Book Tour | Ellwyn Autumn

The Life & Times of Sherlock Holmes Book Tour

A must-read for Sherlockians, history enthusiasts, and anyone eager to uncover the hidden layers of Victorian England.

The Life and Times of Sherlock Holmes

Essays on Victorian England Book V

by Liese Sherwood-Fabre

Genre: Nonfiction History, Literary Criticism

Rediscover Victorian England’s forgotten history and culture.

Volume V of The Life and Times of Sherlock Holmes explores the cultural, scientific, and historical allusions found throughout Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous detective stories.

This collection of essays unpacks twenty-four topics mentioned in the original mysteries, from everyday details like hats and plumbing to complex issues such as international spying, the binomial theorem, and relations with Russia.

Through such insights, readers gain a deeper understanding of the Victorian world in which Holmes operated.

Other essays explore both the familiar and the obscure, touching on subjects like the KKK’s presence in England, the significance of whaling, and legal concepts like insanity and blackmail.

Unique cultural topics—such as the role of curry in the British Empire, the rise of bohemianism, and the Victorian obsession with rejuvenation through animal hormones—reveal the rich complexity of the era.

The collection also features a bonus essay on Sarah Cushing from The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, offering fresh insight into one of the most sinister characters in the Canon.

Whether examining automata, wax figures, or the legal definitions of murder and suicide, The Life and Times of Sherlock Holmes provides a compelling lens through which readers gain a deeper understanding of the historical and social backdrop of the Holmes mysteries.

A must-read for Sherlockians, history enthusiasts, and anyone eager to uncover the hidden layers of Victorian England.

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads

Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DKMWQFW3

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-life-and-times-of-sherlock-holmes/id6737251368

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-life-and-times-of-sherlock-holmes-volume-5-liese-sherwood-fabre/1146455207?ean=2940186119128

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-life-and-times-of-sherlock-holmes-7

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/bPnVQd

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/the-life-and-times-of-sherlock-holmes-the-fifth-compelling-collection-of-essays-examining-the-familiar-and-the-obscure-in-sir-arthur-conan-doyle-s-original-essays-on-victorian-england-book-5-by-liese-sherwood-fabre

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/220690557-the-life-and-times-of-sherlock-holmes

Excerpt

The Sinister Side of Insurance

In The Sign of the Four, Holmes tells Watson that one should not be fooled by outward qualities.

As an example, he states, “The most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance money.” Insurance policies were quite popular in Victorian times, and, sadly, more than one insured person met their end under suspicious circumstances.

The sudden inheritance of a sum sometimes equivalent to a working man’s annual salary was a temptation some couldn’t resist. Two sisters went so far as to recruit other women in a sort of club to collect insurance benefits.

Ancient Romans were the first to create life insurance policies in the form of burial clubs. Burial was necessary because if the person wasn’t interred correctly, they were doomed to an afterlife as an unhappy ghost.

These burials, however, cost money, and Caius Marius organized his troops into clubs that pledged to pool resources to cover the cost of these rituals. Over time, the clubs included a sum of money provided to any of the deceased’s survivors.

This practice appeared again in the 1500s in London when Richard Martin bought a policy underwritten by 16 others for a man named William Gibbons. Martin collected £4800 for the premium of £384. This practice continued for the next 200 years until outlawed in 1774.

By 1700, life insurance shifted from speculation on a particular person’s death to that of tontines. In this arrangement, individuals would pay each year into a common account, and those surviving until the end of the year would receive a payout based on the number surviving.

Over time, these groups would even invest funds to increase the pool. The Amicable Society for a Perpetual Assurance Office used this concept of a tontine to establish the first recognized life insurance company.

Founded by William Talbot, the Bishop of Oxford, and Sir Thomas Allen, 2nd Baronet, in 1706, the society began with 2000 members who paid a fixed amount per year for one to three shares. At the end of the year, the widows and children of any of the members who passed during the year received the deceased member’s portion.

Unfortunately, life insurance companies and practices faced little to no regulation on who could be insured. Fraud abounded in the industry with some being covered under numerous policies, and some of those insured (particularly children) murdered for the benefits.

While actual figures cannot be calculated, Renee Noffsinger examined reported homicide cases to estimate the vulnerability of children under 5 was at least 40 times greater than that for older children.

Master of the Art of Detection

A Collection of Sherlock Holmes Short Stories

By Liese Sherwood-Fabre

Genre: Mystery

Decipher. Deduce. Deliver.

Sherlock Holmes, the most cerebral of detectives, finds his deductive powers put to the test in this intriguing collection of cases.

Each adventure presents a web of secrets, clues, and deceptions. Only his highly honed observational skills lead him to the truth.

In a locked-room murder, did the victim succumb to “The Curse of Kisin?” And how had the daughter of Squire Northridge disappeared from her own locked bedroom?

Can Holmes, an ocean away, determine if a missing treasure hunter ran off with Jean Lafitte’s fabled buried plunder? The disappearance of a beloved dog is an adventure filled with whimsy and humor, as are the return of Lady Frances Carfax and the howling dog of Baker Street.

Holmes’ unrivaled deductive powers rise to the test with each case. He shines as the consummate master of the art of detection and will captivate from beginning to end.

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Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Master-Art-Detection-Sherlock-Collection-ebook/dp/B0CW1J4DWB

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/master-of-the-art-of-detection/id6504698982

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/master-of-the-art-of-detection-liese-sherwood-fabre/1145861548?ean=2940185617205

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/master-of-the-art-of-dectection

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/mB1W1p

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/master-of-the-art-of-detection-by-liese-sherwood-fabre

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/215146483-master-of-the-art-of-detection

Excerpt from “The Adventure of Lafitte’s Missing Treasure”

Master of the Art of Detection

Sherlock Holmes receives a package with the following letter inside:

“My husband has always considered himself something of a historian but has limited himself to treasure hunting. He has become obsessed with the pirate Jean Lafitte, a privateer who operated first out of New Orleans and later, Galveston.

Talk of Lafitte’s missing treasure has been a matter of speculation for more than seventy years. The pirate established a base on Galveston Island in 1817 but was forced to leave in 1820 after attacking an American merchant vessel.

“Recently, a Mr. James Farthington approached my husband, stating he had found a letter written to one of Lafitte’s acquaintances detailing the location of a treasure buried on the island.

As proof, Lafitte included this coin for the friend. My husband agreed to finance the search in return for half the find.

“A week ago, George and Farthington set off for the island. There have been no storms or other occurrences that would explain his ship’s disappearance, and I, therefore, fear the worst.

Someone has heard of this discovery, and the expedition has fallen into nefarious hands and my husband is in grave peril.

“Given the distance, by the time you get this letter, another week will likely have passed. Please respond by telegram as soon as possible to let me know if you have any advice on how I might find George and the others.”

When I turned to the other piece of paper, I found the thin paper held a map. “It looks as if she included a copy of the directions Farthington shared with her husband.”

Holmes lowered the coin and returned to the desk, where he held out his hand. I placed the map into it, and he held it up to the light. “A very lightweight paper used for tracing.

She must have traced the original map to share a copy with me.” He faced me. “It seems we have a mystery on our hands, Watson. And one that may lead us to uncover the lost treasure of Jean Lafitte.”

My interest was piqued. “Lost treasure? Sounds like something from a yellowback novel.”

Holmes waved a hand dismissively. “It is not a fairy tale, Watson. Jean Lafitte was a real pirate, and there have always been rumors of a treasure buried somewhere on Galveston Island. Many have searched for it over the years, but none have discovered its whereabouts.”

“So, you believe that this Farthington fellow may have discovered the location of the treasure, and now someone is after it and them?”

“It is a possibility, Watson. And one that we cannot ignore.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Send off some telegrams.”

About The Author

About the Author

Liese Sherwood-Fabre is an award-winning author known for her meticulously researched works of historical fiction and mystery.

With a background in social sciences, she brings a unique depth to her characters and settings, particularly in her acclaimed series The Life and Times of Sherlock Holmes, which explores Victorian England through the lens of the famous detective’s world.

Her essays delve into the cultural and historical intricacies of the era, uncovering hidden details that enhance her stories’ authenticity.

