Tag Archives: FICTION

IYSH Blitz

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Fiction

Date Published: 04-17-2025

 

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In 1940, Leo Butlion, a young Jew studying to be a medical doctor in
Koblenz, Germany, has his future plans disrupted when Nazi forces destroy his
family and their business. His heroic escape and commitment to survive drive
him to overcome the greatest test man could ever encounter. Ivy Jacobson, a
deformed yet highly talented fashion designer, works in a textile factory in
Liege, Belgium that is ransacked by Nazi invaders. She escapes their brutality
and meets Leo. Leo explains the Hebrew word IYSH which means “champion” and
together they agree to persevere and champion the cause no matter how
difficult it becomes. Their heroism and tenacity unfold in dramatic fashion as
they are captured, separated and sent to concentration camps where their
future survival is unclear. The story develops from WWII until the Yom Kippur
War in 1973 which takes place in Israel.

About the Author

 Greg Price

 Greg Price is a writer, human resource expert and an ordained minister. He has
traveled extensively throughout the world and shares his experiences by
translating them into literary characters who inspire and motivate the reader.
Greg immigrated to the United States from south Africa and currently lives
with his wife in Mississippi.

 

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IYSH Teaser

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IYSH cover

 

Fiction

Date Published: 04-17-2025

 

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In 1940, Leo Butlion, a young Jew studying to be a medical doctor in
Koblenz, Germany, has his future plans disrupted when Nazi forces destroy his
family and their business. His heroic escape and commitment to survive drive
him to overcome the greatest test man could ever encounter. Ivy Jacobson, a
deformed yet highly talented fashion designer, works in a textile factory in
Liege, Belgium that is ransacked by Nazi invaders. She escapes their brutality
and meets Leo. Leo explains the Hebrew word IYSH which means “champion” and
together they agree to persevere and champion the cause no matter how
difficult it becomes. Their heroism and tenacity unfold in dramatic fashion as
they are captured, separated and sent to concentration camps where their
future survival is unclear. The story develops from WWII until the Yom Kippur
War in 1973 which takes place in Israel.

Excerpt

A week later, as roll call is coming to an end, a woman standing close to Ivy
begins coughing and heaves clots of blood that splash onto the white frost at
her feet. She is so weak she struggles to stay on her feet. She staggers for a
moment and then stumbles forward onto the woman in front of her. The weak,
sick woman has no strength left, and falls backwards onto Ivy. Ivy
instinctively reaches forward to catch her, but is late in getting to her. The
weight of the sick woman falls directly onto Ivy’s left arm. As Ivy
catches her, she feels the leather strap snap under the woman’s weight.
The prosthesis falls to the ground, making a crunching noise as it hits the
frost.

Ivy’s first reaction is to camouflage the prosthesis lying on the
ground, and she falls onto it, pulling the woman on top of her. “Karen,
help me,” is Ivy’s desperate call. Karen notices the whole event,
and reacts quickly by falling on top of the two women. A guard pushes his way
past the rest of the women, and storms towards them, “Get up! This is no
place to lie down!” The rasping command spreads fear into the three
women lying on the frost.

They don’t look at the guard and Karen tries to crawl over Ivy and reach
for the prosthesis. However, the guard notices the straps sticking out from
under the sick woman’s waist. As Karen picks it up, the guard sticks his
huge black military boot out and tramples her fingers into the frost. She
screams with pain, but does not let go of the thongs, hoping she can hide the
prosthesis and the thongs under Ivy and the sick woman. Karen kicks at the
guard’s knee high boots, and he doesn’t feel anything. She is
trying to distract his attention and allow Ivy to hide the prosthesis.

“What’s this?” The guard kneels down looking at the thongs,
and pulls them towards him. He stands up and holds the prosthesis shoulder
high. Bewilderment is the first expression he portrays and then a smirk
filters over his face. He looks directly at Ivy who lies on the cold frost.
She rolls over face down onto the frost

and starts sobbing, knowing that after all she had been through, she has now
been found out. Karen crawls towards her on all fours, leans over her, and
tries to console her. “Ivy, we must be strong, they won’t hurt us.
Be strong, please.” Karen knows she is talking to herself as well, and
that the words are futile. This has to be the end for both women.

