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Leisha’s Song Blitz

 

Leisha's Song cover

 

Contemporary Coming-of-Age Romantic Mystery, Young Adult

 

 

Published: June 2021

Publisher: ‎Fire and Ice Young Adult Books

Leisha knows something’s wrong. Her beloved vocal coach at boarding school would never have resigned and disappeared like this in the midst of preparing her prize students for a major vocal competition. Leisha’s determined to find her, make sure she’s okay.

Cody, a sensitive cellist, insists on helping her. Sparks fly, clues multiply, and romance blossoms, despite the disapproval of their families.

Leisha’s desire to be with Cody and pursue music rather than medicine puts her on a direct collision course with her African-American grandfather, the only parent she’s ever had. But an even more immediate threat looms– because, as Leisha draws closer to the truth about her teacher’s disappearance, she puts her own life in grave danger.

Praise for Leisha’s Song

“Suspense, tender romance, and a thoughtful exploration of racism make this page-turning coming-of-age novel a winner.” – Lee Tobin McClain, USA Today Best selling Author of Home to the Harbor

Leisha's Song tablet

 

Excerpt

 

Rosita, I need to borrow your friend. Okay with you?”

Si,” she said, and a shy smile crept on to her face. “You want me to save your food, Leisha?”

I shook my head and picked up my tray to dump it. My stomach felt like a bunch of heavy stones were clanking around in there.

Meet you out by the stairs,” Cody said.

What’s this about?” I eyed him warily, not at all sure I was up to talking with Cody when I felt this vulnerable, and… and well, when it was getting harder and harder to keep my distance.

You,” he said in a low voice.

I should have flat refused to follow him up the stairs to the second floor. No one else would be hanging up there on a Saturday, and it definitely wasn’t a good idea to let myself be alone with Cody. But my willpower had mysteriously disappeared. Up the stairs and down the hall I went.

Cody lounged on a window seat and pulled me down to sit next to him. Outside, the sky was smudged with gray, and the tree branches drooped under the weight of the snow. I sighed. I was drooping too.

Cody’s hand was warm, strong, callused. No! Not going there. I pulled my hand away from his and carefully inched away. “You’ve got five minutes,” I said, determined not to let him see that his touch made every hair on the back of my neck prickle. Better to make him believe I was the original ice queen.

Okay, tough girl, I know you were crying in there. Let me in. I care about you, damn-it!”

He leaned toward me and touched my cheek, and I closed my eyes for a moment. Then I grabbed his hand in my own, and I couldn’t help it. I held on tight. “It’s… it’s Ms. Wells.” I spilled out everything I knew, which was not much. “I need to find her. This is going to sound crazy, but I think she’s in trouble.” I shivered and made myself let go of his hand.

He gazed at me somberly. “She never would have left without talking to you. I used to like watching her watch you. It was almost like you were the daughter she never had.”

Tears burned behind my eyelids. That’s how I’d felt about her—like she was filling up a pocket in my heart that had only held longing for the mama I’d never known.

Cody pulled me in close.

My whole body tensed. I could not let this happen.

It’s okay,” he said. “This is strictly a brotherly hug.”

Yeah, right. But being in his arms felt too good to pull away. He smelled like fresh laundry mixed in with the woodsy scent of the rosin he used on his cello strings.

We’re going to figure out what happened,” he murmured in my ear.

I snapped my head back to stare at him. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

He grinned. “Every great detective needs a sidekick. I’ve just appointed myself yours.”

About the Author

Lynn Slaughter

Lynn Slaughter is addicted to chocolate, the arts, and her husband’s cooking. She also admits she’s always loved to learn. A graduate of Smith College, she earned master’s degrees in sociology and dance. Following a long career as a professional dancer and educator, she returned to school for her MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. She’s the author of three other young adult novels: IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, WHILE I DANCED, and DEADLY SETUP (forthcoming, Fire and Ice, 2022). She lives in Louisville, Kentucky where she’s at work on her next novel and serves as President of Derby Rotten Scoundrels, her local chapter of Sisters in Crime.

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Drōmfrangil Virtual Book Tour

Drōmfrangil cover

 

YA Fantasy

 

 

Date Published: 08-10-2021

Publisher: Cinnabar Moth

Though he doesn’t know it, Marcus Talent is special. Unfortunately for Marcus, he discovers this unexpectedly when he wakes up in an unfamiliar forest, has his prosthetic arm eaten by a horrifying monster, and then wakes up in his own bed, terrified and bleeding.