Her fiction weaves real historical events and social insights into suspenseful plots, creating immersive narratives that captivate fans of both history and mystery.

An avid traveler and lifelong scholar, Dr. Sherwood-Fabre combines curiosity and expertise to craft stories that transport readers to fascinating past worlds filled with intrigue and insight.

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Author Links

Website: https://www.liesesherwoodfabre.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/liese.sherwoodfabre

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/liesesf/

Tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@liesesherwoodfabre

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/liesefabre.bsky.social

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/liese-sherwood-fabre

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Liese-Sherwood-Fabre/author/B00810INE6

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5758587.Liese_Sherwood_Fabre

Rumi And The Retribution Schedule Book Tour

The Da Vinci Code meets Rumi in a global thriller/mystery

Rumi and the Retribution

Gabriel McKnight Book 1

by Pooneh Sadeghi

Genre: Global Thriller, Mystery

You Are What You Seek.

Gabriel McKnight, a decorated former U.S. Navy SEAL and bestselling author, sees his perfect life come unraveled when he’s named the prime suspect in a murder case after his twin brother vanishes without a trace.

Now on the run from the law, Gabriel embarks on a desperate worldwide quest to clear his name and uncover his brother’s fate.

His only ally is Noor Rahman, the scion of a once-powerful Iranian dynasty whose past intertwines with a mysterious book of Rumi’s poems left behind by her deceased parents.

Together, Gabriel and Noor decipher cryptic passages suggesting a link between the historic murders of Noor’s family and his brother’s disappearance. From the back alleys of Washington, D.C., to the bustling streets of Paris, and the vibrant vistas of Tehran, they navigate a labyrinth of danger and deception leading them inexorably to Rumi’s mystical resting place in Turkey.

But discovery comes with a perilous cost. With every revelation, Gabriel and Noor inch that much closer to unlocking the sinister truth behind their parallel destinies.

Can they outwit their unseen foes and decode the final mysteries before they themselves become the final casualties in this deadly game?

Get the paperback on Amazon or B&N!

Or get the ebook:

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo * Bookbub * Goodreads

Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Rumi-Retribution-Gabriel-McKnight-Book-ebook/dp/B0CZ1DBZLR

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/rumi-and-the-retribution/id6504419789

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rumi-and-the-retribution-pooneh-sadeghi/1145815063?ean=2940186008590

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Pooneh_Sadeghi_Rumi_and_the_Retribution?id=KaoOEQAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rumi-and-the-retribution

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/rumi-and-the-retribution-gabriel-mcknight-book-1-by-pooneh-sadeghi

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/214676717-rumi-and-the-retribution

Excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

Paris, July 14, 1997

Dying for your loved ones is a noble sacrifice, but outsmarting a killer before you die is a sweeping triumph. That’s what Shiraz Rahman thought as she rushed out of the Trocadero metro station on a balmy summer evening.

The sun had begun its descent, making way for midnight blue skies. Paris dressed in lights, welcoming all to its various restaurants and cafés. Shiraz’s gaze darted around as she turned into the Delessert Boulevard. Her posture was stiff, her pace fast, and her breath labored.

Up ahead, the Café Delessert bustled with activity. Waiters rushed about delivering trays of food. The aroma of coffee and French cuisine drifted in the air. Parisians and tourists clustered around the tables lined by the sidewalk, their carefree laughter carrying into the night.

Shiraz recalled the days when she, too, laughed freely, unaware of the evil surrounding her. A loud clatter broke through the night. Shiraz bit back a scream and jerked around.

A waiter had dropped a tray on the sidewalk. He bent over to pick it up. Shiraz clutched her purse and hastened her pace. Every so often, she looked back to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

The Delessert Boulevard swarmed with people. It was no surprise. This area offered the best view of the Eiffel Tower. Each year, thousands of people gathered here to celebrate and watch the dazzling fireworks display from the Eiffel Tower and the Trocadero gardens.

It seemed like a normal night, and by all accounts it should have been, but Shiraz knew better. I will die tonight. Beads of sweat formed on her upper lip. I’m not afraid. I’m prepared.

After all, her daughter’s life depended on it. Noor, my sweet Noor! Shiraz rubbed her chest as she considered her options another time.

There was one way to keep Noor safe, and when the time was right, Noor would know the truth. Shiraz had made sure of it. She approached her bookstore and risked another glance over her shoulder.

A shiver ran up her spine. The killer was in the crowd, waiting for an opportunity to strike. She squared her shoulders. Come and get me. That’s all you’ll get.

She entered her bookstore and let her head fall against the door. The scent of worn leather, polished wood, and new books were welcoming and familiar.

Jean Luc, her friend, and the bookstore’s sole employee, sat by the reading nook. Shiraz pasted a smile on her face. “Why are you working when you should be outside celebrating with the rest of the country?”

Jean Luc placed a book on a shelf close to the armchair he occupied. “Cheri, we have a splendid view. I can watch the celebration from here.”

Shiraz placed her hands on her hips and furrowed her brows into a mock frown. “It’s Independence Day. Go drink wine, celebrate your freedom, and flirt with someone nice. I’ll close the store tonight.”

“Come with me,” Jean Luc pleaded. “We’ll find two delicious men and party all night.”

Shiraz snorted. “The only man I’ll ever love is Parviz.” She rushed on before Jean Luc could say anything. “I know my husband died years ago, but what Parviz and I had was unique. Something like that happens once in a lifetime.” She made shooing motions with her hands. “That’s why I’m closing, and you’re leaving. It’s your turn to find your soulmate.”

A movement outside of the window caught her eye. For an instant, Shiraz saw a familiar figure standing in the crowd outside of her store. She gripped the armchair and craned her neck to get a better look.

The Trocadero gardens overflowed with people wearing France’s national colors. Its fountains switched from red to blue and back. The Eiffel Tower shone tall and proud.

Her heart thudded wildly. “Why did it take me so long to figure out the truth?”

“Shiraz, are you all right?” Jean Luc asked, concern evident in his ruddy round face. “You were mumbling to yourself.”

Shiraz studied her hands. Her knuckles had gone white. She let go of the armchair and relaxed her features. “I’m fine. I was just thinking, that’s all.”

Jean Luc looked uncertain. “Are you sure you want to stay here?”

Shiraz bobbed her head. “Yes, Noor and I have plans. Go enjoy your evening.”

Jean Luc finally gave in and left the store. Shiraz shut the door behind him then poured herself a cup of tea. She sat behind the counter and picked up a volume of Rumi’s poems.

“Life is a multitude of patterns that rise, fall, and flow together. You taught me that.” She traced her hands along the book’s spine. “It’s Noor’s turn to find her place and purpose in life. I know you’ll guide her as you did me.” Shiraz opened the book and lost herself in Rumi’s compelling verse.

The sound of chimes announced a newcomer. Footsteps echoed in the silent store. The grandfather clock ticked in the corner, counting every second that remained of her life. Shiraz closed the book and stared into the stone cold eyes of a killer.

The killer aimed a gun at her. “I put the ‘Closed’ sign up. Let’s go to the back of the store.”

Shiraz grimaced, revulsion evident in her face. “I can’t believe it. All the lies, and the betrayal. How could you do it?”

The killer spoke with a coldness Shiraz had never heard before. “Easily. Now move. I don’t have all night.”

She rose and headed toward the small office at the back of the store. Her enemy held the gun at her back and pushed her into the office. She stumbled and straightened herself. “I know why you’re here. You shouldn’t have come.”

“Where is the package?”

Shiraz raised her chin. “I don’t know.”

Her enemy slapped her with enough force to knock her head against the bookshelf behind the desk. Shiraz stumbled and straightened herself. She spat blood, and at that moment the future of her daughter was all that mattered. Her face flushed.

There was a moment of stillness on both sides, then Shiraz charged her foe. She was no match for her opponent’s strength, but it took her assailant off guard.

They fell to the floor in a struggle. Shiraz kicked her opponent as hard as she could and struggled to rise to her feet. Outside, voices rose as thousands of Parisians sang their national anthem.