“Get up!” shouts the guard as he kicks Ivy and Karen. He leaves
the sick woman who is unable to move, blood still pouring out of her mouth as
she coughs. “I said get up! Are you also deaf, woman!” The
statement cuts into Ivy’s heart like a sharp, piecing hot iron.

Karen is the first one on her feet, and she leans over to help Ivy. The guard
reacts with a swift thrust of his right arm against Karen’s back that
sends her crashing to the ground. “She can get up on her own!
Let’s see her do it.” Turning to Ivy, he shouts hysterically at
her, “Get up, woman, or must I shoot you now!” Ivy gets to her
knees and falls again. Her strength is sapped by fear and anguish. By now,
fear and heartache flood both their hearts. For Ivy, it is all over. Surely
they will kill me is all she can think of. Oh, why did this have to happen
now? She shakes on her feet as she sobs, cradling the left stump in her right
hand. Why God, why? The guard grabs Karen by the neck, and pushes her brutally
towards the back of the ranks. “We will teach you to betray the
Wehrmacht, slut. There is only one way to teach you a lesson, and everyone
else!” By now, the guard is so angry at the fact that a woman has
concealed her prosthesis from the army, he is prepared to vent this on Karen.

The matron, who is standing on the platform, doesn’t care what the guard
does to Karen. Then she points to Ivy, who is still on her knees trying to get
up, and commands another guard in a callous fashion, “Bring me that heap
of misery!” Ivy is terrified. Her body shakes as she tries to walk
through the prisoners towards the matron. As she reaches the platform, Ivy
stands in front of the matron, her head is down looking at the ground because
she is unable to face her executioner.

“So, you have been hiding this from us all this time!” The words
slam into Ivy’s heart as she stands shaking, knowing that this is to be
her impromptu trial. “How long have you been like this?” Ivy
cannot bring herself to reply. Through the tears, she looks up at the matron.

The matron struts to her desk and drops into the chair. She pays no attention
to Ivy, who stands in front of her shaking. Ivy has no control over her
emotions anymore, and the anxiety and terror that encases her heart causes her
to soil herself. She stands in front of the matron still holding her left
stump in her right hand.

Ivy’s fate is in the hands of this plump round-faced matron who, during
the years at the camp, has never showed mercy to anyone. Surely Ivy’s
punishment will be worse than Karen’s. Oh, God, please help me, I am
this way because of you, please God, please, begs Ivy under her breath as she
stands trembling from fear.

“How long have you been like this?” inquires the matron for the
second time. Ivy tries to straighten up, and she wipes the tears from off her
checks. Then she reaches down to her torn dress, and uses it to wipe her nose.
She croaks out the words, “Since birth.”

“Then how in tarnation did you get into this camp, and hide this from us
all the time!” The matron explodes in anger and slams her fist on the
desk as she speaks at the top of her voice. “Do you know what they do to
deformed people in the Third Reich?” The question thunders in
Ivy’s ears. She knows all too well what happens to them, and she
realizes that this is the eventual road she will have to go once the matron is
finished with her.

It is too much for Ivy, and her knees cave in under the mental pressure, and
she leans forward to hold onto the desk as the gravity of the situation swoops
over her.

“Do you know that I have no choice but to follow orders and shoot
you?” The uncouth matron, who shows no pity on Ivy, mouths the death
knell. With the emptiness of a hangman, she speaks them to Ivy, as if to say,
you are done for. “Please, Matron, please,” says Ivy as she sobs,
desperately pleading for her life to be spared. She can get nothing else out.
Her throat dries up, and her mind is swimming as the overpowering fear
avalanches its way into her heart. She falls to her knees under the strain and
pressure and hangs onto the edge of the desk, breaking out into a heart
wrenching sob.

“Adjutant, get in here!” shouts the matron. This must be the final
decision for Ivy, as she realizes she will now be dragged out to the courtyard
and shot in front of the other prisoners. She tries to stand up and face the
last few minutes of her life with at least some dignity.

The adjutant walks briskly to the matron’s desk and stands to attention,
waiting his instructions. To her amazement Ivy hears the words, “Get me
this woman’s file.” The adjutant pulls at Ivy’s right arm,
and looks at her number, does an about face, walks out of the office, and
returns a few minutes later with a brown manila file.

