FEATURED AUTHOR: LILLIAN BRUMMET

ABOUT THE BOOK

This collection of recipes is the ultimate guide to utilizing fresh fruits and vegetables from backyard gardens to farmer’s markets - the freshest, purest source of food we can draw from. Loaded with lots of interesting tid-bits of historical and nutritional information, this book is more than just a recipe book - it is a way of treating yourself to the healthy, delicious rewards of one small garden.

Eating healthy is not always the easiest with the temptation of fast, easy food all around us. Sourcing your food from either your own backyard garden or a farmer’s market is the best, freshest way to ensure your food is full of nutrients and flavour. The next step of turning it into something inviting and appetizing is offered on every page of “From One Small Garden” - a collection of over 300 recipes developed over a span of 30 years of research and development. This book brings it all to the table in a pleasantly delicious way.


Award-winning authors Dave and Lillian Brummet began experimenting with recipes and compiling them into this book in the early '90's while living in the Okanagan valley in British Columbia, Canada. Over the next 3 decades the manuscript traveled with them to the Boundary region where they resided for 12 years, and then on to their permanent home in Creston. All through these travels, the Brummets re-tested the recipes, perfecting them for this collection.


The couple experimented with a vegetarian diet for a few years, went vegan for a short time, and finally settled down to a more balanced diet that included some animal protein with a huge array of fruits, grains, vegetables, wholesome breads and healthy desserts.


This collection of recipes is the ultimate guide to utilizing fresh fruits and vegetables from backyard gardens to farmer’s markets. Loaded with lots of interesting tidbits of historical and nutritional information, this is more than just a recipe book - it is a way of treating yourself to the healthy, delicious rewards of the freshest, purest source of food we can draw from.


It also has some natural concoctions for your pets, home and garden made from common ingredients in a well-stocked kitchen. You'll find ways to save water, tips for reducing energy costs, and frugal ways to extend your budget by reducing food waste. Learn how to make your own chicken coating, or taco seasoning, air fresheners and cleaning supplies - without the use of harsh chemicals. Reduce your exposure to carcinogenic chemicals and fragrances, save a bunch of money, and cut down on packaging and plastic bottles.
 

Book Details:
Title:  From One Small Garden - Over 300 Delicious Nutritious Recipes
Author: Dave & Lillian Brummet
Genre: Cookbook / health
Print length: 275 pages

 

LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT WITH LILLIAN BRUMMET

 
A few of your favorite things: my husband, 3 dogs, and cat are somewhat important to me (she laughs), but when it comes to things, then I would have to say my computer and my cell phone are high on the list. My gardens are my joy, and so they too are high on the list. 
Some things you need to throw out: we spent the last 10 years slowly downsizing and organizing our belongings one drawer, one shelf, one box at a time and have pretty much let go of everything we won't be using. The garage/workshop areas could use a good go through, perhaps, as it can get busy there. If I were to name an emotion that I would like to let go - that would be my anxiety and stress.
 
Things you need in order to write: now that I have younger dogs I find getting YouTube positive mood/meditation music on—and not only do I perform better in the office, but the fur-kids calm down, play nicely by themselves with their many toys laying around the house, and sleep a lot. That is SUPER helpful. :) I almost always turn the phone notifications and volume off.
Things that hamper your writing: things that hamper me are numerous. Clutter is one—having a mess within my eyesight is too distracting, I have to get up and put it right before I can concentrate.
 
Easiest things about being a writer: is there an easy part about writing? (She laughs.) Writing is a challenging career choice - the term "writer" can be many things from a copywriter to an editor, offer services like coaching or workshops, advance other writers like PR and Publishing Agents do, which also requires creative writing skills. We might freelance - querying articles one at a time to numerous publications, juggling dozens of articles and dozens of queries every week so that we have a steady income. Perhaps we are staff writers or contributing writers . . . and receive a fairly steady paycheck. Maybe we are bloggers or . . . published authors. Perhaps our specialty lies in the product or book review genre.
Hardest thing about being a writer: once a writer is ready to publish - the hardest part comes in with deciding how this particular written piece will be delivered to the reader. Will we create a series, selling subscriptions where they receive one chapter at a time? Will it be in video? Will you publish audio or any of the numerous other ways to get the book to the reader?
Knowing who your audience is key: having a general idea where they go and what they do when they are online and the times they are likely to be online. Perhaps in the case of a cookbook or a how-to manual, your audience may only desire print copies, and so you may decline producing it in any other format. Maybe your audience is purely visual and so the video idea is where you need to go.
 
Things you love about where you live: Creston (Canada) is a small city in the heart of the Kootenay Region of BC (Canada). It is a lovely, pristine, mountainous, lake-ridden, natural environment - for the most part. The people here really do care, manage and stand up for their clean, natural lands and waters. There's a ton of nonprofits and it is said that up to 60% of the population volunteers in some way - either formally with an organization or individually, on their own.  There is a wonderful circle of food producers here too, which is a pleasant experience.
Things that make you want to move: the things that bother me are the very high property taxes and the limited city services (we still don't have curbside recycling). Summers can be very hot i.e. right now we are experiencing 38˚ C weather. ugh. Shopping is limited here, but there are larger communities a couple hours away.
 
Words that describe you: tenacious, dedicated, self-disciplined, clean, green, gardener, wife, dog-lover, cook, baker, writer, blogger, author, friend . . .  
Words that describe you but you wish they didn’t: anxious, nervous, afraid, worried, stressed, tired . . .  sometimes cranky (shhh, don't tell anyone - ha ha).
 
Favorite foods: I am a fan of soup and stew, smoothies, home-baked breads/pancakes/waffles, salads and chocolate - hold the ants. :) I love my own versions of ethnic foods like mild Thai or East Indian curries and Asian stir-fries, Mexican enchiladas, Greek salads, Italian sauces. 

Things that make you want to throw up: aside from tuna, orange roughy and cod—I will not eat most seafood, especially the bugs like lobster, shrimp . . . or slimy oysters, poor little octopi, etc. I also will not eat chocolate covered bugs like ants. Cashews and lamb are definitely off my list.


Favorite music: I could be listening to classical guitar one moment, Janis Joplin and Led Zeppelin the next moment, meditation positive vibe music and blues—lots and lots of blues or just listening to Dave drumming on, well, everything :)
Music that makes your ears bleed: I'm definitely not a fan of rap, acid rock, punk rock, old-fashioned country, most modern pop, busy jazz or opera. Pretty much everything else is exciting to me.  

Favorite beverage: I do love dark coffee with cream - but limit myself to only 3 - 4 cups per day now. Or I'll have Ginger Ale with white rum or vodka, or Corona beer. In the winter, I usually drink a lot of tea, brewed from our own dehydrated herbs usually. I really do enjoy lemonade in the summer.
Something that gives you a pickle face: I don't drink pop except if I'm making a wine spritzer (wine made from the juiced berries and fruits we grow in our gardens . . . mixed with Canada Dry Ginger Ale).