The murderer grabbed Shiraz’s ankle and dragged her back down. Shiraz reached out and grabbed the volume of Rumi’s poems. She knocked her assailant over the head with the book.

“Argh!” her assailant grunted, nonplussed.

Shiraz wobbled to her feet. Her breath hitched as she forced her shaky limbs to move. She made it halfway to the exit when the murderer grabbed a fist full of her hair and dragged her back to the office.

Shiraz’s chest heaved, and her lungs burned as she gulped air.

The killer aimed the gun at her. “I’m in no mood to play games. I’ll ask one more time. Where is the package?”

Shiraz met her foe’s gaze defiantly, and for an instant, her mouth turned up. “You’ll never find it.”

Nostrils flared. “Then you’re no use to me.”

Gunshots echoed in the store just as the fireworks at the Trocadero started. Shiraz blinked. She felt nothing for a few seconds, then fell to the floor as pain gripped her body. She tried to rise. Her body didn’t cooperate. Her body twitched and convulsed as blood drained from her wounds. She flung her hand out, trying to reach for the telephone cord a few feet away. Her vision grew blurry, and her breath came gasps.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when footsteps approached her. A man bent over her. Shiraz squinted through the haze of pain. It was Morris, her late husband’s friend. Morris pressed his hands over her wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. He shouted something, but a tremor shook her body, drowning out his words.

She coughed blood.

Sweat formed on Morris’s upper lip. “Hold on.” He tore strips of his own shirt to bind her wounds. The pain began to ease and grow distant. A bright haze filled her vision. Shiraz felt light, as if she was floating. She looked up and blinked.

Her late husband, Parviz, stood by the doorway of her office. He gazed at her lovingly, then opened his arms.

No, not yet! Shiraz mustered all her strength and gripped Morris’s arm. “Noor,” she whispered.

Morris’s eyes glistened with tears. He nodded grimly. “I’ll keep her safe. You have my word.”

Satisfied she’d done everything she could for her daughter, Shiraz Rahman took her last breath and stepped into her husband’s arms.

Giveaway

Print Copy of Rumi and the Retribution, $10 Amazon giftcard – 1 winner each!

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

https://bit.ly/RumiRetributionTour

About the Author

I was born to a diplomat and housewife in Tehran-Iran then whisked across the globe to whatever country my parents had been assigned to.

Raised to appreciate various cultures, landscapes, languages, and viewpoints, my life was one grand adventure until a revolution took place in my country and turned our lives upside down.

Between then and the age of eighteen I had experienced both the joy, freedom, and magic our world offers as well as wars, deprivation, and oppression.

My undergraduate studies were in the Middle East and my post graduate studies were at the Sorbonne University in Paris, France.

So, when did I become a writer? Books had always been my greatest friends, teachers, refuge, and the inspiration to forge my own future.

In college I realized I wanted to write engaging mysteries and thrillers. At the same time, I wanted to give readers more than a story. I wanted to share the rich beauty of Persian literature as well as that of other cultures.

For that I embarked on a twenty-two-year journey, traveling to various countries, and experiencing life while establishing a successful career.

Gabriel McKnight and his first story had been on my mind for several years yet it wasn’t until my mid-forties that I picked up the proverbial pen. The time had come to share my stories.

The next step was making my dream come true. I queried several agents and one glorious day in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic my wonderful literary agent reached out to me with an offer for representation. She took my story to publishers and before I knew it, we had a publishing contract –and here we are.

Today, I live in Oklahoma City, USA with my family and two dogs. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s the power of words. Words can heal, teach, entertain, inspire, and evoke change. I hope you enjoy Gabriel’s adventures as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

Author Links

Website: https://poonehsadeghi.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61557188217131

X: https://x.com/SadeghiPooneh

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/poonehsadeghi_/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Pooneh-Sadeghi/author/B0D7DPZ2VD

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/50396878.Pooneh_Sadeghi

The Moldy Orange Bandage Book Tour

As much as we may love our families and friends, they possess the ability to drive us crazy!

The Moldy Orange Bandage:

Playbooks and Short Stories

by Lirio Blanco Show

Genre: Literary Fiction

As much as we may love our families and friends, they possess the ability to drive us crazy!

In this pair of theatrical playbooks (with a few short stories as an added bonus), two family-friendly plays for tweens and up showcase two different dramas.

In The Moldy Oranges, married life between an American husband and his Latin immigrant wife never proves dull . . . especially when the mother-in-law lives under the same roof.

And then, when their trusted neighbor requests a mysterious brown bag be hidden in their closet, it provides the trigger for family secrets, suspicion, and intrigue.

What is in the brown bag? A diary? Stolen jewelry? A secret detonator for a kitchen stove, perhaps?

Based on the events of Atlanta’s 2014 ice storm, a group of middle school girls are trapped in their after-school classroom, seemingly abandoned by the last faculty member, who flees to protect her own family during the crisis.

Three girls and the class bully must learn to cooperate for survival until help arrives in The Box of Bandages.

From architect/author Lirio Blanco Show, these stories provide a peek into family life with an in-law, stranded girls struggling to cope with a bully, as well as a handful of short animal stories . . . some based on true events, some completely fiction. Who dares to say which is which?

The answers lie within…

Amazon * BookLogix * B&N * Bookbub * Goodreads

Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Moldy-Orange-Bandage-Playbooks-Stories-ebook/dp/B09J67P5D5

BookLogix: https://shop.booklogix.com/product/the-moldy-orange-bandage/

B&N: https://valsec.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-moldy-orange-bandage-lirio-show/1140257810?ean=2940162476467

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/the-moldy-orange-bandage-playbooks-and-short-stories-by-lirio-blanco-show

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59203907-the-moldy-orange-bandage

Book Trailer:

EXCERPT:

Terry the Chipmunk

Terry the Chipmunk was running through the mead-ow when he caught a glance of beautiful acorns in the distance.

He was hypnotized by their beauty. The acorns were fat and shiny. They captivated Terry’s eyes. He did not waste time to run and start filling his cheeks with these attractive acorns.

His two cheeks were so puffy, and they got puffier, puffier, and puffier, until they both looked like a pair of furry water balloons.

However, Terry wanted these acorns all for him-self. . . So he started to plan how to conceal them inside his cave.

Realizing his neighbors would return soon, he became frantic, his eyes swelling with the emotion of owning these marvelous acorns.

Venus, one of his friends, approached him and he tried to run and hide from her. Curious, she chased him for some time until she cornered him against a tree root.

Terry was so afraid to share his nuts that he pressed his teeth together protectively to hide them . . . tighter, tighter, and tighter until—Snap! Crack! Ping!

Tiny pieces of his teeth began to chip off. Hearing a desperate yelp from Terry, Venus tried to get a better look.

Somehow, she convinced him to open his mouth. Not only did the shiny acorns fall to the cavern floor, but tiny pieces of pearly white inci-sors, the two front teeth Terry had been so proud of, tumbled all over the ground.

Terry kneeled down in disbelief and cried and cried and cried in his distress, sobbing “What a pain, oh, what a pain!”

Feeling compassion for her friend, despite his greedy behavior, Venus tried to calm Terry down.

Terry couldn’t stop crying until, suddenly, he realized among the spilled acorns, he saw all that was left of his beloved incisors. He held his head with his two paws

in disbelief and scrambled to rapidly retrieve his trea-sures. This time Venus clutched a few in her own paws to challenge his attention.

She held one paw out, and Terry hesitated. Venus smiled at him warmly, and when Terry saw her teeth reflecting the radiant sun-light, he remembered his own lost teeth.

Terry dropped the few acorns in his grasp and his fingers touched his naked gums with the realization that he had lost some-thing far more precious than a few acorns . . .

He had lost his teeth.Venus explained that, had he not been so greedy by trying to hide the extra acorns—more than he could have ever eaten all winter—he would never have bro-ken his teeth.

“But don’t worry, Terry,” she continued soothingly, patting his quivering paw with her own, “Dr. Drill, the Chipmunk dentist, will fix your teeth.”

Terry replied, now calm, “Thanks Venus . . . but will you take me to him?”

“Of course,” Venus said. “But next time, Terry, you have to remember—when we give to someone, we are entitled to receive as well.”