The matron reaches for the file and casually flips it open. Her eyes fall on a
letter addressed to her from Captain Willem Langford in the Textile factory in
Berlin where Ivy has worked. A frown creases her brow as she holds the letter
towards the light.

The matron drops the letter on her desk and speaks to Ivy in a condescending
manner, “You seemed to be of some use to this Captain Langford, what did
you get up to there? I suppose you were more than a designer, or do I read
this incorrectly?” Ivy is insulted by the remark, and for the first time
she stares at the matron, this time in indignation. “I don’t know
what you mean. I did what I was told, and that’s all.” She gathers
enough courage to make her next point very

clear, “Contrary to your thinking, Captain Langford is an honorable man,
and a fine officer. As for me, I’m your prisoner, and have never been
abused by him.”

“Captain Langford, this is Matron Von Eck at Ravensbruck Concentration
Camp.”

“Yes, Matron, what can I do for you?” Langford is cordial and to
the point. “I want you to think back to when you had a prisoner working
for you. Her name was Jacobson, she was…”

The matron can say no more as Langford immediately interrupts her. “Yes,
I remember her, Matron. She did the Wehrmacht excellent service, even as a
prisoner.” There is a moment of silence before Langford speaks again.
“Matron, it was the last day she worked for us. The moment I found out
she had one hand, I sent her back to you. This was also the day that General
Gruber visited the factory, and gave us orders to start a new production line
for the next phase for the war. It was when I was discussing the new designs
with her that I found out she was deformed.”

Langford uses his superior rank on the matron and reacts to her question,
“I wrote to you the day I transferred her back to you. How come you are
calling me now about this woman?” The question is direct and places the
matron on the defensive.

“Something has come up, and she is involved in it. I needed to get
clarification from you.” Her answer is evasive and almost works.

Langford again decides to use his rank, and in an unprecedented manner,
commands the matron. “I will need her very soon again. In fact I am
looking for workers with such talent right now, and instructing you to do
nothing with her. I will contact you within the month, and arrange her
transfer back to this factory. Is that understood?”

The matron has no choice but to obey the officer who is much higher in rank
than her. She also realizes that there is nothing she can do to Ivy. That is
her instruction, and she had better take care of Ivy, or she will be held
accountable by her superiors if anything happens to her.

The matron replaces the receiver, scowls as she shuffles the papers back into
Ivy’s folder, and bellows, “Jacobson, get back in here,
now!”

As Ivy walks back into the office expecting to hear her death sentence, to her
amazement, Ivy hears the matron growl at her as she struggles to say,
“Return to your barrack. Let me be clear on this, if you ever flaunt
your deformity to anyone, or on any guard, I will personally take great
delight in punishing you. Do you hear me?”

Ivy does not answer her. She turns around and walks out of the office. As she
leaves, she looks up at the sky. It is grey and miserable that morning. But,
now there is a ray of sunshine peeping through a gap in the clouds. She takes
hold of her left arm and says through the tears of relief, “IYSH”.

 

About the Author

 Greg Price

 Greg Price is a writer, human resource expert and an ordained minister. He has
traveled extensively throughout the world and shares his experiences by
translating them into literary characters who inspire and motivate the reader.
Greg immigrated to the United States from south Africa and currently lives
with his wife in Mississippi.

 

Contact Link

 

Facebook

 

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https://mybook.to/IYSH

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A New Life Virtual Book Tour

 

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Reflections of Michael Trilogy Book 4

 

Fiction

 

Date Published: ‎June 9, 2025

 

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From America to the streets of Paris, A New Life follows two friends as
they navigate grief, love, and self-discovery in a city filled with history
and hope. A New Life is a story that lingers long after the last page.

 

A New Life back cover

 

A New Life tablet

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

Walden Pond, a mirror-like surface which reflected the magnificent beauty of trees, birds, and of course the dragonfly who carried the souls of the dead to rest.

Red leaves fell in the background like a fire engulfing all the trees surrounding the pond. The vibrant colors told that fall had arrived.

A flock of ducks paddled in an aimless direction, geese flew with rapid speed, and left the frogs behind, who sang their sounds of joy. In the crystal clearness of the pond, the fish smoothly moved through the water. The serenity, the sanctuary, filled an onlooker with peace.