Marcus’s dad, Deacon, has answers. He heals Marcus’s new injuries, promising to answer all of Marcus’s questions about what happened the next day after school. But when Marcus gets home, he finds his dad missing and a ransom note appears out of a screaming hole in the sky. The only demand: travel again to get him back.

Helped by his human friends, Marcus sets out to find his dad in a world filled with creatures he couldn’t have imagined. Some of them are friendly. Some of them want to murder him. Or each other. They’re not picky. And everyone seems to know of his famous father, who has been hiding a lot more than an entire other world.

 

Drōmfrangil tablet

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

Marcus Talent stretched slowly as he woke. He opened his hazel eyes and regarded his outstretched arms. One arm ended in long, narrow fingers and the other in a scarred stump just below his elbow. The scars continued onto his upper arm, easily visible against his light brown skin.

Marcus looked toward the desk near his bed, loose dark curls tumbling into his eyes. Impatiently, he shook the hair away. Why hadn’t his phone gone off? 

He sat up, reached to his left to grab the cane leaning against the wall nearby, and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. The phone’s black screen on the desk made it obvious why the alarm hadn’t gone off. He’d tossed it on the desk last night instead of placing it on its charging pad.

What time was it? His mom hadn’t come to wake him yet, so hopefully he wasn’t too late; getting ready took him longer than most sixteen-year-old boys. No time for a shower this morning. 

He pulled on a Black Panther t-shirt and grabbed his prosthetic arm. He’d used one since the accident when he was nine years old.

These days it only took a minute to put on his myoelectric prosthesis. He’d forgotten to charge his phone, but at least he’d remembered to charge his arm; he had a body-powered version but didn’t like wearing its necessary harness, and it didn’t mimic his hand and skin very well. 

Marcus sat to put on the rest of his clothes. Four back surgeries in the years since the accident had restored some of his ability to bend, but the pain from doing so was still severe.

He almost tripped on the way down the hall because he was in such a hurry. Not knowing the time made him anxious. He wanted enough time to enjoy his breakfast.

“Oh, by the way, Marcus,” his mom said as he entered the kitchen, “I forgot to grab bacon at the store yesterday, so it’s just pancakes today.” He looked at the clock. He still had twenty minutes before the bus.

“Ugh, Mom, bacon is half the reason I look forward to breakfast.”

“I know, Marcus, and I’m sorry. You’ll have to eat your pancakes without bacon today.” She set his plate on the table, then reached up and tenderly seized his face in her strong hands.

Marcus realized consciously for the first time that he was taller than his mom. He shared her hazel eyes, brown skin, and black hair, but got his curls from his dad, and his scars were on his torso rather than on his face. His mom gave his face another squeeze and kissed him on the cheek before letting him go. 

The missing bacon was a disappointment, but at least his mom made the best pancakes anywhere. He’d rather eat her fluffy, buttery pancakes any day than go out to a restaurant. He ate the pancakes slowly, showing her he appreciated them despite complaining about the bacon.

When the time for the bus was close, Marcus couldn’t find his science homework. He was positive he’d left it lying on the desk in his room after finishing it the night before, but he had to abandon it and hurry out the door to catch the bus, almost late. The driver would wait for him, but only for so long.

Marcus eased into an open seat halfway back, grimacing in pain. He dug through his backpack. Maybe he had slipped his science homework into the bag and then forgotten. The bag was stuffed full of papers, and he tried pulling them up one at a time to look. When that failed, he set the backpack on the seat next to him to make the search easier. It tipped over before he could catch it. Papers slid out of the open bag, some sliding across the floor to the other side of the bus, some falling to the floor beneath him. Giggles and muffled chuckles erupted around him as other kids noticed his plight.

His face burning with embarrassment, Marcus squatted carefully in front of his seat and picked up all the papers he could reach. His back burned in pain as he reached to grab some from the floor. A couple kids in the seat in front of him passed back the ones that had slid all the way up there, and a new girl in the seat across from him grabbed the papers from the aisle and those that had slid further over her way. She had a pretty, round face with olive skin and long, dark, wavy hair.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking the papers from her with his left hand. 

“Sure,” the girl said. “It sucks when that happens. You saving all that stuff for something?”

Marcus laughed. “I was just asking myself that question.”

“I’m Sadie,” she said. “I just moved here.”

“Marcus,” he said. “What an embarrassing way to meet the new girl.”

“Don’t worry about it. What grade are you in?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and slid into the seat beside him.

“Sophomore.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m a freshman.”

“Oh. So, where did you move here from?”