Giveaway

Giveaway

$10 Amazon

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

https://bit.ly/MoldyOrangeBandageTour

About The Author

Albalis Vargas-Smith, a.k.a. Lirio Blanco Show, is an architect, painter, muralist, and writer from Panama.

She received her undergraduate and graduate degrees in architecture from Universidad Autonoma de Centroamerica in San Jose, Costa Rica. In addition, she received a Bachelor degree in Fine Arts from Auburn University, Montgomery.

She has more than twenty years of experience in architecture, having worked both in Montgomery, Alabama, and the Atlanta area.

She has done theatrical scene and set design as volunteer work for community theatre groups. Back in July 2016, Albalis went solo as an entrepreneur, architect, and painter, founding the Vargas-Smith Studio.

The reason? To spend more time with her daughter. In 2020, she decided to finish a series of backburner short stories and theatrical plays.

One of the theatrical plays is presented in this book. Currently, Albalis lives in Johns Creek, Georgia, with her daughter, husband, her dog, Toni, and a precious bird, Ruperta.

Website * X * Instagram * TikTok * Etsy * Goodreads

Author Links

Website: https://www.albalis.com/

X: https://x.com/Lirioblancoshow

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lirioblancoshow/

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@lirioblancoshow

Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/shop/LirioBlancoShow

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21880276.Lirio_Show

Frist Drive Book Tour & Giveaway

Grab your hat, step into your boots, and strap on those spurs. Your cow pony is saddled up and ready to ride the trail from San Antonio to Abilene.

First Drive

A Seph Vermillion Western Adventure Book 1

by David Fitz-Gerald

Genre: Historical Western Adventure Fiction

Grab your hat, step into your boots, and strap on those spurs. Your cow pony is saddled up and ready to ride the trail from San Antonio to Abilene.

Seph Vermillion grew up dirt poor. As long as he can remember, he’s been pushing a plow and arguing with a mule.

A couple of times a year, a trio of bandits ravage the family farm and make off with their savings.

Pa never returned home after the war. Seph’s siblings have been gone so long, he doesn’t remember what they look like.

When Ma dies after a long illness, Seph trades the family farm for a horse named Sheriff. The kid next door tells Seph about the Deatherage Longhorn Cattle Ranch.

The allure of adventure beckons. They partner up and hit the trail. Lacking skills, they are the last cowboys hired and agree to work for half pay.

The outfit’s top hand, Stoke Moreland, pranks, taunts, and threatens Seph. Why does the seasoned cowboy seem intent on driving him off?

Seph doesn’t know much about self-defense, but he is tired of being a victim and feeling violated. How long can he turn the other cheek?

The trail is fraught with hazards from perilous river crossings to the mother of all stampedes.

When they realize they’re being tracked, followed, and hunted, a growing sense of doom overwhelms the fledgling outfit of cowboys who are still wet behind the ears.

The outlaws that plagued Seph’s past have followed them and they are determined to take the herd.

Their plan is simple: pit the cowboys against each other, pick them off one by one, and stampede the beeves.

Since they left San Antonio, the drovers have looked forward to whooping it up at the end of the trail.

That was before somebody began killing cowboys. Now, Abilene seems like an impossible dream. Will anybody make it to the end of the trail?

Grab your slicker, fetch your bedroll, and swing up into the saddle. Sign on with the Dagger D, Angry R brand—First Drive is calling your name.

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Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/First-Drive-Vermillion-Western-Adventure-ebook/dp/B0D3JM8LYC

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/first-drive-a-seph-vermillion-western-adventure-by-david-fitz-gerald

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/213012434-first-drive

Character Profile – Meet Lullaby and Yodel

In First Drive, James “Lullaby” Funderburk and his older brother, William “Yodel” Funderburk, are more than cowboys. They anchor the Deatherage outfit with wisdom, music, and their unshakable bond.

The brothers hail from Springfield, Illinois, where their father worked for the bosses’ dad. But it was their Granny Matilda, with her firm hands and unyielding spirit, who left the deepest mark on their hearts and minds.

At 19 and 20 years old, these young black cowboys carry the wisdom of storms weathered and lessons learned beyond their years.

Lullaby is the outfit’s spiritual compass, a calming voice of faith and wisdom. When the cowboys need a steadying presence, they turn to Lullaby for a thoughtful prayer or a soothing hymn.

Yodel, by contrast, is quieter, often letting his harmonica speak for him. He teases his brother when the mood strikes, but his rare words carry weight.

Together, they embody balance: Lullaby’s steady faith and thoughtful guidance complemented by Yodel’s restless energy and mischievous heart.

One stormy night on the trail, as the firelight danced and the wind roared, Lullaby shared a memory with his fellow cowboys—a story shaped by Granny Matilda’s wisdom and the lessons of his youth.

The boys were quiet, listening intently as Lullaby began to speak, his deep voice loud enough to carry over the wind, but steady.

Back when I was just a kid, about eight or nine years old, we lived up in Springfield with Granny Matilda. She was a strong woman, not just in her hands, but in her spirit too. One night, there was a storm so fierce, I thought it might tear the house right off its foundation. Wind howlin’, lightning flashin’, and rain hammering the roof like it had a grudge. We were scared—me and my brother, Billy-Goat, though he never would have admitted it.

Granny lit a single candle. I remember it like it was yesterday. She set it down in the middle of the room, and she made us both sit there with her. The wind rattled the windows, and the whole house creaked, but she just kept her eyes on that flame.

“Don’t pay that storm no mind,” she said. “Look at the center of the flame.” And I did. I stared right at it, and the more I looked, the more I saw how steady it was, even when the wind outside tried to shake everything else. “That’s where the fire’s strongest,” she told me. “No matter how wild things get, the center holds.”

Billy-Goat, though, he couldn’t sit still. Always fidgeting, tapping his foot. Granny smiled at him, passed him his harmonica, and said, “Play me something, Billy Goat. You know you got music in you.” And sure enough, he started playin’. The storm didn’t seem to bother him much after that.

Granny had a way with music. She could sing a lullaby that would put you to sleep faster than a long day in the saddle, but she’d also yodel when she was feeling lighthearted, just to make us laugh. And that night, she did both—softly hummin’ a lullaby one minute, lettin’ out a little yodel the next. It was like she was remindin’ us that no storm could take away what we held inside.

By morning, the storm had passed, and Billy-Goat, with that quiet grin of his, teased me, sayin’, “You keep staring at that flame, Jimbo. One day, you’ll be puttin’ folks to sleep while I’m playin’ tunes for ‘em.” He didn’t say much, but when he did, it stuck with you.

Lullaby paused, letting the memory linger before adding:

I learned a lot from Granny that night. The storm didn’t stop, but I found my peace in that old flame, just like she said. I’ve carried that lesson with me ever since. Don’t matter how rough it gets. As long as you hold onto what’s steady, you know where you belong.

His words settled over the group like a warm blanket, drawing the cowboys closer to the flickering fire and to each other.

The brothers’ shared upbringing shaped them into complementary forces on the trail. Lullaby’s faith keeps the crew grounded, while Yodel’s harmonica fills the silences and lifts heavy hearts. Their music helps quiet the beeves, and their balance calms restless souls.

Whether leading the outfit in prayer, lightening the mood with a tune, or sharing Granny Matilda’s wisdom, the Deatherage outfit would not be the same without these musical brothers.

Even as storms rage and danger looms, Lullaby and Yodel remind their trailmates to find their center—where the fire burns strongest—and hold steady no matter what comes.

**FREEBIE ALERT!**

**Get the freebie prequel Farewell to Poesta Creek here!**

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Excerpt

The sharp crack of gunfire sliced through the air, jolting Seph Vermillion from a daydream. He sat up tall in the saddle. The skin on his forearms prickled. A familiar punch detonated in his gut. That blast in his belly signaled danger.

His ear twitched, and he blinked rapidly.

The first shot was followed by several more, each one closer than the first.

Seph glanced down at the buttstock of his rifle. His father called the Hawken Uncle Yves, but Seph never knew his grandfather’s brother—or why his father had named it after his long-departed uncle. He considered drawing the gun from its scabbard.