Two travelers stood close to the edge of the pond; they resembled Casper Friedrich’s painting “Two Men Contemplating the Rising Moon.”

Further along the shoreline, an older man sat on a huge log and lit his pipe as he basked in the dim light of the harvest moon. He must have been a bird watcher. At least three different binoculars hung around his neck.

A few steps away was a mother who spoke rapidly in Spanish with her three children, who ate sandwiches, sipped juice, and looked at the radiant harvest moon.

Suddenly, the two travelers looked panicked; they then began to dig a very deep hole. They took off their jackets and wrapped a large unknown object in them.

Were they placing a time capsule that held stories of special moments in their lives in the ground? One traveler moved towards the hole, holding the wrapped object.

“Louie, watch it. You might damage her head,” Ron said nervously.

“I’m sorry, Rhonda,” said Louie, choking back tears.

They lowered the wrapped object, the body of their beloved dog Rhonda into the makeshift grave. In the dim light, there was a sense of privacy in that moment.

Louie placed wildflowers on top of the body, and they prayed. Slowly, they poured dirt to fill the grave. Both men patted the dirt, making the ground smooth. They could not help but cry as they walked back to the car.

Ron started the car as quietly as possible, but the roar of the engine cut through the silence abruptly. He took a deep breath and tried to forget that he would need to leave his best friend behind. It was easier to pretend that she was still with them. They drove away and waved goodbye as their car passed her grave.

Two hours passed without a word between Louie and Ron. Finally, very faintly, Louie heard Ron say “Ra,” then “Ma.”

Louie asked, “Our Mantra? Can I say it with you?”

Ron nodded as he pulled off the road. He asked Louie to hold hands with him as they both chanted, “Ra.”

Then Ron said, “The sun.”

They went ahead with the interchange of the chant, and then Ron said its meaning.

“Ma,” said Ron, “Moon. Daa, the earth. Saa, your infinity, your personal infinity. Say, all of infinity. So, the merging of the individual’s infinity and all the rest of infinity.”

Louie than ended the chant with “Hung.”

Ron said, “The infinite and the vibrations in us, we are the Thou.”

Ron urged Louie to chant one more time. Louie led them in another chant. They finished and sat quietly for a moment. Louie had this sudden calmness about him.

“Louie, Aristotle said a good death is one where you have family and friends around you. Rhonda had a good death. Let’s try to heal, and you heal through grief. But first, open your window; let Rhonda go. As she goes through the open window, her soul is free.”

Louie opened his window, and they felt the cool breeze from outside. He told Ron, “She left.” Louie felt content a moment later.

They continue their journey back to New York, Ron pointed out to Louie the cafe where he danced for well over an hour with the hostess and the server. “Want me to stop? We can do it again?”

“No, I passed that stage in my life journey, Ron.”

They spent the rest of the trip talking about Rhonda and how great she was, from the fight where she tried to protect Ron to the National Cemetery where she was left behind by accident at dusk, not found until midnight.

Louie and Ron had a chuckle over how Rhonda refused to walk on the sidewalks in Paris because of all the cigarette butts on the ground; she had to be pushed around in a baby carriage, because she did not want to burn her paws.

Louie started crying, and Ron comforted him, assuring him that the pain was fine; he needed to accept it.

“Rhonda was so smart,” Louie said proudly. “Some people don’t know the relationship between an owner and their pet. It is so special, so unconditional. Rhonda will always be a part of me. It was nice to bury her here in America, her home country.”

A while later, Ron and Louie arrived at their motel. Ron said to him, “Let’s get the luggage and go to bed. Hey, I was thinking when we get back to Paris, you should move in me with me and stop sleeping in the bookstore.”

Louie could not believe what he heard. Sharing more time with Ron would be special; he was excited to have that time together.

Once they got to the room, Louie asked Ron if he could sleep with him. Ron answered, “Only if you watch that left arm of yours and where it’s moving. And that goes also if you live with me, okay?” Ron laughed.

Louie responded in an offended tone, “Ron, that happens when my arm falls asleep, and I stretch it!”

Louie could not keep a serious face in his exhaustion, and they both laughed it off and went to bed.

They went ahead with the interchange of the chant, and then Ron said its meaning.