“Korea, actually.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Is my English too good?” she laughed, but he sensed he had hurt her feelings.

“No, not at all. I don’t think like that. It just seems like such a long way away and – aren’t the schools better there?”

She seemed to relax as she chuckled. “I think they might be, actually, but my dad is American military and was just reassigned to the base here.”

“Oh, that makes sense. That has to be kind of difficult – always moving around.”

Sadie smiled. “It can be. But I find that I meet the most interesting people moving from place to place. It’s hard to make new friends and then leave them behind all the time.”

“I think it would be hard – at least for me. I’ve gone to school here all my life and the kids are still hard to deal with.” Marcus indicated his cane and his right arm.

“Can I ask – what happened? Or is that terrible of me?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” he said. “It was a car accident. My mom was driving me home from a school program when I was nine, and we were hit by a drunk driver. The car hit us on my side in the front. My right forearm was crushed. I’ve had four surgeries on my back, including two fusions. Some of the bones that are fused in place didn’t give or grow right. It makes it difficult to walk, and hurts a lot.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Sadie exclaimed. “What about your mom, was she hurt too?”

“She was burned on her face and right arm. She’s had to have several skin graft surgeries.”

“So, what happened to the drunk driver?”

Marcus looked down at his hands, squeezing the fingers of his prosthesis with the fingers of his left hand. “He, um… he died. His airbag didn’t go off and he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.” 

“I’m so sorry, Marcus. It sounds awful. How are you doing now?”

He looked up to see that Sadie was looking him right in the face, not staring at his prosthesis, or the cane leaning against the seat next to him. She made him feel better than anyone had, other than his one best friend, for a long time.

“I’m doing okay. I used a wheelchair for a long time, but I had a lot of physical therapy, and I can walk now with a cane. If I want to go somewhere that I would have to walk really long distances, I still have to use the wheelchair. I’m so used to my arm now it’s not a big deal – other than phantom pain and itching.”

Sadie’s eyes widened. “What is that?” 

Marcus laughed. “It just means that sometimes I still feel pain or itching in the hand and part of my arm that isn’t there anymore.”

“What can you do when that happens? You can’t scratch your parts that aren’t there anymore!”

“Sometimes it helps if I rub or scratch the same area on the other side. Sometimes I just have to distract myself. My back pain is actually much worse than my arm. Even with all the surgeries, it still hurts all the time. I’m glad I don’t need the wheelchair all the time now, but sometimes my back hurts so much I wish I had the chair when I don’t feel like I can walk anymore.”

“You’ve really had a rough time of things, haven’t you?” Sadie said.

“Please don’t do that,” Marcus said.

“Do what?” Sadie sounded confused.

“Don’t pity me. Everyone who isn’t mean to me treats me with pity.”

“I’d never do that,” Sadie said. “I’m just saying that life has been rough for you. It can’t be easy to concentrate on homework and teachers’ lectures and other students’ babbling when half your mind is feeling pain.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever explained it like that,” Marcus replied. “But it’s dead-on how I feel every day. Oh, man, we’re here.” The bus was pulling up to the two-story brick school building while kids piled out of buses that had already arrived.

“Hey, I’m glad I met you,” Sadie said. “Great first friend!”

“Yeah,” Marcus said as they made their way off the bus. “Maybe I’ll see you at lunch.” Sadie waved as she ran ahead to join the crowds entering the school.

Marcus waited by his locker for Leopold, his best friend. The two boys had been close since kindergarten. After the accident, being best friends with the blond, blue-eyed boy with the easy laugh had definitely made life a little easier for Marcus. Leopold had visited every day while Marcus recuperated, even when Marcus didn’t want to see him. During the first difficult days back at school, Leopold had been by his side. Leopold was often the loud center of attention against Marcus’s quieter personality. That didn’t matter. They were best friends no matter what their differences were.

When Leopold hadn’t shown up after fifteen minutes, Marcus grew impatient.     . He couldn’t text Leopold about it. Even if Marcus had charged his phone, Leopold’s parents wouldn’t let him have a phone until he was sixteen, which was still a few months away. Marcus glanced at the clock on the wall every few seconds. Finally, he had to give up and make his way to class. 

Throughout the morning, Marcus looked for Leopold. Leopold wasn’t in third period English, the only class they had together.

Lunch was Italian Dunkers, a fancy name for dry breadsticks and tasteless tomato sauce. It was the lunch Marcus disliked the most. Usually, he’d complain to Leopold about how horrible it was to expect kids to eat unhealthy bread and tomato sauce for lunch, but today he stood silently in line, sliding his tray along to accept his food. Once he was through the line, he turned toward the tables, tucked his cane under his right arm and carried the tray with his left hand. Walking without his cane was difficult and painful, but sometimes necessary.