His heart thundered in his chest. He glanced at his partner, Slaw. The look on his friend’s face mirrored his own sense of dread.

They had hoped to avoid trouble on their journey to San Antonio.

The sound of pounding hooves on the trail behind them grew to a rumbling thunder. With an urgent nod, Slaw signaled a detour off the trail.

Seph dug his heels into the side of his claybank dun, a fast horse named Sheriff, and dropped the lead rope on his pack mule. Immediately, Seph was on the heels of his partner’s horse, a dapple-gray called Win, short for Winter.

Dirt chunked from Win’s hooves, pelting Seph. Seph hunched over Sheriff’s neck and squinted, hoping to keep the gravel from stinging his eyes.

As they raced across rugged terrain, Seph spared a glance over his shoulder. Dread coiled in his belly at the sight of three familiar figures in hot pursuit. The approaching riders hooted, hollered, and howled.

These weren’t random bandits. Seph knew these skunks all too well. He couldn’t count the times they had raided the Vermillion family farm.

They’d gallop into the barnyard, help themselves to whatever they wanted and ride away, heckling and cajoling. Seph was always left to deal with the aftermath.

But this time was different. Seph was no longer a helpless victim. Never again, Seph told himself. He gritted his teeth, urging Sheriff onward. Determination flowed through his limbs, and Sheriff lengthened his strides.

He was thrilled to own a horse that loved to run.

** And look out on the horizon for book 2 riding in soon! **

Dead Heat

Coming May 2025

PreOrder Here!

Giveaway

$20 Amazon

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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About the Author

David Fitz-Gerald writes westerns and historical fiction. He is the author of twelve books, including the brand-new series, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail set in 1850.

Dave is a multiple Laramie Award, first place, best in category winner; a Blue Ribbon Chanticleerian; a member of Western Writers of America; and a member of the Historical Novel Society.

Alpine landscapes and flashy horses always catch Dave’s eye and turn his head. He is also an Adirondack 46-er, which means that he has hiked to the summit of the range’s highest peaks. As a mountaineer, he’s happiest at an elevation of over four thousand feet above sea level.

Dave is a lifelong fan of western fiction, landscapes, movies, and music. It should be no surprise that Dave delights in placing memorable characters on treacherous trails, mountain tops, and on the backs of wild horses.

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Candy Crone Book Tour

Candy Crone is a Christmas Short Story standalone in the bestselling Hawthorne University Witch Series.

Candy Crone

The Hawthorne University Witch Series Book 8

By A.L. Hawke

Genre: Paranormal Holiday Fantasy

Candy Crone is a Christmas Short Story standalone following Shadow Cast in the Hawthorne University Witch Series.

While I’m enjoying a spicy caramel apple surprise at our local ice cream parlor, an old lady in rags rambles nonsense about candy canes to children waiting for Santa.

That distracts me from prepping my young friend Cat for her college interview at Hawthorne University.

Christmas turns into creepy Halloween when all the local children, including Cat, disappear in the woods.

Bryce and I search our forest but become spellbound. All this voracious casting heralds the arrival of a new witch in town. The Candy Crone.

As the Hawthorne Witch, I hold great power, but with my unborn baby kicking, the witch exploits my sins and vices through gluttony.

Am I nothing more than my appetites and power as the Hawthorne Witch? Or can I accomplish something greater? If I can’t sort my stuff out, Cat, my unborn baby, Chandra, and all these innocent kids living in Hawthorne are toast.

Cadence Hawthorne returns in this Christmas novella taking place after Shadow Cast, book 6, in The Hawthorne University Witch Series. Candy Crone is a complete self-contained novella not ending in cliffhangers. Some spoilers cannot be avoided, but the story is a STANDALONE book that can be enjoyed without reading the preceding novels.

Content Warning: Candy Crone contains profanity, adult situations and, of course, witchcraft.

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Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DJGHH8JK

Audible: https://www.audible.com/pd/Candy-Crone-Audiobook/B0DM6YWR52

Chirp: https://www.chirpbooks.com/audiobooks/candy-crone-by-a-l-hawke

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Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/candy-crone/id6727005098

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Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=DyIlEQAAQBAJ

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Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/candy-crone-by-a-l-hawke

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/219877138-candy-crone

Excerpt:

“Cadence! Cadence!”

Bryce and I spin around in the direction of the shouting. That was Cat’s voice!I’m forced to squint as the sun’s rays open again through a gap in the trees. But then Cat stops crying for help.

Light shines over our dirt path, winding through the trees, and I see more breadcrumbs strewn along the ground. I don’t follow the path.

Instead, I walk off the trail and start gathering large fallen branches in the bushes. I pile the thickest ones and start forming a five-pointed star.

“What are you doing, Katie?” Bryce asks.

“I don’t know. I remember doing this in my dream. All this happened before, in the dream…or…I foresaw it happening. You and I first spotted breadcrumbs. So I built this sigil as a signal and as a refuge during the nightmare. I think the headmaster’s right, this witch is very powerful. She, or whoever’s possessing her, is attacking us with powerful magic. I feel like I have to build this circle for protection.”

And I drag another stick along the ice, forming a circle surrounding my pentagram. Then I gesture at my work.

Bryce nods, but then he freaks me out when he covers his eyes, squinting over my left shoulder.

Turning in the direction of his gaze, I see a bright golden glow. The light is heralding a small cottage among the trees.

The breadcrumb trail ends at a walkway surrounding the cottage, which has two windows with shutters and a chimney. It’s as if the cottage has always been there, hidden in the woods.

Two large red poles with white stripes by the entrance appear to be the size of people. They look like huge peppermint candy canes. And beside the peppermint sticks, in the snow, are two gingerbread-like statues about half my height.

The top of one of the peppermint sticks forms the outline of a girl’s face. But her expression is frozen, motionless, like a statue. An icy pathway of shiny red and green candy tiles leads to the front door.

The door and the shutters are composed of a brown cake-like substance. Gingerbread? White patches on the walls form a thick plaster. On the plaster brush marks stick out in sections, reminding me of frosting.

Soft red and green gems embedded in the white plaster, covered in crystalized sugar kernels, reflect the golden sunlight.

Gumdrops or sugar plums. Chocolatey-brown drippings fall from the rooftops, draining into chocolate pools. And the roof is made of a cinnamon red candy–like surface.

We walk slowly along the candy path. Bryce runs a finger along the white plaster beside the door. It’s not solid, and it’s not plaster, it’s like a thick white goo.

“Frosting?” Bryce asks me with a nervous chuckle.

I nod and run my finger along the wall too. I bring the goo to my nose. It smells so sweet and delicious.

“This has to stop,” snaps Bryce. “This sick witch is controlling us like in a fairy tale. And . . . I feel drowsy, as if I’m dreaming, Kate. I think she’s putting a spell on us.”

How can she not be? We’re standing in front of a gingerbread house.

I nab a large crystalized green gumdrop the size of my palm, stuck to the white frosting, and bite into it. It tastes so good! It’s soft, full of granules of sugar, with a wonderful tangy sweet lime. And the best part is the consistency. The gob sticks in my mouth like chewing gum.

“Cadence, what are you doing!”

He tries to snatch it from my fingers, but I pull it away. I don’t know why I’m eating it, but I am. It’s like I’m compelled to eat it. But it tastes sooo good. I don’t know how Bryce is stopping himself. I’m so hungry.

“It tastes really good, Bryce,” I say with my mouth full. “Wow. You should try some.” Then I dip it in some of the wall plaster and offer him some. “Try it, babe. Just take a bite.”

“Growly, growler. Growly, growler.”

Giveaway

Giveaway

$20 Amazon

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

https://bit.ly/CandyCroneTour

About The Author:

A.L. Hawke is the author of the bestselling Hawthorne University Witch series.

The author lives in Southern California torching the midnight candle over lovers against a backdrop of machines, nymphs, magic, spice and mayhem.

A.L. Hawke writes fantasy and romance spanning four thousand years, from pre-civilization to contemporary and beyond.