“Ma,” said Ron, “Moon. Daa, the earth. Saa, your infinity, your personal infinity. Say, all of infinity. So, the merging of the individual’s infinity and all the rest of infinity.”

Louie than ended the chant with “Hung.”

Ron said, “The infinite and the vibrations in us, we are the Thou.”

Ron urged Louie to chant one more time. Louie led them in another chant. They finished and sat quietly for a moment. Louie had this sudden calmness about him.

“Louie, Aristotle said a good death is one where you have family and friends around you. Rhonda had a good death. Let’s try to heal, and you heal through grief. But first, open your window; let Rhonda go. As she goes through the open window, her soul is free.”

Louie opened his window, and they felt the cool breeze from outside. He told Ron, “She left.” Louie felt content a moment later.

They continue their journey back to New York, Ron pointed out to Louie the cafe where he danced for well over an hour with the hostess and the server. “Want me to stop? We can do it again?”

“No, I passed that stage in my life journey, Ron.”

They spent the rest of the trip talking about Rhonda and how great she was, from the fight where she tried to protect Ron to the National Cemetery where she was left behind by accident at dusk, not found until midnight.

Louie and Ron had a chuckle over how Rhonda refused to walk on the sidewalks in Paris because of all the cigarette butts on the ground; she had to be pushed around in a baby carriage, because she did not want to burn her paws.

Louie started crying, and Ron comforted him, assuring him that the pain was fine; he needed to accept it.

“Rhonda was so smart,” Louie said proudly. “Some people don’t know the relationship between an owner and their pet. It is so special, so unconditional. Rhonda will always be a part of me. It was nice to bury her here in America, her home country.”

A while later, Ron and Louie arrived at their motel. Ron said to him, “Let’s get the luggage and go to bed. Hey, I was thinking when we get back to Paris, you should move in me with me and stop sleeping in the bookstore.”

Louie could not believe what he heard. Sharing more time with Ron would be special; he was excited to have that time together.

Once they got to the room, Louie asked Ron if he could sleep with him. Ron answered, “Only if you watch that left arm of yours and where it’s moving. And that goes also if you live with me, okay?” Ron laughed.

Louie responded in an offended tone, “Ron, that happens when my arm falls asleep, and I stretch it!”

Louie could not keep a serious face in his exhaustion, and they both laughed it off and went to bed.

 

About the Author

Louis J. Ambrosio
Louis J. Ambrosio ran one of the most nurturing bi-coastal talent
agencies in Los Angeles and New York. He started his career as a theatrical
producer, running two major regional theaters for eight seasons. Ambrosio
taught at 7 Universities. Ambrosio also distinguished himself as an
award-winning film producer and novelist over the course of his impressive
career.
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Dangerous Times Virtual Book Tour

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Fiction

Date Published: May 1, 2025

Publisher: Manhattan Book Group

 

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This book’s background is the prophetic but overlooked decade of American
history, 1846 to 1856, from the Mexican War to the presidential election of
James Buchanan. The decade was a foreshadowing of our national cataclysm.
Underlying every social aspect was the nation’s fatal flaw, slavery, that
perverted the Constitution on which the Enlightenment ideals of a
“United States” were based. And on every day, similarities to the
distortions of the present decade are obvious.

I chose a Southern ethos, finding an unexpected woman to suffer and survive
the decade; and three brothers, each of whom carves a unique path through
it, one as a fugitive unjustly accused of murder and slave-stealing, one as
an enigmatic operative across the jagged spectrum of antebellum party
politics, and the eldest who inherits his family’s storied tobacco
plantation as its lands burn out.

The story is told chronologically, the fiction adhering to the history.
Should a question arise as to which is which, any event of historical
significance – no matter how bizarre or implausible — did indeed
happen.

The novel echoes ethnic truths as they were at the time. I write of
intimacies as well as horrors found in historical records. Both public and
private relations were often infused with their own destruction — as were
the expanding “United States” in that decade, and I fear in this
one.

Dangerous Times tablet

EXCERPT

READING INTRO/Dangerous Times

DANGEROUS TIMES is a novel of historical fiction! It tells of the years 1846 to 1851 in the 30 states that made up our nation. It’s an overlooked time, called “antebellum” or “before the war,” our Civil War which justifiably gets most of the attention from scholars, historians, literary writers, critics, — and inevitably: film studios. 