Favorite smell: my favorite scent is no scent at all—clean smells that way (or it should). My second favorite would have to be flowers like lavender, peony, iris . . . the smell of rain, my husband after a shower lol and the girls after a bath . . . the scent of freshly washed/dry dogs is lovely. I'm a big fan of fresh bed linen— it is so cozy when it is fresh.
Something that makes you hold your nose: Eucalyptus, cigar smoke, the smell of fresh tar, cat litter, canned pet food, cat barf . . . mold - they all make me gag.  

Proudest moment: my proudest moment was attaining an award from the Recycling Council of BC for our "outstanding work with the media to raise awareness about waste reduction." That was super cool.
Most embarrassing moment: . . . well, actually, I'm embarrassed a lot, however I'll share a recent experience that would fit into the category as a crazy bad one. First, let me say that I'm shy and struggle with mild dyslexia and an anxiety disorder . . .  I am afraid of spiders (I'm sure you can picture me doing the frantic spider web dance in the garden now) and I'm a bit on the clumsy side. That said, I get to enjoy a lot of embarrassing moments. My face has always been naturally flushed and rosy and so when I get warm, nervous, embarrassed—well my face just flares right up. Now that I'm in my 50's, I'm getting little veins in the areas that were always flushed. Yay. So knowing that—I'll tell you about an interview I did on a vodcast—which was, in this case, a live-stream podcast that utilized video. We had just released the new revision of Purple Snowflake Marketing - How To Make Your Book Stand Out In A Crowd (May 2021), and while the host fired the questions my way, I was also able to see myself on the computer screen. So I see the dogs playing and moaning at each other in the background, and it is getting warm this time of day, and I can see that I am flushed. Noticing that, I get embarrassed and get more flushed. Then I have a glorious hot flash (yay menopause lol)—and I'm really very flushed at this point. But the show had to go on, and so I had to pretend I was not aware and keep going. Luckily the hosts were exceptional and the interview experience itself was quite pleasant . . . in fact the hosts bought a copy of the book I just mentioned. Sadly it had just come out in a new edition and I had not received my author copies until a few days later . . . and there were a few errors, minor, but there just the same . . . and I was triple embarrassed about that. We fixed the minor grammar and typo mistakes immediately of course. I then reached out to apologize and explain to the hosts—in case they noticed the errors in the copy they had ordered. I thought 'how much worse could this have gone?" Holy, it was tough for me to sleep for a few nights. So there - now you all know my most embarrassing moment as a writer :)


 


ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Lillian and her husband Dave are the team behind Brummet Media Group, high-fiving cheerfully as they pass each other on the way from checking off one item or other from their long to-do list. After moving to their dream location (in the Kootenay Region of BC, Canada), they have been methodically converting the abused lot over to the little park it has become—and in doing so have gained certification with bee, pollinator and wildlife organizations. Their home, too, has become energy efficient via the many upgrades they have done. Their business includes Dave’s music studio and percussion accessory products and graphic design work as well as numerous award-winning non-fiction books and popular blogs.
 
Connect with the authors:
 Website  |  Facebook  |  Amazon 

Buy the book: 
Amazon USA  |  Amazon Canada  

 

FEATURED AUTHOR: DOUGLAS GREEN

ABOUT THE BOOK

Born a runt, Rascal is destined to be an underdog. Despite what looked like an unbreakable bond with the daughter of the family who bred her, Rascal’s devotion is discarded when she finds herself left roadside, with nothing but a few pieces of kibble to help her survive. Abandoned and alone, Rascal must learn to fend for herself and embark on a harsh and dangerous journey through the mountain wilderness of Southern California. Along the way, she encounters strangers who teach her about the good and bad of humans. But will she ever find a home that lasts? A Dog of Many Names is a courageous story of survival, seen through the eyes of an unforgettable dog, struggling between her greatest needs — to find her own strength, and to love and be loved.

Book Details

Title: A Dog of Many Names

Author: Douglas Green    

Genre: dog fiction

Publisher: Circuit Breaker Books (July 6, 2021)

Print length: 177 pages

LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT INTERVIEW WITH DOUGLAS GREEN

A few of your favorite things: my dog (duh!), my 1967 convertible Mustang, my record collection, my new book, and the chocolate in my kitchen!
Things you need to throw out: the scads and scads of old bills and papers I’ve saved because I’m not sure what I’ll get “in trouble” for not having saved for decades.


Things you need in order to write: peace and time.
Things that hamper your writing: lack of peace, lack of time!


Things you love about writing: everything, as long as my mind is clear.
Things you hate about writing: when I compare my writing to others’. I had a relative (first cousin twice removed) who released an acclaimed novel near the end of his years. When my mother phoned to congratulate him on the accomplishment, he responded, “Well it’s not Huckleberry Finn.”  I know that illness too well!

Easiest thing about being a writer: the physical act of writing.  Nothing to it - we learned it in kindergarten or so, and typing is even easier.  Alone we can write whatever we want, so no problem.  

Hardest thing about being a writer: getting it out there. And especially, the choices one has to make in doing so. The feature film I directed took a strenuous year to make. I then spent five years devoted to recuts, festivals, screenings, courting reviewers, etc.  Mostly fruitlessly.  (In comparison, I’m having a great time with this book – answering your questions is a hell of a lot more fun than cold-calling Miramax was!)


Things you love about where you live: Los Angeles. (I have to write about what it was like before the pandemic, the way we expect it to be again soon): the variety of people I interact with, the ability to get to great everything (from beach to skiing, from opera to tacos, from chiropractor to black box theater).
Things that make you want to move: the traffic that comes from that variety of people knowing how great things are here!

Favorite foods: sushi, chocolate, peaches, martinis.
Things that make you want to throw up: bad barbecue (I’m from Kansas City originally, so the bar is set high!)

Favorite music: so much. Love early rock and roll, big band, grand opera, big fan of Bob Dylan, Linda Ronstadt, Roy Orbison, the Ink Spots. Got weepy when I recently learned Tony Bennett has Alzheimers.  (It’s no accident that I named my last dog Shirelle and this one Aria!)
Music that make your ears bleed: there’s no type of music I hate, but I do get bored of anything after a while.  So I’d like a decade of not hearing “Benny and the Jets,” “Piano Man,” or “Hotel California,” so I could enjoy them again!

Favorite beverage: I love many cocktails, but I have to go with European Drinking Chocolate – not cocoa, but the thick-as-molasses jolt of hot ecstasy (and yes it’s just as sexy as that sounds!)

Something that gives you a pickle face: a few years back I directed a play written by a friend, in which the characters shared a drink called a Kir Royale, made of champagne and Crème de Cassis. If you’ve never tried one – believe me, it was much more fun watching the characters drink them in the play!

Something you’re really good at: complimenting and encouraging dancers and athletes.

Something you’re really bad at: dancing and sports.


Something you wish you could do: dancing and sports!
Something you wish you’d never learned to do: accept failure at them so easily. (As my favorite comic strip, Pearls Before Swine, said recently – I might be paraphrasing – “Failure is not an option. In my case, it’s a lifestyle!”)

Things you’d walk a mile for: love primarily. Though I’d exchange the Camel quote for Bruce Springsteen’s “Baby I’d drive all night just to buy you some shoes,” or Bob Dylan’s “I could hold you for a million years, to make you feel my love,” or Rod Stewart’s “I'd walk a million miles across broken glass or a red hot Arabian desert if I could just have one night in your long brass bed!”
Things that make you want to run screaming from the room: well, since you mention it, I stopped smoking about 15 years ago so the smell of cigarettes now nauseates me – including Camels!