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Website: https://alhawke.com/

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Eye Of The Nomad Book Tour

A young prince begins his quest for purpose in this epic first installment in the War of Fear Historical Fiction Trilogy

Eye of the Nomad

War of Fear Book 1

by Umberto Nardolicci

Genre: Historical Fiction

#1 New Release in Historical Asian Fiction

Based on actual events surrounding Genghis Khan’s death squad of special operators, known as The Mangoday, this historic saga immerses the reader in a spellbinding tale of life, love, and revenge that will leave you breathless…

Book I, Eye of the Nomad, so begins the legend of Yasotay, a gifted young prince whose search for purpose takes a dramatic turn saving an illiterate nomad from captivity. He embarks on a hero’s journey far from home to learn the true meaning of life. Murder, kidnapping, and revenge soon find Yasotay in a thrilling race against time to save someone he loves from a fate worse than death.

Author Umberto Nardolicci takes the reader to the 12th-century Eurasian Steppe in this heart-pounding tale of adventure.

What readers are saying:

“A superbly written and researched tale of high adventure and deeply felt family and tribal ties.”

-Goodreads Reviewer

“Have an interest in historical fiction? War of Fear is a must-read… The character development and portrayal of the times in which the characters lived make for an exciting and wondrous read. The stage is set, the anticipation palpable; I am very much looking forward to reading the next book in the series.” – Goodreads Reviewer

“This book truly kept me on my toes. The writing was so vivid and descriptive that I felt like I was physically present in each scene.” – Amazon Reviewer

“Eye of the Nomad is a riveting story that will keep you hooked from its beginning through to the last page. The story not only offers intrigue, heroism and passion, it also presents an incredible history lesson into one of the most mystifying and exciting periods of human existence.” – Goodreads Reviewer

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Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0DLT2YJP6

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/eye-of-the-nomad-war-of-fear-book-1-by-umberto-nardolicci

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/212062260-eye-of-the-nomad

Book Trailer:

Excerpt:

Jin, Capital of Zhongdu, late spring, 1165 CE

Feet spread shoulder-length apart, Emperor Shizong, dark-haired and clean-cut, peered down at the ornate stick in the grip of his delicate, privileged hands.

“I am intrigued by this…this child and his potential,” proclaimed Shizong, appearing relaxed and focused on playing his game of chuiwan.

The eyes of the sixty or so guests in attendance were glued to the emperor’s every move. The tip of Shizong’s tongue slightly protruded from the left corner of his mouth as he concentrated on aligning the f at end of his stick with the wooden ball at his feet.

He was comfortable performing in front of a crowd. His next move was to strike the ball toward the hole in the lawn, two-and-a-half paces away, all the while trying to converse with Master Chang, which was proving to be a challenge for the priest.

“It’s all very interesting, my emperor,” responded Chang, mildly irritated by the lapses in their conversation. This silly game is a distraction; why did he call me here? “My emperor, I am still unsure how you see this child relating to our efforts?”

Chang’s formal, deep-red daopao robes, tied at his lean waist by a black dadai belt, and his simple black hat topped with a round, silver pin made him appear positively priestly.

Chang was shadowed by his watchful and silent lead assistant, Master Gao, who was nearly identical in appearance and stance. The priest maintained a respectful tone and a pleasing smile with the emperor, but the beleaguered look on his usually kind face betrayed his frustration.

“He’s an amazing young man,” said Shizong. Noticing Chang’s irritation, a wry smile formed on the emperor’s face, whose prickly whiskers ran around his mouth and down to his chin.

He mumbled something as if he were talking to himself. Focusing on the immediate challenge, he lightly struck the ball with his jewel-encrusted stick. The perfectly round wooden ball, not much bigger than a walnut, rolled toward the hole in the lawn six chi away.

The eyes of everyone in attendance were fixated on the ball as it moved across the well-manicured grass toward the impeccably cut round hole, measuring just under a half chi in diameter and depth.

“Go…IN…,” playfully exclaimed the emperor. A smile spread from his pursed lips into a broad grin as the ball approached the hole. The emperor quickly stepped forward in unison as the ball spilled into the hole, making a hollow, cavernous noise as it hit the bottom of the wooden cup.

Light applause erupted in the south garden from the guests gathered to watch their emperor play chuiwan with the elegant Lady Shimo. Only those in his favor were allowed the privilege of observing today’s game in the blistering sun.

The midday shadows sheltered small portions of the south garden, giving shade to just a fortunate few. Today’s parade of gentry, arrayed in their colorful hanfu, comprised almost all the fashionable elite of the 12th-century Jin Empire.

“I think he’s adorable,” purred Lady Shimo, the emperor’s kittenish courtesan whose floral-red, exquisitely designed hanfu hung down in the back, making her look as if she had a tail.

“I asked him about the Buddha, and his answer was, was…precious.” Then, the pretty paramour, whose apple-red cheeks and plump round bottom had won the emperor’s favor, brought her stick back and struck her ball toward the same hole.

“See, I think the fair lady is infatuated with the young boy, and I think you will be too, Chang,” said the emperor as he admired Lady Shimo’s sultry body move sprightly with the roll of her ball directly into the hole at his feet.

“Nice shot!” exclaimed the emperor with a playful grin that showed his pearly white teeth. All those in attendance, while subdued, did show their appreciation with nods, hand gestures, and verbal displays of approval.

“You will see, Master Chang, you will see!” chided the emperor as he retrieved his ball from the hole. “Have you ever played chuiwan?” he asked the priest. “It originated hundreds of years ago; I think it was called buda in the Tang Dynasty…it’s great fun!”

“I look forward to meeting him, my Emperor,” replied the venerated Master Chang, who was one of the North’s seven most respected and venerated Taoist priests. As a disciple of the most revered Master Wang Chong, he was no ordinary priest. “And no, my Emperor, I have never had the pleasure of playing chuiwan.”

“That’s three hits for you and four for me, Wulu. You always win,” Lady Shimo teased in a playful voice. Hearing her use his intimate name, never used in public, made his cheeks flush just a little.

The emperor handed his ornate stick to one of the eunuch assistants among the crowd of those waiting to serve him. Eunuchs attended to his every need, from consoling him on military machinations to wiping his nether region. They were a valued commodity within the imperial palace.

“Oh, here he is now!” exclaimed Lady Shimo loudly, her baby face bubbling and body bouncing while she excitedly clapped her hands in a light and rapid fashion.

Princess Jia and her son Yasotay entered the sun-soaked south lawn through the Moon Gate, a large circular opening in the garden wall covered in tangled green vines and adorned with hundreds of little white flowers.

It was one of the main entrances to the emperor’s residence. A woman, who appeared to be somewhat older than the princess, followed two paces behind the pair, a governess to the young boy.

Princess Jia was radiant in her flowing, floor-length, deep royal blue silk hanfu. The gold-colored piping around its edges matched the intricately folded gold sash around her middle.

Her delicate footwear, also gold with royal blue stitching, rounded out the stunning and well-planned presentation of the twenty-year-old princess as she walked through the Moon Gate. With every intricate detail of her beautiful face, thin lips, large brown eyes, and attire fashioned

to present a very delicate, refined, and contrived look, her natural beauty was almost obscured.

“Princess Jia and young Yasotay, I would like to introduce you to Master Chang,” said the emperor.

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Princess Jia, and certainly you, young Yasotay!” greeted Chang. “I have already heard so much about you.”

While he deeply bowed, a small pair of round hazel eyes, those of the five-year-old child’s, calmly held Chang’s gaze.

The child’s face had been dusted with a thin coat of white powder, making his eyes and their startling hazel hue stand out.

Dressed in a plain cream tunic with a blood-red sash around his middle to match his silk trousers, the young boy responded, “It is also an honor to meet you, Master Chang.”

Princess Jia, reflexively fussing with and straightening the bottom of Yasotay’s jacket, noticed the prized dragon figurine held tightly in the boy’s hand.

Princess Jia hissed and whispered in an aggravated tone, “Yasotay, give me that.” The green figurine seemed enormous compared to his tiny hands. The boy refused, tightened his hold, and looked to his governess instead.

Mana held out her hand and smiled kindly at him with warm eyes, and Yasotay handed the dragon over. Chang looked on at this exchange and smiled.