 Marcus had become used to having Leopold there to carry things for him. He put the tray down and worked his way into the chair. Leaning his cane against the table, he looked around for Sadie but didn’t see her. She must have ended up with the second lunch period. He’d be sitting alone today, which was his usual situation without Leopold since the other kids at school avoided him, if they weren’t making fun of him.

The breadsticks were even drier than usual, and the tomato sauce even more bland. After forcing them down with some milk, Marcus got up to leave the cafeteria. 

As he was heading to drop his tray off, he saw Sadie with some other freshmen walk in the door just ahead of him. At that exact moment Jamie and Thomas, two of the popular kids in his grade, walked past. Marcus was hanging back waiting for Sadie to leave the cafeteria. He was a little embarrassed about the food he hadn’t eaten.

One of the boys in his grade knocked the tray from Marcus’s hands, spraying tomato sauce across the floor and Marcus’s jeans and shoes.

Sadie noticed. Marcus was left staring down at the mess in embarrassment, knowing he couldn’t even clean it up.

One of the cafeteria workers attempted to wipe as much sauce as she could from his clothes and shoes, and Sadie walked over. She picked up the tray and returned it, then followed him when he left the cafeteria.

“Does that happen a lot?” she asked.

“Not really. I’m guessing today just looked like a good opportunity to them because Leopold isn’t here, and they felt like they had an audience.”

“Leopold?”

“My best friend. Usually, we eat together at lunch.  Leopold’s pretty loud, and he’s not afraid of taking on anyone – not that he fights physically, or anything.”

Sadie laughed. Marcus realized he was becoming used to the sound of that laugh, which wasn’t a regular thing for him, outside of his friendship with Leopold. He liked it.

“You should go back and eat, though. I’m just going to grab my books and head to my next class. It’ll take me a while,” Marcus said.

“Are you sure?” Sadie asked. “I can stay with you.” 

“No, I’ll be fine. You go ahead.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. I am hungry,” she said.

“Thanks for your help back there,” Marcus said. “I really appreciate it. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Back atcha,” she said, pointing at him as she dashed away down the hall.

The rest of the afternoon dragged by. Hunger made it hard to concentrate. His science teacher didn’t care that he had really done his homework, and there was a pop quiz in math that Marcus got a D on. 

At last, it was time to go home. Marcus took a seat on the bus with relief and stared out the window. Someone sat down beside him. He turned to find Sadie there. 

“Hi!” she said. “What a day, huh?”

“Tell me about it. At least it’s over. Although it wasn’t all bad,” he stammered quickly, so she wouldn’t think he regretted meeting her.

“Did you ever sort out that mess in your backpack?”

Marcus laughed. “Yeah, actually I did. I don’t know why I had all that stuff in there, it was almost all garbage. Just a book and some homework in there now,” he said, patting the bag beside him.

They talked. She told him about her friends in Korea and taught him a few words of Korean. He marveled at the sound of her laugh and the way her eyes lit up as she talked. Why had it taken someone coming from all the way across the world for him to finally feel seen? 

 When the bus slowed at his stop, he felt glum.

“Do you have your phone?” Sadie asked. “I can give you my number.”

“I don’t have it today, I forgot to charge it last night.”

“Give me your number, and I’ll just put in my phone.”

Marcus rattled off his number quickly as she stood to let him out. He grabbed his cane, shifted his backpack onto his back, and said, “Bye. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Definitely.”

Marcus hoped the good end to his school day meant he would find something positive waiting for him inside.

His mom came out of the kitchen to meet him, wearing an apron over a t-shirt and jeans. At first, he was hopeful this meant she was preparing a wonderful dinner to fill up on after his long, hungry day. 

“Hi, son. Get your homework done before supper, because Derek and Gina are coming over.”

Marcus was filled with dread. Derek was his uncle, and Gina was Derek’s new girlfriend. While Marcus was always happy to see his uncle, Derek’s favorite food was liver and onions, and Marcus’s mom often cooked it when he visited.

“Please tell me we aren’t having – “

“Sorry Marcus, I love to make my baby brother’s favorite supper, you know that.” She tried to sound sorry, but it was clear from the slight smile on her face that she didn’t really feel that bad.

“Probably should have seen it coming,” Marcus muttered to himself as he walked down the hall to his room. It seemed so much worse since he was hungry from not eating much at lunch.