Things to say to an author: your actual emotional reaction to their work, whatever it is.  Last week I met a woman who described reading The Teachings of Shirelle, saying at the first she just kept asking herself “Is he just going to talk about this dog and nothing else?” and then found herself falling in love with the dog, and then crying unstoppably.  I told her she was everything I’d written it for.

Things to say to an author if you want to be fictionally killed off in their next book: “It’s a nice book (play, movie, etc.) but next time you should do something with passion.  You know, like Oliver Stone.”

Things that make you happy: the laughter of children, my dog’s tail wagging circularly, rain.

Things that drive you crazy: drivers who stop at green lights, acclaim for bad writing, people choosing to believe ignorance is a virtue,

Proudest moment: The first public reading of my book The Teachings of Shirelle, to an audience of about eighty people – in a bookstore so we were surrounded by great authors as well!
Most embarrassing moment: oh the competition is fierce!  Of what I’m willing to admit – speeches I gave that didn’t work, romantic rejections, and showing up to work in torn or muddy clothes (I’m pretty clumsy).

Most daring thing you’ve ever done: as has been said for millennia, there’s a fine line between courage and stupidity. So the most daring but not stupid thing I’ve ever done? Probably a three-way-tie between putting-all-my-eggs-in-the-one-basket of making a feature film, changing careers when that didn’t work out, and pouring my heart into my first book and self-publishing it.

Something you chickened out from doing: some years back, I dated a woman who, for her 30th birthday, arranged for a skydiving party. I told her I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  Joined with them afterwards, taking a lot of flack for my cowardice. A few weeks later, she tripped on a sidewalk, and the fall broke her leg in three places.  I supported her in every way I could, but felt – not vindicated, but pretty damned glad I’d made the choice I did!

The last thing you did for the first time: answer your questions.

Something you’ll never do again: not know or appreciate you!  Thanks for all this!

ALSO BY DOUGLAS GREEN

The Teachings of Shirelle: Life Lessons from a Divine Knucklehead.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Douglas Green is the author of the widely-acclaimed 2015 book The Teachings of Shirelle: Life Lessons from a Divine Knucklehead, and runs the advice website AskShirelle.com, based on the wisdom in the book, which he was taught by his ridiculous dog. Released from decades in the entertainment business for good behavior, he directed the film The Hiding Place, and now works as a psychotherapist in Los Angeles, specializing in children and teenagers.



Connect with Douglas:
Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads  |  Instagram 

Buy the book:
Circuit Breaker Books  |  Amazon  |  Barnes and Noble

FEATURED AUTHOR: D.M. BARR

ABOUT THE BOOK

Carra's memoir-writing class teaches seniors to resolve the regrets of their past. But to win over elder attorney Jay, will she follow her own advice?

Carraway (Carra) Quinn is a free-spirited English major confronting an unreceptive job market. Desperate for cash, she reluctantly agrees to her realtor stepmother's marketing scheme: infiltrate a local senior center as a recreational aide, ingratiate herself with the members, and convince them to sell their homes.

Jay Prentiss is a straitlaced, overprotective elder attorney whose beloved but mentally fragile Nana attends that center.

More creative than mercenary, Carra convinces Jay to finance innovations to the Center's antiquated programming. Her ingenuity injects new enthusiasm among the seniors, inspiring them to confront and reverse the regrets of their past. An unlikely romance develops.

 But when Carra's memoir-writing class prompts Jay's Nana to skip town in search of a lost love, the two take off on a cross-country, soul-searching chase that will either deepen their relationship or tear them apart forever.

Book Details:
Title: The Queen of Second Chances
Author: D.M. Barr
Genre: sweet contemporary romance
Series: Regret Thee Not series, book 1
Publisher: Champagne Books, (June 7, 2021)

Print length: 204 pages

TWENTY QUESTIONS/ONE WORD INTERVIEW WITH D.M. BARR

1.     Where is your cell phone? Handbag.

2.     Your hair? Auburn.

3.     Your workplace? Couch.

4.     Your other half? Upstairs.

5.     What makes you happy? Massages.

6.     What makes you crazy? Hypocrisy.

7.     Your favorite food?  Lobster.

8.     Your favorite beverage? Milkshake.

9.     Fear? Death.

10.  Favorite shoes? Sandals.

11.  Favorite way to relax? Reading.

12.  Your mood? Curious.

13.  Your home away from home? Tahiti.

14.  Where were you last night? Bed.

15.  Something that you aren't? Inauthentic.

16.  Something from your bucket list? Maldives.

17.  Wish list item? AudiA8.

18.  Where did you grow up? Brookville.

19.  Last thing you did? Write.

20.  What are wearing now? Smile.


 

 EXCERPT FROM THE QUEEN OF SECOND CHANCES

Chapter One

I couldn’t take my eyes off the man. He came barreling into the recreational center at SALAD—Seniors Awaiting Lunch and Dinner, Rock Canyon’s answer to Meals on Wheels—as I sat in the outer office, awaiting my job interview. He was tall, but not too tall. His expensive suit barely concealed an athletic physique that fell just shy of a slavish devotion to muscle mass. Early thirties, I estimated, and monied. Honey-blond curly hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, chiseled features, gold-rimmed glasses, and of course, dimples. Why did there always have to be dimples? They were my kryptonite, rendering me powerless to resist. I nicknamed him Adonis, Donny for short, lest anyone accuse me of being pretentious. He was the stuff of every girl’s dreams, especially if that girl was as masochistic as yours truly. Men like that didn’t fall for ordinary girls like me, gals more Cocoa Puff than Coco Chanel, more likely to run their pantyhose than strut the runway. I leaned back on the leather couch, laid down my half-completed application, and prepared to enjoy the view. Then he opened his mouth, and the attraction withered like a popped balloon.

“I want to speak to Judith. Now. Is she here?”

The sharpness of his voice put Ginsu knives to shame. It was jagged enough to slash open memories of my mother’s own barely contained temper when refereeing sibling disputes between Nikki and me. Well, at least until she prematurely retired her whistle and skipped town for good. The attendant working the main desk looked fresh out of nursing school and had obviously missed the lecture on dealing with difficult clients. She sputtered, held up both hands in surrender, and retreated into the administration office, reemerging with an older woman whose guff-be-gone demeanor softened as she got closer. Her name tag read, “Judith Ferester,” the woman scheduled to conduct my interview. She took one look at Donny, sighed as if to say, Here we go again, and plastered on her requisite customer service smile.

“Mr. Prentiss, to what do we owe the honor of this visit?” she asked in a tone sweet enough to make my teeth hurt. “Judith, I thought we had this discussion before. I trust you to take care of my nana, but day after day, I discover goings-on that are utterly unacceptable. Maybe we shouldn’t have added the senior center, just limited SALAD to meal delivery. Last week you served chips and a roll at lunch? That’s too many carbs. This week, I find someone is duping her out of her pocket change. No one is going to take advantage of her good nature, not under my watch.”

