but only saw the back of his covered head.

Lifting her bottom from the leather seat, Cara pulled the burka into place. She hoped the long ‘zip’ would signify she was adequately concealed. Following the sound, the driver glanced at her again from the rearview mirror, his dark eyes still radiating heavy disapproval.

“Lady, tuck in hair,” he huffed. “Only show eyes, nothing else. It is haram. Forbidden.”

Cara batted away tears while adjusting the gathered fabric under her chin until only a tiny fabric-less window surrounded her eyes.

“Now, my job done,” Tawfik said flatly.

About the Author

Caryn Hacker-Buechel

Caryn Hacker-Buechel keeps her computer nearby, often writing in coffee
shops, on beaches, and in her own Naples, Florida, backyard. After thirty
years as a master-degreed psychotherapist and relationship expert in the
public and private sector, she finally retired and turned her attention to
completing the novel she had worked on for ten years.

The General’s Princess is her debut novel and second book. The
award-winning first book, A Bully Grows Up: Erik Meets the Wizard, was
written for children. In both, Caryn creates characters rich in dramatic,
realistic traits, portraying psychological and behavioral depth, utilizing
the knowledge she gained as an observer of human behavior and emotional
trauma. The concepts will touch your life.

Her journey through love, marriage, children, divorce, travel,
stepchildren, and grandchildren is reflected in her writing. The adventure
can be intense but also emotionally healing. She hopes you enjoy the
ride.

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The Lonely Raven Trilogy, Book One

Fantasy / Romance

Date Published: February 11, 2025

Publisher: Clay Bridges Press

 

 

Fallon has received premonitions since she was a child—visions that
have driven her to steer countless strangers and acquaintances from looming
dangers. But these powers have come at a great cost. After enduring
heart-wrenching losses during her teenage years, Fallon has lived a solitary
life for over a decade, her only anchor being her childhood best
friend.

That is, until a series of intense premonitions draws a group of new people
into her life, people who start to feel like family. But something deeper is
stirring. The raven tattoo on her wrist has begun to tingle, and a raven has
started appearing in her visions. Worse still, Fallon is haunted by the
memory of someone from her past, someone she loved, and she believes
abandoned her—a person to whom the raven seems inexplicably
tied.

As the visions grow more urgent, Fallon must decipher their meaning to
protect those she cares about. But the question lingers: Is the raven a
guide or a harbinger of doom?

In this gripping first installment of “The Lonely Raven
Trilogy,” Fallon must face the shadows of her past to safeguard the
future of those she loves—and discover whether the raven is an ally or
a threat.

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About the Author

Erika Fair

Erika Fair was born and raised in Texas, where she lives with her husband
and son. She graduated from The University of Texas at Austin and stayed in
Austin as long as she could. When she is not forcing her favorite music upon
her family or writing, she can usually be found hiking or planning future
travels. “The Secret Girl” is her first novel.

 

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