“Hey mom!” Marcus called down the hall. “How about a snack?”

“No, I don’t want you to ruin your supper!” she called back.

Marcus collapsed onto his bed. If he told her he was hungry because he hadn’t eaten lunch, he’d just get a lecture about not eating lunch. This day just wouldn’t end. If only he could just go to sleep and be done with it.

He peeled himself off his bed and grabbed his backpack to do his homework. While he was sliding the sheets of math homework out, he gave himself a paper cut.

“Argh!” he yelled. What else could go wrong? The cut wasn’t bleeding a lot but hurt as much as a bee sting. While hunting for a pencil in the drawers of his desk, he found his missing science homework. He saw his cell phone, still dead. He set it on the charger, and after a few minutes it vibrated. He checked it – a text from Sadie. I’m really glad I met you. 

He texted back. Me too.

See you on the bus!

He sent a smiley emoji, saved her number in his contacts, and turned back to his homework.

His math homework was long but not difficult. He had just finished when his mom called him for supper.

As he made his way down the hall, Marcus heard the happy sound of his father’s booming voice. His parents, his uncle Derek, and Gina were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him. His father, Deacon, was sitting in his usual place at the end of the table saying something to Derek, who was laughing hard. Marcus’s uncle looked just like his mom. His girlfriend, Gina, had wild curly blonde hair, white skin, and startlingly golden eyes. In fact, Marcus noticed as he sat down, those golden eyes were looking at him right now. She winked at him, then looked away. Weird, thought Marcus. 

Marcus’s father was a big man, taking up most of the end of the table. He was still dressed in his work clothes: a blue dress shirt with blue and silver patterned tie, which had been loosened and his top button undone. His skin was very pale but covered in red freckles. His light blue eyes stood out in his colorful face. Marcus loved his dad but was glad he hadn’t gotten the man’s freckles.

His mom stood up and kissed his dad on the cheek, laughing. She wiped a little lipstick off his face where it had smeared. She put the platter of liver on the table and sat down. “Dig in, everyone!” she said. 

“Kate, this looks and smells amazing,” Gina said, using her fork to slide a piece of liver onto her plate.

“Yes, it does,” added Derek. “My big sis is the only one who can cook it the same way that Mom did.”

“So, Gina, what do you do?” Marcus’s mom asked as she held out the plate of liver to him with a pointed look. He groaned and took the smallest piece he could find, avoiding any of the onions.

“I work in fashion photography, but I’m hoping to become a designer someday,” Gina answered. She was looking at Marcus while she answered the question. What the heck? He looked over at his mom to see if she noticed, but she was grabbing the vegetable bowl and passing it his way.

To his dismay, not only were they having liver and onions, but his mom had cooked green beans, the vegetable he hated the most. He scooped as little as he thought he could get away with onto his plate and passed the bowl to Gina. She took it, grabbing his hand along with the bowl. He pulled his hand away, wondering what she was doing. 

Once she had served herself, she turned and started chatting with his mom.

“Can I get the ketchup?” Marcus asked. 

“Yes, Marcus, you can make your liver taste terrible by putting ketchup on it,” his dad chuckled. Then he turned to Derek again and asked something about Derek’s job. Derek was a freelance journalist, and Marcus knew his dad was fascinated by the stories Derek got to track down. His uncle had even been embedded with soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Marcus got the ketchup from the refrigerator and squeezed it onto the liver on his plate until all he could see was a ketchup covered lump. 

Then he ate the green beans first, because as bad as they tasted warm, they tasted far worse cold. He knew his parents would make him eat them before he would be allowed to leave the table. After each mouthful, he quickly took a drink of milk to help swallow it. A couple of times, as he raised his glass to his mouth, he saw Gina looking at him.

Finally, he turned his attention to the dreaded liver. He had put enough ketchup on it that mostly he tasted ketchup with each bite, but it was still hard to chew and swallow. It was challenging for him to cut the meat one-handed, but he had gotten proficient at it with his parents’ insistence. Still, it slowed him down enough that with the addition of the ketchup, his liver had turned cold before he was done eating it. By the time he was finished, he felt like he had just fought an epic battle like something out of Lord of the Rings. 

His parents, Derek, and Gina were talking and laughing, but Marcus was so tired after his long day that he didn’t even feel like being part of the conversation, which he hadn’t heard while focusing on eating. He also wanted to get away from Gina and her weird behavior.

“Can I be excused?” Marcus asked. 

“Of course,” his father said, but gave Marcus a funny look.