I half-expected him to spit on the ground. Was such venom contagious? I didn’t want my prospective employer in a foul mood when she reviewed my application. I really, really needed this job.

“Mr. Prentiss,” Judith answered, her patronizing smile frozen in place, “I assure you that your championing of our senior center was well founded. The reason your nana isn’t complaining is that she receives the utmost care. She is one of our dearest visitors. Everyone loves her.”

“Tell me then, what is this?” Donny—scratch that, Mr. Prentiss—drew a scrap of paper from his pocket and flung it onto the counter. I leaned forward to make out the object of his disdain. Then, thinking better of it, I relaxed and watched as this melodrama played itself out. Judith glanced down at the paper.

“This? It’s a scoresheet. They play gin for ten cents a hand. We monitor everything that goes on here; your grandmother is not being conned out of her life savings. You have my word.”

Prentiss shook his head so vigorously his gold-rimmed glasses worked their way down to the tip of his perfect nose. He pushed them back with obvious annoyance. Even when he was acting like a jerk, his dimples were captivating. Would they be even more alluring if he smiled? Did he smile…like, ever?

“It’s not the amount that worries me. It’s the act itself. Many seniors here are memory impaired. How can you condone gambling between people who aren’t coherent? Could you please keep a closer eye on things? Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll have to take my nana—and my support—to the center I’ve heard about across the river.”

Without waiting for Judith’s response, Prentiss departed as brusquely as he’d arrived. Ah, the entitlement of the rich. Walk over everyone, then storm off. He never even noticed my presence. Just as well, considering my purpose for being there. Even if I wasn’t sorry to see the back end of his temper, his rear end was pleasant enough to watch as he exited, I noted with a guilty shudder. Judith shook her head, rolled her eyes, and let out a huff. Then she noticed me.

“I’m so sorry you had to overhear that. I’m the director here. How can I help you?”

“I’m Carraway Quinn. Everyone calls me Carra. I have an appointment for the recreational aide position.”

Judith typed a few keystrokes into the main desk’s computer. “Ah yes, Ms. Quinn. Carraway, like the seed?”

“Something like that,” I said with a smile. They always guessed, but no one got it right. Some man would, one day. That’s what my mother said a million years ago, when she still lived within earshot. One man would figure it out, and that’s how I’d know he was the one for me. Not that it mattered right now. I had bigger problems than finding a new boyfriend.

“Tell me, would I have to deal with people like that all day?” I tilted my head in the direction of Prentiss’s contrail.

“What can I say? He loves his nana.” Judith shrugged, staring at the door. “Though I’ve never seen him lash out like that before. He’s usually so calm.” She quickly shifted into public relations mode. “Jay Prentiss is one of our biggest contributors. It’s only because of his generosity that we have this senior center and can afford to hire a recreational aide.” She beckoned me into the inner office. “Shall we proceed?”

I followed, but I had my doubts. I belonged in the editorial office of a magazine or on a book tour for my perennially unfinished novel, not at a senior center. This job was my stepmother’s idea, not mine. Calling it an idea was being generous; it was more like a scheme, and the elderly deserved better than someone sent here to deceive them. I was the embodiment of what Jay Prentiss worried about most. The interview lasted less than ten minutes, as if Judith was going through the formalities but had already decided to hire me. I was to start my orientation the following day. I shook her hand and thanked her, all the while wishing I were anywhere else. Afterward, I wandered into the recreation area, where I’d be spending most of my time. The room was dingy, teeming with doleful seniors watching television, playing cards, or staring off into space. A few complained among themselves about a jigsaw puzzle they were unable to finish because the last pieces were missing. I wondered how many had lost their spouses and came to the center out of loneliness, their children too busy with their own lives to visit. It was a heartbreaking thought. Jay Prentiss was complaining about carbs and gambling when he should have been concentrating on ennui. The seniors’ dismal expressions told me they were visiting SALAD more out of desperation than opportunity. It was clear they needed an injection of enthusiasm, not some aide looking to unsettle their lives. It came down to my conscience. Could it triumph against my stepmother’s directives and my plummeting bank account?

--- Excerpt from The Queen of Second Chances by D.M. Barr.  Copyright © 2021 by D.M. Barr. Reproduced with permission from D.M. Barr. All rights reserved.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

WHO IS D.M. BARR?



By day, a mild-mannered salesperson, wife, mother, rescuer of senior shelter dogs, competitive trivia player and author groupie, happily living just north of New York City. By night, an author of sex, suspense and satire.



D.M. Barr’s background includes stints in travel marketing, travel journalism, meeting planning, public relations and real estate. She was, for a long and happy time, an award-winning magazine writer and editor. Then kids happened. And she needed to actually make money. Now they're off doing whatever it is they do (of which she has no idea since they won't friend her on Facebook) and she can spend her spare time weaving tales of debauchery and whatever else tickles her fancy.



The main thing to remember about her work is that she is NOT one of her characters. For example, as a real estate broker, she never played Bondage Bingo in one of her empty listings and has never offed anyone at her local diet clinic.



But that's not to say she hasn’t wanted to . . .

Connect with the author:    

Website  |  Blog  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads

Buy the book:
Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble
 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

FEATURED AUTHOR: BARRY SHORE

ABOUT THE BOOK


The Joy of Living: How to Slay Stress and Be Happy is your passport to being healthier, wealthier, and happier in a time of unease and misgiving. Part journal, part memoir, part activity book, it's a timely guide to slay stress, beat burnout, and cope with life, post-pandemic. Author Barry Shore reveals eleven strategies that you can use to relieve stress and be happy . . . no matter the circumstance. Imagine standing up in the morning fully healthy and in the hospital that evening completely paralyzed—and not from a car accident or a spinal injury, but from a rare disease. You’ll join the journey as Barry moves from paralysis to now swimming two miles per day, six days a week. All with a SMILE.

Book Details

Title: The JOY of Living: How to Slay Stress and Be Happy

Author: Barry Shore (known as the “Ambassador of Joy”)
Genre: healthy living, emotions and mental health, journal/workbook, memoir, motivational self-help, nonfiction, self-improvement.
Publisher: Joy of Living Institute Publishing (May 11, 2021)

Page count: 132 pages

LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT WITH BARRY SHORE

A few of your favorite things: waking up in the morning, seeing my wife, singing , dancing, swimming.
Things you need to throw out: LOL. Tough Q: magazines over 11 years old; clothes over 8 years old that haven’t been worn more than twice in 8 years!! Tie Dye T-shirts . . . (We just moved from our home of 42 years so this was a REAL exercise . . . 18,000 pounds moved . . . 6,320 pounds thrown or given away!)   :)

Things you need in order to write: quiet, 55 minutes of dedicated time, pen(cil) and paper as well as keyboard, a good swim.

Things that hamper your writing: not quiet, snatching time, no pen(cil)/paper handy.

Things you love about writing: the flow of the muse, the mot juste, the voice.

Things you hate about writing: nothing, because hate doesn’t work with expressing . . . the “block” that just won’t budge is the worst part . . . writing drivel . . .

Easiest thing about being a writer: touching someone’s heart/head.

Hardest thing about being a writer: touching someone’s heart/head.