“Good, now we’ll show what this young boy can do. Let’s see,” the emperor paused, thinking, “What can I ask him?”

Cupping the palm of his hand under his chin with his fingers on his cheek, he was thinking intently, getting straight to the task at hand.

Yasotay looked to Mana, and she responded with a slight affirmative nod and another warm, encouraging smile. The young man turned his attention back to the emperor and Master Chang.

“I have one,” proclaimed the emperor to Master Chang. “I have a question for young Yasotay, which will honor you and your interest in ethical matters.”

Chang bowed in appreciation. Ten, the emperor looked directly at Yasotay and said, “I would like you to recite section seventy-four of the Tao Te Ching.”

“Stand up straight and answer the question!” ordered Princess Jia to her son, who was already standing perfectly straight.

Yasotay took one small step forward and began to speak, “If men are not afraid to die, it is of no avail to threaten them with death. If men constantly fear dying, and breaking the law means a man will be killed, who will dare break the law? The official executioner kills. Substituting him is like substituting the master carpenter who carves; you can do so, but one rarely escapes harm.”

“Very well said. Well done, young man!” responded Chang with a broad smile, mildly surprised that this child, whose appearance and doll-like performance conjured thoughts of a trained monkey, could articulate so clearly from the great works of Master Lao Tzu.

“But do you know what it means?” asked Chang in a jocular tone bordering on sarcasm.

“All creatures fear death,” said Yasotay matter-of-factly. “Master Lao knows that each of us fghts our own internal war of fear. Once cornered by death, both man and beast do but one of two things: fight with fury or cower in fear!”

The young man paused for a moment in thought. “Plagues, wars, and famine make death a daily reminder; people lose faith…they cower.

Master Lao was speaking to those in authority, those leaders who choose to kill deviants, and others who disobey the law.

Leaders must be careful not to create too much fear within those they lead, lest they become immune to death as a deterrent, which makes them more inclined to strike out in response.

Teir yearning for a supreme god and the hope for something or someplace better renews faith! Therefore, the belief in a god is both useful and difficult when managing the affairs of state.”

His young voice changed tempo when he expressed the afterthought, “The closing point, referencing the master carpenter and the executioner, merely argues that those trained and conditioned for killing are best kept to their calling.”

Chang’s long, clean-shaven face began to change color, turning visibly red. His visions of a trained monkey were long gone. Not sure what to say, mouth gaping wide, totally surprised, he instinctively responded, “Yes, well, I agree, interesting, and thank you for that!”

“He’s a bit of a know-it-all,” proclaimed the emperor, breaking up the awkward moment. “But I believe that if you are building this library of all known knowledge, as you put it, to discover some supreme singular…”

“My Emperor!” interrupted Chang, speaking over him. One of the eunuchs drew his breath in loudly at this breach of protocol. No one ever interrupts the emperor.

“Yes, I know, Chang, secrecy and all, but someone like young Yasotay here could be a valuable addition to our efforts.” The emperor did the signature twirl of his chin whiskers with the side of his left index finger.

“Your staff seems less than satisfactory for this effort! Have you considered bringing on others?” asked the emperor, giving Yasotay an affectionate pat on the back while extending a dubious glance at the less-than-satisfactory Gao.

The emperor’s slight was received loud and clear by Chang’s principal assistant, who just stood there, silently observing their interactions. His teal-colored daopao, typical Taoist attire, was aged and slightly faded but with perfect folds and creases.

“Yes, Emperor, I understand your point,” said Chang with a nod, not actually comprehending the point or even thinking about an answer. Still, the bewildered look on his face revealed much. Chang was struggling to understand what he had just witnessed with this child.

“He is still too young,” said Princess Jia hesitantly. “The emperor must be talking about once he is of age for such things.”

“Yes, obviously, Jia, I’m not looking to pull the baby from the breast,” the emperor conceded.

After expressing an odd look of surprise and confusion with his brow furrowed, he continued, “It seems that for now, Master Chang will have to rely on understudies who are hopefully smart enough to understand what we are handsomely paying to collect.”

Then, as an additional intentional insult, the emperor mocked Chang, whispering, “…and, more importantly, for what purpose we labor.”

“How old is he, four or five?” asked Chang incredulously.

“He was five just two weeks ago,” said Princess Jia.

“Five years old!” Chang hesitated for a moment to bring his emotions under control. “Young Yasotay is many years away, and I would certainly welcome him when the time comes, Emperor…I deeply apologize for any misunderstanding.”

Chang’s long face softened. “But if there is nothing further, I must take my leave.” Chang bowed deeply and awaited the emperor’s dismissal.

The emperor feigned a nod of assent and quickly turned away, which told the priest, You are fine, leave. Chang bowed for the last time toward Princess Jia and Yasotay.

Then, giving the boy one long, last look, he slipped out quietly with his shadow, Gao, trailing closely behind.

“I had heard of this child, but I wasn’t expecting THAT,” whispered Gao to Chang, dumbfounded, as they walked quickly through the Moon Gate and out of earshot from the gathering.

“What was that?” Chang exclaimed in a low, exasperated tone, seemingly speaking to himself. “That child spoke as if he possessed the intellect of an ageless master! His tone and the confidence in his voice sounded more like those of a very mature and learned person!”

“Who is he?” asked Gao, whose low tone and mannerisms seemed to replicate Chang’s, just in a younger version.

“He is the second cousin to the emperor, Princess Jia being the emperor’s first cousin.”

“Who is his father?” asked Gao, “that child looks different!”

“I don’t know.” Chang’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Princess Jia’s husband died soon after she was wed. All I know is she left Zhongdu for the port city of Pingzhou after her husband’s death and returned a year later with his child.”

“His facial features look a little odd,” added Gao, “he almost looks foreign.”

Chang ignored this comment. “That had to be some sort of trick,” mused Chang out loud. “I could swear I’ve read a similar opinion of Master Lao’s work.”

“Are you saying he memorized some obscure commentary on section seventy-four of the Tao Te Ching?” asked Gao. “Who would do that?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying. Maybe the emperor gave him the question in advance,” said Chang.

The priest hesitated momentarily, then continued, “Gao, I want you to talk to our friends and find out as much as you can about this child prodigy. Who his father is, his history, everything.”

“Yes, Master Chang, I will attend to it!”

“What of the emperor breaking protocol and mentioning our project in public?” asked Gao.

“What of it?” replied Chang sharply. “He can tell what we do to everyone if he likes.”

“I don’t trust those around him! Tey latch on to him like parasites stealing crumbs from the sides of his mouth,” said Gao.

“Those fools know what we do, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything!”

Giveaway:

$10 Amazon

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

https://bit.ly/EyeOfTheNomadTour

About The Author:

Born in upstate New York, Umberto Nardolicci is a computer engineer and businessman.

After completing service with the US Navy in 1986, he worked as an engineering consultant at Johns Hopkins University, Applied Physics Laboratory in the Advanced Systems Design Group.

He received his degree in Computer Science and Information Systems from the State University of New York (ESC) and, after some brief independent consulting “gigs,” co-founded Systems Made Simple (SMS) in 1991.

He managed daily operations and P&L responsibilities within SMS for 20 years as Chairman of the Board, President, and principal founder.

During his tenure, SMS evolved from a ‘garage startup’ to an industry-leading Federal Health IT Company with employees nationwide and over 350 million in sales.

SMS achieved INC 5000 honors six years running, with INC 500 honors in two of those years until its “Entrepreneurial American Dream” sale to Lockheed Martin in the Fall of 2014.

During his five-year forced sabbatical from Health IT, he focused his full-time efforts on writing War of Fear.

He put a great deal of research into this effort, which actually spans over 40 years, and began with his initial foray into martial arts and the teachings of Eastern philosophies.

Nardolicci is a disabled veteran, like his father and one of his two sons. He also has numerous relatives and friends who are veterans or currently serving in the military.

He is committed to supporting veteran organizations such as the Wound Warrior, Tunnels2Towers, Nardmoor, and the DAV.