When he was in his room, Marcus changed into his shorts and t-shirt. He lay on his bed on his belly and sighed. He didn’t feel like messing around on his computer, playing any video games, or anything.

His dad knocked on the door. “Can I come in, Son?”

“Sure, Dad.” His dad came in and sat on the edge of Marcus’s bed. “What’s going on? I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Marcus turned his head so the upper half of his face was covered by his pillow. “Nothing’s really wrong. I’ve just had a long day,” he said, his voice somewhat muffled by the comforter.

He felt his dad put a hand on his back. “Let’s talk about that. What kinds of things have happened to you today?” His father’s hand felt warm and heavy, or maybe it was just the weight of the day.

“Just – one of those days where things kept going wrong. Like, my alarm didn’t go off this morning, so I was running late. I dumped my backpack all over the floor on the bus, so this new girl ended up helping me pick up papers that scattered everywhere.”

“Whoa, hold up. New girl? That doesn’t sound like such bad luck to me,” Marcus’s dad chuckled.

“Well, you know, I guess that wasn’t the bad part of it. Sadie’s really nice.” Marcus rolled over and looked up at his dad, the grin on his face making him feel a little foolish.

“Oh, Sadie,” Deacon said. “Is that her name?”

Marcus felt his face getting hot. “C’mon, Dad…”

“I’m glad your whole day wasn’t terrible, Marcus. “

Marcus felt a little better. He was also very tired. He sat up and gave his dad a big hug.

Deacon hugged him back, then held his son’s chin. “Lord, but you look like your mother. Getting so tall, too.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Marcus said. “I’m so tired. I know it’s early, but I think I’m going to get some sleep.” 

“That’s a good idea, but you do still have to brush your teeth first!” His dad laughed as he walked out of Marcus’s bedroom.

By the time Marcus got back from his bathroom, he could hardly keep his eyes open. He slid between his sheets and curled up with his pillow. In seconds, he was asleep.

About the Author

Cynthia McDonald

Cynthia McDonald is the author of Life is a Terminal Illness and Drōmfrangil (Autumn 2021 from Cinnabar Moth Publishing) as well as a childhood memoir, two American history books, and the “I See Your Hearts” blog.

Cynthia was born in Richmond, Virginia in 1972. She spent her early adulthood raising two sons with her husband and then, after returning to college, enjoyed a fulfilling career as a Respiratory Therapist and a Respiratory Supervisor. This included several years of volunteer work on the Wisconsin state respiratory board, which concluded with a term as the President of the board.

She started writing in her forties, after the diagnosis of a low-grade cancerous brain tumor forced her to stop working outside of her home. Cynthia has also lived with disability throughout her adult life, as advancing degenerative disk disease and multiple surgeries have caused her to live with chronic pain and made it difficult for her to remain involved in activities outside of her home.

She and her husband recently moved to Oregon to be closer to her oldest son and his family, including her beloved grandson, whose toddler years are adding a lot of delight to her life! Her two German Shorthairs are also a big part of her family, as dogs always have been.

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The Shade Under the Mango Tree Blitz

 

The Shade Under the Mango Tree cover


Multicultural Contemporary Fiction

 

Publisher: Sojourner Books

After two heartbreaking losses, Luna wants adventure. Something and somewhere very different from the affluent, sheltered home where she grew up. An adventure in which she can make some difference.

Lucien, a worldly, well-traveled young architect, finds a stranger’s journal at a café. He has qualms and pangs of guilt about reading it. But they don’t stop him. His decision to go on reading changes his life.

Months later, they meet at a bookstore. Fascinated by his stories and adventurous spirit, Luna goes to a rice-growing village in a country steeped in an ancient culture and a deadly history. What she finds there defies anything she could have imagined. Will she leave this world unscathed?

An epistolary tale of courage, resilience, and the bonds that bring diverse people together.

Praise for The Shade Under The Mango Tree:

Gold Medal, Contemporary Fiction, 2021 Global Book Awards (formerly New York City Book Awards)

Finalist, Multicultural Fiction, 2021 International Book Awards

“A dazzling, globe-spanning tale. In a beautiful way, the story explores how powerful connections can be born at a distance. The storyline is rich, with authentic emotional struggles and believable relationships. Throughout, simple, evocative language and bold descriptions are intermingled with flashes of poetic imagery. Aided by strong thematic undertones, subtle symbolism, high stakes and an ultimately hopeful narrative voice, Evy Journey has delivered a captivating story.” — Self-Publishing Review

“…one of the most beautiful books I’ve read in a long time. Emotive, gripping and sweeping… a tale I will remember for a long time.” — International Review of Books