Things you love about where you live:  LOL!! Just moved after 45 years in southern California minutes from the beach to . . . the desert! Henderson, Nevada, minutes away from Las Vegas strip )OMG!) What we LOVE about being here: NEW community; small town feel (Henderson IS a small town despite the proximity to the mighty Strip), our son/daughter (in-law) and two grandsons ages 4 and 1; lovely home; great aquatic facilities close by, and friends, some old and looking forward to making new ones.

Things that make you want to move: we decamped from Venice Beach CalIifornia, one of the hippest most-visited places in all of SoCal. We left because of family and the political environment which invited vagrants and mentally unstable people to camp on the beach and in neighborhoods!! The past 2 years were very challenging. :(

Things you never want to run out of: love, joy, my wife’s smile. 

Things you wish you’d never bought: the time share. The boat. The fractional ownership in a race horse.

Words that describe you: JOY-FUl. Sense of wonder (that of an 8-year-old). Giving and generous. Helpful. Caring. Exuberant.

Words that describe you but you wish they didn’t: Loud. Boisterous. Mr-Know-All.

Favorite foods: artichoke with my wife’s special white sauce. Morning tea with Turmeric/Ginger/Cinnamon (my own blend). Special breakfast prepared lovingly  by my wife Naomi (btw . . . of 44 years!) with yogurt, dates, gigs, blueberries, almonds, sunflower seeds (carefully arranged.) :)

Things that make you want to throw up: durian. Double cheeseburger.

Favorite music or song: Song: “Stuff that Works” Guy Clark, “Hallelujah” Leonard Cohen covered by almost any artist,  “Always be Humble and Kind” Tim McGraw, “Whatta Wonderful World” Louis Armstrong, “Feelin Groovy” Simon & Garfunkle . . . Basically upbeat positive lyrical songs/music.

Music that make your ears bleed: “heavy metal,” atonal ‘compositions,’ loud without a reason.

Favorite beverage: Raspberry Lime Rickey.

Something that gives you a pickle face: sour pickles!!

Favorite smell: jasmine or lilac.

Something that makes you hold your nose: too much patchouli.
 
Something you’re really good at: LAUGHING.

Something you’re really bad at: (currently) running.

Something you wish you could do: play piano or any instrument WELL.

Something you wish you’d never learned to do: Great Q: have thus far in life found that everything has been of benefit somehow . . .  

Something you like to do: visit with a few friends.

Something you wish you’d never done: gone to jail.

Last best thing you ate: my special breakfast.

Last thing you regret eating: the last 5 pieces of watermelon after I KNEW I was FULL.

Things you’d walk a mile for: to see my wife, my kids, and grandkids.

Things that make you want to run screaming from the room: ill-informed people discussing a subject that I KNOW they know little or nothing about.

Things you always put in your books: becoming paralyzed overnight from a rare disease.

Things you never put in your books: jail time.

Things to say to an author: WRITE!

Things to say to an author if you want to be fictionally killed off in their next book: stop WRITING!!

Favorite places you’ve been: Venice Beach from 1975-2019; Amsterdam from 1969-1972; Yugoslavia in 1972-73, Italy from 1971-73; Israel from 1979-2019; Bangkok Thailand from 1979-1999; CapeTown RSA 1996-1999; et al.

Places you never want to go to again: Bulgaria. Russia.

Favorite things to do: read, learn, speak with friends/family, write, make videos about JOY.

Things you’d run through a fire wearing gasoline pants to get out of doing: meetings without an agenda OR meetings with an agenda where the agenda is clearly geared to causing dissension.

Things that make you happy: life, singing/dancing, learning, swimming.

Things that drive you crazy: mean people posing as sweet people.

Proudest moment: swimming one mile on my back after being paralyzed for over 2 years.

Most embarrassing moment: I was in an “adult book store” and a friend walked in!


Biggest lie you’ve ever told: that I won $11,000 in poker game (I won $1,000).

A lie you wish you’d told: that I saved a woman from drowning.

Best thing you’ve ever done: married my amazing wife Naomi.

Biggest mistake: selling most of my stock in my first start up . . . left $25 million on the table!

Most daring thing you’ve ever done: went to Europe in 1969 on a one-way ticket with $200 in my pocket.

Something you chickened out from doing: stealing a Ferrari.

The last thing you did for the first time: shared a YoutTube of Rin Tin Tin with my 4-year-old grandson :) It was black and white and very hokey (I LOVED it growing up). I wanted to see if it could hold his attention for more than 5 minutes . . . just on the edge . . . he’s s used to watching full color fast action “stuff.’ It was very interesting to observe.

Something you’ll never do again: reached out my hand to a cactus to test the needles and learned that it was a JUMPING cactus. My hand was full of needles necessitating a visit to an emergency room. :(

ABOUT THE AUTHOR  

“Ambassador of JOY” Barry Shore is a mental health activist, philanthropist, multi-patent-holding entrepreneur, speaker, author, podcaster, and former quadriplegic. After a rare disease paralyzed Shore from the neck down, he created the JOY of LIVING Institute™ (a platform that teaches people to live in joy, no matter the situation), Keep Smiling (a movement that has reached multiple celebrities and distributed millions of "Keep Smiling" cards worldwide), and Changebowl (a philanthropic platform featured in Oprah Magazine.) Barry's podcast, The JOY of LIVING, is heard globally and has over two million downloads.
Barry’s latest book, The JOY of Living: How to Slay Stress and Be Happy is available on Amazon and Apple Books.

Connect with Barry:
Website  |  Blog  |  Facebook  |  Goodreads  |  Instagram  |  YouTube

Buy the book:

Amazon  |  Apple Books

FEATURED AUTHOR: RUSH LEAMING

 

ABOUT THE BOOK



Set in Charleston, SC, and the surrounding islands, detectives are called to investigate the poisoning of a much-loved 1000-year-old tree only to find evidence of a more brutal crime. From there the story explodes into a fast-paced, multi-character thriller unlike any you've ever read.

Not for the faint of heart . . .

“Dead Tree Tales by Rush Leaming is about a lot more than a dead tree. It’s a mystery. It’s a crime story. It’s a thriller. It’s a powerful comment on today’s society and politics . . . fast-paced, full of action and intrigue . . .  It’s a real page-turner and just a fantastic read.” – Lorraine Cobcroft, Reader’s Favorite

 

Book Details:
Title: Dead Tree Tales
Author: Rush Leaming
Genre: crime thriller
Publisher: Bridgewood (June 8, 2021)
Print length: 440 pages

 

 

TWENTY QUESTIONS/ONE WORD ANSWERS WITH RUSH LEAMING

 
1.     Where is your cell phone? Left.
 
2.     Your hair? Shaved.
 
3.     Your workplace? Home.
 
4.     Your other half? None.
 
5.     What makes you happy? Daughter.
 
6.     What makes you crazy? Q.
 
7.     Your favorite food? Hummus.
 
8.     Your favorite beverage? Water.
 
9.     Fear? Ocean.
 
10.  Favorite shoes? Skechers.
 
11.  Favorite way to relax? Unstressed.
 
12.  Your mood? Mercurial.
 
13.  Your home away from home? Mountains.
 
14.  Where were you last night? Here.
 
15.  Something that you aren't? Young.
 
16.  Something from your bucket list? Antarctica.
 
17.  Wish list item? Hawaii.
 
18.  Where did you grow up? South.
 
19.  Last thing you did? Dishes.
 
20.  What are you wearing now? Glasses.

EXCERPT FROM DEAD TREE TALES

CHAPTER ONE

It was known simply as The Tree; that is what the locals on Johns Island, South Carolina, called it. A Southern live oak born a thousand years ago (some even said fifteen hundred), its gargantuan limbs swirled and stretched as much as two hundred feet in all directions. The lower arms, heavy with age, sometimes sank into the earth only to reemerge. Other branches flailed recklessly in the sky, like some sort of once-screaming kraken turned to wood by an ancient curse.