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Author Links

Website: https://waroffear.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/waroffeartrilogy

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/waroffear

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Umberto-Nardolicci/author/B0DNQCTLF7

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/49485233.Umberto_Nardolicci

Vincent’s Women Book Tour

What if everything we think we know about Vincent van Gogh is all lies?

Vincent’s Women:

The Untold Story of the Loves of Vincent Van Gogh

by Donna Russo

Genre: Historical Biographical Women’s Fiction

Donna Russo’s ‘Vincent’s Women’ is the untold story of Vincent’s loves: how they shaped his life, his art, and his death.

It writes against the ‘myths, ‘ exploring the possibility that none of them are true.

It is the only novel to bring into question his sexuality, how he lost his ear, who he lost it for, and how he might have died, all through the eyes of a woman. We learn of Her; we learn all of it through Her.

The story is guided by Johanna van Gogh Bonger, Vincent’s sister-in-law, as she decides to reveal the truth about Vincent to her son.

We are then taken on a journey through Vincent’s life, each section bringing a pivotal moment of Vincent’s life alive while showing us the part she played in bringing it about.

Between each woman, our guide, Johanna, gives us the transitional periods, right up to his death, which is now in question.

Hundreds of the nearly thousand letters between Vincent van Gogh and his brother Theo, now considered one of the greatest documents of the human experience, were used to help construct this novel, its narrative, and dialogue, especially the dialogue of Vincent himself.

Vincent van Gogh is one of the most well-known artists of all time. The world knows of his madness, traumas, and suicide.

But what if all that we know isn’t true? What if this knowledge is based on rumors and nothing more? What if his true story is vastly different when based on factual material and forensic information?

What if the truth of Vincent’s life-his madness and his genius-is defined by his never-ending search for love?

Advance Praise:

“Arresting…masterful… a provocative and compelling look at one of history’s most enigmatic artists.” -Publishers Weekly

“A symphonic novel that sheds new light on an elusive genius.” -Kirkus Reviews

“Vincent’s Women represents historical fiction at its best…astute, thought-provoking, and revealing.” -Midwest Book Review

“One of the most wonderful books about an artist I have ever read.” -Stephanie Cowell, Author of Claude and Camille: a novel of Monet, and Marrying Mozart. Recipient American Book Award.

“A powerful and satisfying read.” -Lynn Cullen, Bestselling Author of The Woman with the Cure and Mrs. Poe

“The writing and dialogue are all so well done, and the use of a fictional narrative makes it all feel authentic. Very highly recommended.” -Readers’ Favorite 5-star Review

“This novel is not just a book; it is a masterful painting in itself, portraying the vibrant, volatile, and often tragic life of one of history’s most renowned artists.” -5-Star Amazon Review

“This is historical fiction at its best…a tour de force!” -5-Star Goodreads Review

“This is easily the best book I’ve read this year!” -5-star NetGalley Review

A Foreword Reviews Editorial Selection

FINALIST Next Generation Indie Book Awards

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Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CF96T2B9

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/vincents-women/id6459922073

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/vincents-women-donna-russo/1143906069?ean=2940167612396

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/vincent-s-women

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/vincent-s-women-by-donna-russo-morin

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/200300623-vincent-s-women

Book Trailer:

Excerpt:

JOHANNA VAN GOGH-BONGER

1924

The Netherlands

“You think you know him. You don’t. You think you know what happened to him. You do not.”

“Mother!”

My son sputters. Tea spills as he drops his cup and saucer on the curly-legged table beside him.

It’s not well done of me. To dive into it. But I saw his eyes glance up to the portrait, the self-portrait of his uncle, Vincent van Gogh.

My son and I were speaking of his work and mine. In mine, it is there. All I have found. All I have discovered. The string, the true thread of such surprising colors. The colors of women, of love, and of lust.

He starts to rise to his feet.

“Please don’t,” I beg. I am not ashamed to. I will beg for more. And soon.

But he is kneeling before me as I quiver in my chair. His father’s greenish-blue eyes bore into me. I sigh from the comfort of them. My hands wring at the fear I’ve put in them.

I cup his face in my veiny hand. His face, long like his father’s as well. But capped by the startling red hair of his uncle.

“I am not long for this world. I feel it, my son,” I say. I know. Of that, there is no fear. Only of what I leave behind. “And when I am gone you will learn the truth. I’d rather you heard it from me.”

“Now, Mother…,” that long head shakes. I can’t stop my grin from forming as his shaggy hair flutters. He’s in need of a barber. I look at this young man as a child, I know. But he is that. My child. My only child.

“It is all right,” I assure him. Trying desperately to for it is my truth. “I am almost ready. I will be with him, with them, again.”

I am the widow of Theo van Gogh. I am one of the women who shaped Vincent van Gogh’s life. Just one of them. I am the woman who allowed the world to discover the genius of Vincent’s art.

Many come to me looking for answers. I have yet to give the true ones. Not even to him. I’ve guarded them. Their pain is too great. But the time has come. I can guard them no more.

I rise. Old bones creak. I groan.

My son, Willem, as he likes to be called, rises, and takes my arm. I lead him into my study.

Vincent’s art covers my walls, piles in corners. The Van Gogh family letters—some I’ve translated for I speak many languages; some I’ve read but not yet translated—stalagmites of varying sizes at various places. The odd pairing of my husband’s old, carved desk with the straightly cut modern chair behind it can barely be seen.

“This will all be—”

“You know I have little interest in all this,” Willem says, sounding like a child.

“Yes, yes,” I tut. “I know your mind bursts only when it sees numbers…your engineering.”

Now I hear Willem chuckle softly. He knows the true depth of my pride.

He helps me sit on one side of the beige brocade settee. I pat the other with an expectant look.

The time is drawing closer. I find it harder to swallow. I have no time for preamble. There is no time. I tire so easily these days.

“You will read my diary.” Once more I startle him. Unintentionally so. If there is a proper way to do this, to confess others’ sins as well as my own, I do not know it.

“Your diary?” He turns to face me. “I never knew you kept one.”

He is curious now. I’ve presented him with a puzzle. Perhaps it will help.

“I’ve kept one almost the whole of my life.” My gaze drops into my lap. “Save for the time I was married to your father.” A marriage that lasted not even two years.

Would he ask why I didn’t write during those years? I hope not. The answer is a tangle of love and despair.

No, it is better I tell him. Tell him the all of it. No matter how it will test me. How it may hurt. I will tell him the truth. I will pray he loves me still.

“There is the story of your uncle, of Vincent van Gogh, the story that the world has taken as truth.”

Willem has always worshipped the uncle—the man he was named for—that he knows only from my memories. The ones I’ve shown him.

“They say he went mad because of a certain kind of disease.” I try not to blush. I lose the battle. “It is not what caused his madness. They say he cut off his ear for a prostitute. He did not cut it off for her. It may be that he did not cut it off himself.

“And they say he killed himself.” I bang my moist hand on the fabric between us. “He…did…not.”

Willem gasps, flinches. I feel the cushion below me flutter with his jerky movements.

“But how can…why have you not—” He tries to interject.

I pay attention to none of it. I can’t. For once begun, this spewing of truth cannot be stopped. I can only hope he will be my son—that I will live in the same place in his heart—when the telling is done. I am, at last, ready.

“I will tell you, oh, yes, I will. I will tell you the truth of him…the truth of Vincent. Me…and Her.”

Giveaway

$20 Amazon

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

https://bit.ly/VincentsWomenTour

About The Author:

Donna Russo is the bestselling author of historical fiction, women’s fiction, and fantasy including the international bestselling Novels of Newport: Gilded Summers and Gilded Dreams as well as her latest release, Vincent’s Women.

Her critically acclaimed work has been praised with multiple awards and has received a starred review in Publishers Weekly.

For more awards and reviews, please visit https://www.authordonnarusso.com/books).

Additionally, Donna worked as a model and actor since the age of seventeen, working on such projects as Martin Scorsese’s The Departed and Showtime’s Brotherhood.

Donna is also an award-winning screenwriter, ghostwriter, and painter. She holds two degrees from the University of Rhode Island. Her two sons—Devon, an opera singer; and Dylan, a chef—will always be her greatest works.

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