“… a beautifully-written, marvelous story of two people discovering their emotions and learning to trust each other.” — San Francisco Book Review

“… a tender and captivating story that delves into the many existential questions we ask ourselves frequently… with a nuanced understanding of different cultures backed by a worldly sensibility of travel, poetry, and design. The prose reads like a painting adding depth and complexity, making for some beautiful imagery.” — Reedsy Discovery

“This emotional story, with its clear prose and crisp dialogue, will appeal to those who enjoy romantic literature and are not afraid to engage with the ugliness of the real world. Journey’s three-dimensional, well-developed characters carry this appealing story of building new bonds in the midst of loss and heartache. Great for fans of: Nora Roberts, Nicholas Sparks.” — Booklife Review

The Shade Under the Mango Tree tablet

 

Excerpt

 

 

Prologue

Ov’s thin upper body is slumped over his crossed legs, his forehead resting on the platform. His brown, wiry arms lie limp, the right one extended forward, hand dangling over the edge of the platform. Dried blood is splattered on his head, and on the collar, right shoulder, and back of his old short-sleeved white shirt.

It seems fitting that he died where he used to spend most of his time when he wasn’t on the rice fields—sitting on a corner of the bamboo platform in the ceiling-high open space under the house. It’s where you get refreshing breezes most afternoons, after a long day of work.

The policeman looks down at Ov’s body as if he’s unsure what to do next. He lays down his camera and the gun in a plastic bag at one end of the platform untainted by splatters of gelled blood.

He steps closer to the body, anchors himself with one knee on top of the platform, and bends over the body. Hooking his arms underneath Ov’s shoulders and upper arms, he pulls the body up, and carefully lays it on its back. He straightens the legs.

He steps off the platform. Stands still for a few seconds to catch his breath. He turns to us and says, “It’s clear what has happened. I have all the pictures I need.”

He points to his camera, maybe to make sure we understand. We have watched him in silence, three zombies still in shock. Me, standing across the bamboo platform from him. Mae and Jorani sitting, tense and quiet, on the hammock to my left.

Is that it? Done already? I want to ask him: Will he have the body taken away for an autopsy? I suppose that’s what is routinely done everywhere in cases like this. But I don’t know enough Khmer.

As if he sensed my unspoken question, he glances at me. A quick glance that comes with a frown. He seems perplexed and chooses to ignore me.

He addresses the three of us, like a captain addressing his troop. “You can clean up.”

The lingering frown on his brow softens into sympathy. He’s gazing at Jorani, whose mournful eyes remain downcast. He looks away and turns toward Mae.

Pressing his hands together, he bows to her. A deeper one than the first he gave her when she and Jorani arrived.

He utters Khmer words too many and too fast for me to understand. From the furrowed brow and the look in his eyes, I assume they are words of sympathy. He bows a third time, and turns to go back to where he placed the gun and camera. He picks them up and walks away.

For a moment or two, I stare at the figure of the policeman walking away. Then I turn to Jorani. Call him back. Don’t we have questions? I can ask and you can translate, if you prefer. But seeing her and Mae sitting as still and silent as rocks, hands on their laps, and eyes glazed as if to block out what’s in front of them, the words get trapped in my brain. Their bodies, rigid just moments before, have gone slack, as if to say: What else can anyone do? What’s done cannot be undone. All that’s left is to clean up, as the policeman said. Get on with our lives.

My gaze wanders again toward the receding figure of the policeman on the dirt road, the plastic bag with the gun dangling in his right hand. Does it really matter how Cambodian police handles Ov’s suicide? I witnessed it. I know the facts. And didn’t I read a while back how Buddhism frowns upon violations on the human body? The family might object against cutting up Ov—the way I’ve seen on TV crime shows—just to declare with certainty what caused his death.

I take in a long breath. I have done all I can and must defer to Cambodian beliefs and customs.

But I can’t let it go yet. Ov chose to end his life in a violent way and I’m curious: Do the agonies of his last moments show on his face? I steal another look.

All I could gather, from where I stand, is life has definitely gone out of every part of him. His eyes are closed and immobile. The tic on his inanimate cheeks hasn’t left a trace. The tic that many times was the only way I could tell he had feelings. Feelings he tried to control or hide. Now, his face is just an expressionless brown mask. Maybe everyone really has a spirit, a soul that rises out of the body when one dies, leaving a mansize mass of clay.

I stare at Ov’s body, lying in a darkened, dried pool of his own blood, bits of his skull and brain scattered next to his feet where his head had been. At that moment, it hits me that this would be the image of Ov I will always remember. I shudder.