Generation after generation had protected it. Rising from the center of a former indigo plantation, and now officially known as Addison’s Oak, The Tree had long been a source of pride, even fear, in the surrounding community, as well as James Island, Wadmalaw Island, and the nearby city of Charleston.

But now, The Tree was dying. It was not from natural causes either, not from time, nor gravity, nor the weather.

Someone had killed it.

“Is that a thing?” Detective Charlie Harper asked as he turned his head to look at his partner, Detective Elena Vasquez.

“I think so.” Elena squinted her eyes toward the top of the canopy, the leafy summit shadowed and backlit by the noon sun.

“Arborcide? That's a thing?” Charlie asked again.

An Asian-American man in his mid-twenties wearing wraparound sunglasses stood next to the two detectives. “Yep. You remember that incident a few years ago in Auburn? Toomer's Corner. Crazy Alabama fan poisoned the tree there.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “But I mean legally. Is it legally a crime to do this?”

“Cops were involved there,” the man said. “The guy went to jail. Has to be something. Why don’t you call them? See what they did.” He pulled a pack of spearmint gum from the front pocket of his jeans and stuffed five pieces in his mouth, noticing Charlie watching him. “Quitting smoking. Nicotine gum makes me dizzy.”

Charlie nodded. “Been there.” Six feet tall, with a closely trimmed beard under bright-blue eyes, he walked around the perimeter of the field.

Salt air swirled around him—they were only a couple of miles from the beach—and Charlie realized it was the first time he had been away from the city and out on the islands in months, maybe even over a year.

Elena Vasquez, an athletic five-ten with shoulder-length black hair bobby-pinned over her ears, stood in front of the young man and opened a new page in the Notes app on her iPhone. “So, you’re the one who called about this?”

“Yes. It took some digging to figure out who to contact. I didn’t know there weren’t any police stations out here.”

“That’s correct.” She typed the date 5/19/2015 at the top of the page. “Closest station is the Island Sheriff’s Patrol on James Island, but they don’t handle things like this. That’s why you got us from the city. And who are you again?”

“Daniel Lee.”

She looked up from her iPhone. “Daniel is a nice name. It’s my son’s name, though we call him Danny. Where are you from, Mr. Lee?”

“I’m originally from Maryland—Chesapeake Bay area—but now I live in Charleston. West Ashley. I’m a Ph.D. candidate at the college.”

“College of Charleston?” Elena asked and continued typing.

“Yes. Environmental science. Teach a couple of undergrad classes as well. And I’m president of the local Sierra Club chapter. Our service project for this year has been public park maintenance and cleanup. I came here a week ago and saw that broken limb—”

“This one?” Charlie pointed at a fat twisted branch about the length of a Greyhound bus lying near the base of the tree.

“Yes.”

“Well . . .” Charlie said. “How do you know it wasn’t lightning or something?”

Daniel went over to Charlie and squatted next to the fallen limb. “There are no burn marks. Lightning would leave those.”

“Maybe it’s just old age. Isn’t this thing like a thousand years old or something?”

“Possibly more. It is rotting,” Daniel said. “But not from old age. See this discoloration? The rust-colored saturation of the stump where it broke?”

Charlie leaned in a little closer. “Yes.”

“That’s from poison, from a lot of poison. And you can see spots like this forming and spreading all around the trunk and on other branches.”

Elena stood beneath The Tree, placing her hand on a dark-orange splotch on the trunk. The gray bark surrounding the stain felt tough and firm, but inside the color spot, it was soft and crumbling. “I see it.”

“It’s like cancer,” Daniel said. “The Tree is not dead yet, but it will be soon. I had the soil tested as well as samples from the broken limb. They came back positive for massive levels of DS190.”

“And that is?” Charlie said.

“A variant of tebuthiuron. A very powerful herbicide. Similar to what was used at Toomer’s Corner. Somebody has been injecting the tree as well as dumping it into the ground. Probably for a few months to reach these levels.”

“Injecting the tree?” Elena said.

Daniel pulled them over to the base of the trunk where a ring of jagged holes stretched just above the ground. “Yes. See these gashes? Somebody has been boring into the trunk, then filling it with DS190.”

Charlie took out a pair of latex gloves and put them on before touching the holes in the trunk. “You’re sure this is intentional?”

“Has to be. This stuff doesn’t just appear on its own. It’s man-made. Someone has been doing this.”

“But why?” Charlie asked.

Daniel held out a hand, palm up. “Thus, the reason the two of you are here.”

Charlie shook his head. “I don’t know about this. We usually work homicide.”

Daniel gestured towards the gashes in the trunk. “You have a murder victim. Or soon will. Right in front of you.”

“But it’s a tree!” Charlie said.

Elena looked up from her phone. “Okay, Mr. Harper. Easy.”

Daniel motioned for them to follow as he walked to the backside of the trunk. “There’s something else.” He came to a stop in a patch of grass ringed with dandelion sprouts and pointed to dark-red streaks spread across the blades. “That’s blood, isn’t it?”

Charlie bent down and touched his gloved hand to one of the blades. “Maybe.” He took out a plastic bag and a Leatherman multitool from his jacket. He pulled apart the hinged scissors, then clipped away about a dozen pieces of grass and dropped them into the bag.

“And another thing,” Daniel said and led Elena to a spot about ten feet away. He pointed to a white card lying in the grass. “I didn’t touch any of this, by the way. I didn’t want to disturb the crime scene . . . I watch a lot of cop shows. I know how that goes.”

“Doesn't everyone.” Elena squatted down, taking a plastic bag from her jacket. She used tweezers to pick up the card, muddy and frayed at the edges and turned it over to reveal a yellow cat emoji, just the head, whiskers, and a faint smile, printed on the opposite side. There were no words, just the image.

A strong breeze moved through the leaves of the great tree, a sound like rain showers mixed with groaning as the heavy limbs bent in the wind.

Charlie Harper removed his glove and rubbed the edge of his dark-brown beard. Looking at the massive branches, which did seem like the arms of giants, he began to understand why The Tree was such a big deal. “Have to say, it is beautiful here. Can't believe I've been in Charleston four years and never been here. I should bring Amy. She'd love it.”

Daniel looked at Elena for an explanation.

“His daughter,” she said, then turned to Charlie. “You should. My dad brought me here a few times when I was a kid.”

“Well, you better hurry,” Daniel said.