It was a hell … of a war.

  But my interest was: how and why it happened, because when I started work on this book, the United States was beginning a long progress of crises. They were leading to where we are now: the threatened loss of our political, legal, and societal institutions, and our standing in the world, among other disasters. In wondering how far these crises are going to go, I became increasingly curious about what had happened in mid-Nineteenth Century America that had driven the nation to the self-destructive extreme of civil war.     

As a result, my research started with diving into the fractious years during which the “United” States began its slide toward that violent division. I start the book with a popular-turned-bitter foreign war, followed by the inexorable fraying of politics, economy, and culture. 

Sound familiar? In 1846, it was a war with Mexico; now it’s Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan – take your pick. Time and time again, behaviors, convictions, decisions, and passions of those antebellum years are the alarm-bell-tollings that are reverberating today. Therefore, to me – and I hope to you as you’re sitting there – these antebellum times are suddenly of vital interest!

You may well ask: If those years are so important, why be distracted by some fiction of it, by stories that push the real history into the background? As a reader, why not just get the facts?

I’m so glad you asked! Full disclosure: I’m not an historian or a scholar. And any number of agents and publishers will tell you: I ain’t literary. I’m a storyteller. As to which is best for the telling, fact or fiction? It’s an endless debate, one that I always win with myself because “fact” seems to me to be a restricted perspective. To me, when chronicling events, the footnote-bound, meticulous scholar has to overlook a lot of the heart-beating, breathing, emotive, sensate life of any whole historical moment. And what in the world does the historian do about: imagination? 

 The great historical fiction writer Andrea Barrett suggests that “…research creates the bones of the story, and imagination provides the breath and the blood.” As a storyteller, I’ll go with that any day!    

Toni Morrison – who wrote some pretty astonishing historical fiction – has a fine riff on this: “The crucial distinction is not the difference between fact and fiction, but the distinction between fact and truth. Because facts can exist without human intelligence, but truth cannot.” 

I’m one who believes that telling a fictional story allows a fuller truth to be revealed than by pure history. Don’t get me wrong: to write each one of the six books I’ve published, I read history voraciously. But that’s only the beginning. 

 And with me, the process releases “The Big Surprise”! When I read enough history, characters start coming off the pages and are simply there. I cannot suppress them – not that I’d want to! When I begin to tell the story, I don’t always know what they’ll do, where they’ll go. Certainly, as we go along, history leads us; but by allowing imagination to have its way with us, I have to hope that history will tolerate, within its dogged boundaries of time, endless possibility.

Let me introduce you to some of the characters in DANGEROUS TIMES who wandered, charged or leapt off those pages of history. There’s a young woman, Elizabeth Musten, who’s already shattered basic foundational rules and is facing a lifetime of punishment; and the three Fairfield brothers, each of whom will splinter many more conventions as their worlds sink under their feet. There’s a freedman, Daniel, whose father owned his mother; and a slave, Jubile, who barely escapes having his big toes cut-off so he can’t run away again. Be assured that they and others struggle through war, peace, sex, violence, romance, money, revenge, evil and good – among other thrilling enjoyments!  

     I’ll read you a scene that’s about something more — well, dangerous: Politics! It’s the spring of 1850. One of those brothers, Will Fairfield, is trained in the law but disdainful of its practice. Instead, he’s driven to become a vital wunderkind to the Whigs, the political party ascendent in Washington at the time. He’s done pretty well so far….  

        

About the Author

After a questionable academic career at Stanford (I mean, how practical is
a double major in Drama and Far Eastern Theology?), Kinsolving fled to the
Oregon Shakespeare Festival to play Richard II. He then attended The London
Academy of Music and Dramatic Art for polish. Returning to New York, he
appeared as an actor under-, off- and on Broadway, as well as a saloon
singer in foul Greenwich Village nightclubs. For creative diversion during
these years, he acted and/or directed back in Oregon, at the Stratford (CT)
Shakespeare Theater, Harvard, Dartmouth, Café La Mama, then went out
and won the Best Actor of the Year award from the San Francisco Chronicle
for performing at the Berkeley Rep.