My legs begin to buckle underneath me and I turn around, regretting that last look. With outstretched hands, I take a step toward the hammock. Jorani rises to grab my hands, and she helps me sit down next to Mae.

Could I ever forget? Could Mae and Jorani? Would the image of Ov in a pool of blood linger in their memories like it would in mine?

I know I could never tell my parents what happened here this afternoon. But could I tell Lucien?

The terrible shock of watching someone, in whose home I found a family, fire a gun to his head? And the almost as horrifying realization—looking back—that I knew what he was going to do, but I hesitated for a few seconds to stop him.

About the Author

Evy Journey

Evy Journey writes. Stories and blog posts. Novels that tend to cross genres. She’s also a wannabe artist, and a flâneuse.

Evy studied psychology (M.A., University of Hawaii; Ph.D. University of Illinois). So her fiction spins tales about nuanced characters dealing with contemporary life issues and problems. She believes in love and its many faces.

Her one ungranted wish: To live in Paris where art is everywhere and people have honed aimless roaming to an art form. She has visited and stayed a few months at a time.

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Shadowspeak Blitz

 

Shadowspeak cover

 

Realm of Skuggar Series, Book 1

 

Dark Fantasy

 

Date Published: February 21, 2021

Publisher: Fox Pointe Publishing LLC

Rune’s mother is uncaring and her brother is too young to protect her, so when Rune’s father sells her to the depraved city of Wraith at the young age of ten, no one stops him. His last words to her are of a debt he cannot pay. The shadows who’ve kept Rune company as long as she can remember seem to know what he speaks of and yet they keep their silence.

And so Rune grows up living in servitude to Wraith’s brothel and its manipulative mistress, Agata, all while having only the faintest recollections of her forgotten childhood. Years later when she finally escapes Wraith, a wild place wrapped up in hedonism and old world ritual, she vows to never return…

When a child prince is kidnapped by a masked killer in a neighboring kingdom, however, Rune no longer has a choice. Joined by Weylin, her old love and a fellow Wraith runaway, she returns to the accursed city and the shadows of her past.

Not all is as it seems as threads of memory begin to unravel, revealing old lies and dark secrets.

The debt of her past may be too high to pay.

The shadows are speaking.

Death is waiting.

Excerpt

I glance at the waiting shadows, my only friends in a world full of change and want and darkness.

Help. Please help.

The air in the circle grows thick as they press closer, seeking a way in. Their threads tangle and knot together, weaving among the circle’s branches …

Nothing.

The gray skuggi presses forward in determination, clawing at the resistance between us; a bead of sweat trails down my spine at its lack of success—at the futility and hopelessness.

And then Papa turns back to me.

Rune … a debt … I cannot pay.” His eyes roll and I see their whites.

He speaks of the skuld.

A shadow snaps back, She cannot know of it—not yet.

About the Author

Raven Eckman

Raven Eckman is an author, freelance editor, and overall literary fangirl. She always knew books were her passion, well before her grandmother’s challenge to read a book a day when she was young.

She obtained her B.A. in English with a concentration in Creative Writing from Arcadia University. Since 2016, and the launch of her editing business in 2018: A New Look On Books, she’s been working with a range of authors, both self-published and traditionally published, on short stories and novels from horror to contemporary in YA and Adult fiction.

Shadowspeak is Raven’s debut novel. She is currently working on her second novel.

She lives in Pennsylvania with her fluffy pup, Atlas.

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Soul: Part One Blitz

 

Soul: Part One cover

 

Fantasy

 

 

Date Published: 05-11-2021

Awakened from an ancient slumber, a warrior of the old gods finds his immediate future bound by fate to the failures of his past. As he struggles to gather allies amongst the untrusting denizens of this oppressed new world, the ancient warrior seeks to secure the plans for the weapon his unit died trying to destroy, only to find himself hunted not only by those who stole those plans but by the very people that he seeks to save.

About the Author

Jayson Jolin

I started out writing for myself when I was a pre-teen, during long hours running Sunday open houses for my father’s apartment building, writing mainly to keep myself entertained. My interest in storytelling helped shift my attention to acting, leading to my getting my bachelors of arts in theater. Even after entering more mundane employment, I would often write and draw short sketches and occasional short stories, as well as adventures for role-playing games. After years of dancing around my love of storytelling, I finally sat down in front of my computer and got serious, producing my first trilogy of novels, the first book of which I hope you will find compelling enough to represent.

 

 

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