“There's nothing to stop it?” Elena asked.

“Probably not. I contacted a team of forestry researchers I know from Virginia Tech. They are going to send a team down to look at it, see if anything can be done. I sent a request to the Parks Department to pay for it. If they don’t, Sierra Club will hold a fundraiser.”

Charlie sighed. “Okay. While we decide what to do about this, I’ll call and have some signs and barriers put up to keep the tourists away.”

Elena turned to Daniel. “Thank you for meeting us here. Could you come to our station in the city today or tomorrow to give a formal statement?”

“Sure.”

“Bring copies of the lab work. We gonna find anything when we do a background check on you?”

Daniel shook his head. “No. Just some parking tickets . . . a lot of tickets actually. Parking at the college is a bitch.”

“That it is,” Elena said. “Here is my card if you think of anything else.”

“Thanks,” Daniel said. He stopped a moment as if to say something, then continued toward a white Chevy Volt parked near the road.

Elena looked at Charlie and raised her eyebrows. “So, Mr. Harper, what do you think?”

“Ehh . . . I mean I understand it’s old and rare and special and all that, but it’s a fucking tree. I don’t know anything about trees, do you?”

“No, but . . .”

“But what?”

“I don't know,” Elena said and looked around the field. “My Spidey-sense tells me there’s more to it than just some weird vandalism.” She took a step forward and winced.

“Back acting up?” Charlie asked.

“A bit,” she said.

“Lunchtime anyway. Let’s take a break. I’m starving. June and I got into it again this morning. Skipped breakfast.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Elena swept a strand of black hair behind her ear. She pointed with her chin down a two-lane road to a crooked sign with a faded image of a pagoda: The Formosa Grill. “Chinese?”

“Sure,” Charlie said.

The two of them began to walk toward their gray Ford Explorer when Charlie saw a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. He stopped and knelt in the grass. He used his Leatherman tool to again pry away several blades.

“What is it?” Elena asked.

Charlie’s head bolted upright, his blue eyes narrowing. “Mr. Lee!” he shouted. He pulled another latex glove from his pocket.

In the parking lot, Daniel climbed out of his car and made his way back to the field. “Yes?”

“Mr. Lee, when was the last time you were here before meeting us today?”

“Yesterday morning,” Daniel said.

Elena knelt next to Charlie, looked into the grass, and let a low whistle escape her lips. She used her phone to take a photo.

Charlie used tweezers to pick up a severed finger. Sliced just below the knuckle, the stump crusted in blood, the flesh covered with red ants, it ended with a sharp green fingernail. He looked at Daniel. “Did you happen to notice this?”

Daniel swallowed hard, turning his face to the side. “No. I did not.”

Charlie put the finger in a plastic bag.

Elena looked at him, her wide brown eyes giving him a knowing shimmer. “You interested in this case now, Mr. Harper?”

Charlie didn’t flinch. He stared at The Tree.

***

Excerpt from Dead Tree Tales by Rush Leaming.  Copyright 2021 by Rush Leaming. Reproduced with permission from Rush Leaming. All rights reserved.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rush Leaming has done many things including spending 15+ years in film/video production working on such projects as The Lord of the Rings films.

His first novel, Don’t Go, Ramanya, a political thriller set in Thailand, was self-published in the fall of 2016 and reached number one on Amazon. His equally successful second novel, entitled The Whole of the Moon, a coming-of-age tale set in the Congo at the end of the Cold War, was published in 2018.
 His short stories have appeared in Notations, 67 Press, Lightwave, Green Apple, 5k Fiction, and The Electric Eclectic. He has lived in New York City, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Zaire, Thailand, Spain, Greece, England, and Kenya. He currently lives in South Carolina.
 
Connect with Rush:
Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads
 
Buy the book:
Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble
 

FEATURED AUTHOR: JEFFERY YOUNG

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

Beth Davis and Marjorie Williams were best friends who could not be any more alike. They were both athletic, vibrant and very charismatic. However, as so often is the case, their friendship became strained when life began to move them on divergent paths. While Marjorie succumbed to the temptations of young adulthood, Beth found solace in the teachings of Christianity, and despite Beth’s efforts to save Margorie from her own misjudgments, the two found their friendship crumbling into resentment and heartache.

It’s only when tragedy struck that Margorie began to learn that the superficial nature of popularity and beautiful are illusionary and ultimately finite.  As a family and a community mourns the loss of a young soul, Margorie is faced with how to move on without her friend and contemplates whether Jesus can help her find her way.

Book Details

Title: Beth

Author: Jeffery A. Young  

Genre: coming of age

Publisher: Fulton Books (November 30, 2020)

Print length: 384 pages

LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT INTERVIEW WITH JEFFERY YOUNG

A few of your favorite things: science fiction, documentaries and history programs.
Things you need to throw out: clutter, old magazines.

Things you need in order to write: inspiration, good music, and good equipment.
Things that hamper your writing: TV, distracting people, health.

Things you love about writing: being able to say what is deep in my heart.
Things you hate about writing: writer's block.

Easiest thing about being a writer: there is nothing easy about being a writer.
Hardest thing about being a writer: meeting public demands on me.

Things you love about where you live: I have a lot of memories here of my family.
Things that make you want to move: I miss Florida and the beach.

Things you never want to run out of: medication, toiletries, and basic supplies.
Things you wish you’d never bought: nothing now.

Words that describe you: always striving to be better.
Words that describe you but you wish they didn’t: egotistic, selfish, deceptive.

Favorite foods: Mexican cuisine, Chinese food.
Things that make you want to throw up: extremist people.

Favorite music or songs: old time classic rock, dance music, Latin music; "Aquarius," "Eye of the Tiger."
Music that make your ears bleed: heavy metal.

Favorite beverage: diet cola.
Something that gives you a pickle face: pickles.

Favorite smell: orange blossoms.
Something that makes you hold your nose: raw sewage.

Something you’re really good at: writing.
Something you’re really bad at: math.

Something you wish you could do: math.
Something you wish you’d never learned to do: architecture.

Something you like to do: Watch Chinese films, historical documentaries.
Something you wish you’d never done: hurt a lot of feelings and frequently said the wrong things.

Things you’d walk a mile for: a beautiful girl.
Things that make you want to run screaming from the room: extremist people.

Things you always put in your books: love, music, people with character and bravery.
Things you never put in your books: magic, explicit sex, politics.

Things to say to an author: You now have a voice, use it to do good and make the world a better place.
Things to say to an author if you want to be fictionally killed off in their next book: make my death have meaning.

Favorite things to do: work on my computer.
Things you’d run through a fire wearing gasoline pants to get out of doing: sitting through an objectionable political meeting.

Things that make you happy: love, God, church, beautiful music, peaceful moments.
Things that drive you crazy: ignorant people who think they’re smart.

Proudest moment: when I gave my first sermon.
Most embarrassing moment: going to a costume party and being the only one actually dressed in a costume.

Best thing you’ve ever done: I wrote a book to honor an old friend.
Biggest mistake: I moved out to Tennessee.

Most daring thing you’ve ever done: I stood down a gunman to save a child's life.
Something you chickened out from doing: I’ve never chickened out from anything.