Ineluctably transitioning to a second career, Kinsolving wrote a play with
84 speaking roles, was awarded a Ford Foundation Playwriting Grant, and had
the play produced by the Stratford Ontario Shakespeare Festival. This led to
the first of some 54 films on which he worked for every major studio (and
several distinctly minor ones) in Los Angeles, London and Rome (ask him
about Zeffirelli sometime) as screenwriter and script doctor. Suspecting
that such a life was leading to the utter corruption of his soul (not to
dare mention his body), he retreated to Carmel to write the first of five
novels (a NY Times best-seller, a couple of Literary Guild Main Selections,
he adds humbly, but only if asked).

While serving on the Board of Trustees of the California Institute of the
Arts, he regressed happily to nightclub and fundraising performances,
accompanied by the likes of Peter Duchin and Emmanuel Ax, singing at the
Algonquin Hotel’s late lamented Oak Room and for one of the late
Brooke Astor’s better birthday parties among many other less
name-dropping venues.

Last year, he directed a musical for which he wrote the book and lyrics in
the nave of San Francisco’s Grace Cathedral about Johann Sebastian
Bach and his family. Bach provided all the music, and proved to be very easy
to work with. THAT WEEK WITH THE BACHS had the best voices in the Bay Area,
including the ineffable Frederica von Stade.

He began work on the historical novel DANGEROUS TIMES between the
diversions above. He knew the history, but even so, was startled by how
constant the similarities are in that destructive time to what’s going
on in this one.

 

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The Belmont Virtual Book Tour

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The Belmont cover

Fiction

Date Published: February 28, 2025

Publisher: MindStir Media

 

The Belmont is a tale of a young man’s struggles with a heartbreak he
cannot get past, set against the backdrop of a bacchanalia-filled weekend
centered around the 1998 Belmont Stakes horse race, which ended with a
Triple Crown bid thwarted by a photo finish. During a long
“weekend” spread out over six days and in three different states,
a weekend fueled by alcohol and sexual tension, but also filled with
reflective, heartbreaking, exhilarating, hilarious, and heartwarming
moments, Tommy Cippolini embarks on a journey of self-discovery,
experiencing just about every single human emotion along the way. In between
episodes filled with anger and frustration, anticipation, anxiety,
disappointment, sexual arousal and temptation, binge drinking, daringness
and trepidation, hilarity and debauchery, and longing and sadness, Tommy
confides in good friends, casual friends, strangers, and family members
about his feelings and past trials and tribulations.

The Belmont tablet

EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

Wednesday, June 3, 1998.

On the road, while looking back.

Tommy Cippolini steered his 1991 Nissan Sentra toward the exit ramp off Route 684 in upstate New York and onto Route 287 West to begin the last major phase of the five-plus-hour drive from his parents’ suburban home just north of Boston to his friend Vince Piolini’s bachelor pad in northern New Jersey. Tommy had been on the road for about four hours now, having departed the Boston area just after the morning rush hour had begun to die down on this Wednesday morning of June 3, 1998.

As his compact car followed the bends along the ramp leading from 684 to 287, the opening strains of Green Day’s “Basket Case” began to blare from his car stereo.

Tommy smiled at the symbolic irony of the most upbeat song on Green Day’s Dookie record starting to play just as he’d finally made it through the longer and more difficult parts of his journey and was now heading into the homestretch. He’d started out the day listening to some “mood” music, particularly some of Pink Floyd’s later albums, including the very depressing Final Cut, because he wasn’t in the best frame of mind when he’d left home that morning. But, as he got deeper and deeper into his drive and closer to his final destination, he perked up, switched over to some Black Crowes, and then decided to pop Dookie—one of his favorite records of the ’90s—into his car’s CD player.

Vince’s place was located just off Exit 148 on the Garden State Parkway, and Tommy now had just one more highway change to make before reaching the Garden State and the last leg of his drive: driving west on Route 287, crossing the Tappan Zee Bridge, and then hooking up with the Garden State not too far beyond the other side of the bridge.

Tommy was making this trip to New Jersey to kick off the annual Belmont Stakes Weekend. Vince and his friends had been attending the Belmont Stakes Triple Crown horse race every year since at least the 1980s. In actuality, they didn’t “attend” the race so much as stake out a spot inside the gates of Belmont Park, but outside the racetrack facility itself, along with hundreds of other people with the same idea, and camp out for essentially an all-day picnic filled with massive amounts of food, alcohol, and other debauchery. It was the ultimate male-bonding experience.

For Tommy, though, this was just his second Belmont Stakes, having attended his first one just the year before, in 1997. Tommy was eight years younger than Vince and the rest of the Belmont crew, which was comprised of Vince’s old high school friends from Yonkers and his college friends from the University of Delaware, most of whom he’d known since the ’70s. He’d met Vince during his sophomore year in college at the State University of New York (SUNY) at New Paltz, when Tommy was nineteen, but Vince was already a twenty-seven-year-old grad student who’d opted to live in the dormitories on campus rather than renting an apartment or commuting like most other grad students did.

Vince was a smart, gregarious, fun guy with an extremely calm demeanor, a math-oriented mind, a meticulous nature, an almost impossible wellspring of optimism flowing from every pore of his body, and big dreams. He and Tommy became fast friends and had remained very close through all of life’s trials and tribulations.

Unsatisfied with his early post-college life, Tommy had moved to Miami in 1990, spending five-plus years there, and so he’d missed out on all the Belmont fun during his years living in South Florida.

He decided to head back to the Boston area in 1995 for numerous reasons, but the primary reason for Tommy’s return to Massachusetts was the fact that his brother and two sisters lived in different states and had their own families, so there was no one around to take care of their parents if anything should happen to them. At that point in time, both of Tommy’s parents, while retired, were in good shape and doing just fine. But he knew that situation wasn’t going to last forever.

He also had one other, major reason for leaving South Florida and heading back north: He was heartbroken, as his fiancée, Alissa—a woman he’d been seeing, admittedly off and on, for ten years—had broken up with him several months before he’d left Miami. In reality, they were “engaged to be engaged” since no ring had been purchased or placed on Alissa’s finger—yet. Still, the wedding plans were in the talking stages, and Alissa had agreed that, at least at first, the couple would make their home in South Florida since her sister also lived in the area at the time. Things came crashing down in early 1995 when Alissa’s rich parents, who’d known Tommy since 1985 and always seemed to like him a lot, decided that he wasn’t good enough for their daughter. She listened to them and ran off to start dating some guy who had a seven-figure bank account.

So, Tommy limped back home that December and tried to regroup and begin anew. It took about sixteen months for him to get his life back on reasonably solid footing. Things weren’t perfect, but Tommy felt they were good enough, at least, for him to finally attend his first Belmont with Vince and his buddies.

 

  About the Author

My name is Anthony Cocco.  I’m 59 years old and a native of
Malden, Massachusetts, but I’ve spent most of the last 21 years living
about 20 miles north of Boston. Since 1997, I’ve worked in the
financial services industry (some asset managers and some retirement
services providers), in various roles, and recently started my fifth
different job in that industry in February of 2025. Prior to that, I worked
(out of college) in the health insurance field, mainly in customer and
provider relations (three different companies in two different
states—Massachusetts and Florida).

I am the fourth (and final) child born to the late Morris and Dorothy
Cocco. I have two living (and one recently deceased) siblings, one brother
and one sister (my eldest sister passed away suddenly in July 2024 at age
72).

I have no children of my own and have never been married, but I do have
five nieces and nephews (3 of the former and 2 of the latter), two of which
are the daughters of my late sister. Since I’m the only one of our
parents’ kids to have remained living (for the most part) in
Massachusetts, the rest of my family (except for some cousins) is somewhat
spread out across the country.

I attended the State University of New York at New Paltz from 1984-88,
where I earned a (largely unused) degree in Journalism (I wanted to be a
sports broadcaster but got sidetracked when someone convinced me I needed to
be a sportswriter instead). It wasn’t long before I realized that
vocation wasn’t a good match for me, but my years at New Paltz
weren’t entirely wasted because it was during that time when I met one
of my lifelong friends, the guy who introduced me to the “Belmont
Stakes crew”—his friends from his youth and from his undergrad
college years. One of the main characters in my book is based on him, and
all of the characters that make up the entire Belmont “tribe”,
as I call it in the book, are based on his friends and other acquaintances.

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