The last thing you did for the first time: drove in 12 inches of snow.
Something you’ll never do again: I’m retired, I’ll never punch a time clock again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jeffery Young is an award-winning writer and Army veteran whose multi-faceted career has included work in the culinary field and in the newspaper industry. Jeffery holds degrees in communication and criminal justice, and his work with AmVets California garnered interest from President Ronald Regan. He is also the author of the book, Tales Out of Church, which is a collection of short stories told by an over-imaginative Catholic priest.   

Buy the book:
Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble

FEATURED AUTHOR: C.L. TOLBERT

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

Emma Thornton is back in The Redemption, C.L. Tolbert’s second novel in the Thornton Mystery Series.

When two men are murdered one muggy September night in a New Orleans housing project, an eye witness identified only one suspect ˗ Louis Bishop ˗ a homeless sixteen year-year-old. Louis is arrested the next day and thrown into Orleans Parish Prison. Emma Thornton, a professor and director of the Homeless Law Clinic at St. Stanislaus Law School, agrees to represent him.

When they take on the case, Emma and her students discover a tangle of corruption, intrigue, and more violence than they would have thought possible, even in New Orleans. They uncover secrets about the night of the murders, and illegal dealings in the city, and within Louis’s family. As the case progresses, Emma and her family are thrown into a series of life-threatening situations. But in the end, Emma gains Louis’s trust, which allows him to reveal his last, and most vital secret.

Book Details:
Title: The Redemption, book 2
Author’s name: C. L. Tolbert
Genre: mystery
Series: Thornton Mystery Series
Publisher: Level Best Books (February 9, 2021)
Print length: 296 pages

 

TWENTY QUESTIONS/ONE WORD ANSWERS INTERVIEW WITH C.L. TOLBERT

1.     Where is your cell phone? Close.
2.     Your hair? Attached.
3.     Your workplace? Home.
4.     Your other half? Home.
5.     What makes you happy? Family.
6.     What makes you crazy? Family.
7.     Your favorite food? Cookies. 
8.     Your favorite beverage? Chai.
9.     Fear? Loss.
10.  Favorite shoes? Flats .
11.  Favorite way to relax? Writing.
12.  Your mood? Content.
13.  Your home away from home? Coffeehouse.
14.  Where were you last night? Restaurant.
15.  Something that you aren't? Pretentious.
16.  Something from your bucket list? Orient-Express.
17.  Wish list item? Vacation.
18.  Where did you grow up? Biloxi.
19.  Last thing you did? Cleaned.
20.  What are wearing now? Sweats.

EXCERPT FROM THE REDEMPTION

CHAPTER ONE

September 9, 1994

8:05 p.m.

Just before dark on the night of his death, Brother Reginald Antoine stepped out of the cottage where he lived. He slammed the door shut to prevent the soggy heat of the late summer evening from invading the front room. Except for occasional river breezes, the New Orleans climate was swamp-like until late October. His exits had become swift and cat-like to avoid escalating power bills and a strain on the house’s only window-unit air conditioner.

He stood on the front porch for a moment, staring at the entrance to the Redemption housing project. All was quiet. No one was in sight.

He was looking forward to the evening. He’d promised to help Alicia Bishop complete forms for a scholarship to Our Lady of Fatima, the top girls’ school in the city. He found himself singing under his breath as he locked the front door.

Most of the kids Brother Antoine worked with never finished school, and he was painfully aware that he’d failed far more than he’d helped. But Alicia’s story would be different. Her graduation would be her family’s first. Clear-headed and determined, much like her Aunt Juanita, the woman who had raised her, she was destined to earn far more than a high school diploma. He believed she was destined for great things.

Brother Antoine surveyed the street familiar to him from childhood. Alicia and her Aunt Juanita lived in an apartment was only a few blocks over, but well within the Redemption housing project. Driving such a short distance would be silly, plus he felt like a little exercise. It was a good evening for a walk, even though no one felt completely safe walking around any neighborhood in the city at night. At least one person had been killed in New Orleans every day that year, so far. Sometimes more. Too many drugs were on the streets. But he didn’t worry about any of that. 

He tucked the bundle of papers he’d pulled for the meeting under his arm and headed out. When he was a kid he’d found the Redemption overwhelming - so vast it couldn’t be taken in, visually, from his porch or from any single location. A crowded jumble of russet brick, broken down porches, and peeling army-drab paint, it stretched across the lower garden district from Magazine Street to the Mississippi River. When he was about six he tried to count the buildings, but gave up when he got lost. Everything looked the same to him back then. When he returned to live at the mission house he realized he’d been wrong. Each place was unique. Every apartment, every stoop, every front door was distinct, because everything inside was different. Every place had its own family, its own problems, its own joys. Every place had its own family, its own problems, and joys. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it until his return.

He passed the community garden planted around the corner from the mission house with its patches of brave sprouts pushing out of the ground. He was proud of that little spot, and equally excited for the people who were involved, especially those few who returned week after week to dig, and prod, and encourage the seedlings to grow. Some of the plants even promised to bear fruit, which was reason enough to celebrate. 

As he walked he could smell urine from the street gutters where drunken men or stoned boys had relieved themselves. A recent rain only added a steamy intensity to the mix, creating a cauldron of odors which would vanish only when the next day’s sunlight parched the streets.

The Redemption was teeming with human spirit, poverty, and crime. It was home to many, but with rare exception, no one chose to live there. And everyone who did, even the very young, understood how fragile life could be.

He walked up the steps to Juanita Bishop’s apartment and rapped on the front door.

***

9:00 p.m.

Sam Maureau pulled his car into the Redemption and parked at a curb at the end of Felicity Street. He was alone. Jackson, his partner, couldn’t come. But Sam wasn’t worried. He checked his watch. He was right on time. Things were under control.

He turned off his lights and, except for the murky glow of the half-obscured moon, was surrounded by a blanket of darkness. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust, but even after he waited, he still strained to see. Most of the streetlights on that block had been shot out, and several apartment windows had been boarded over. He peered in between the last two buildings on the corner for any sign of movement.

Sam kicked aside a beer can as he stepped out of his car. He didn’t expect any trouble that night. Marcus, a dealer who ran the Gangsta B’s, the largest gang in the city, had asked for a meeting to discuss ‘some business’, but they’d never had problems before. Their businesses had always co-existed, side-by-side. Sam had begun selling crack in small quantities ten years earlier, when he was twenty-five, and had remained one of the smaller distributers in the city. He figured that Marcus, who was younger by at least ten years, either wanted to bring him and his territory into the Gangsta B’s, or he wanted to buy him out. He didn’t see the need to change anything right now, unless the price was right. He was making pretty good money. His clients were happy with him. But he didn’t mind talking with Marcus.

Sam patted his jacket pocket. The gun was still there. It never hurt to be careful. He locked his car, checking to make certain nothing was in the back seat. Marcus had asked him to meet around the corner.

Sam made his way across the grassy common area, dodging the few mud puddles he could see reflected in the wan moonlight, to an old iron bench across from Marcus’s grandmother’s apartment where they had met once before. He sat down to wait. The bench hadn’t quite cooled from the daytime heat. The faint breeze from the river ruffled what scant remnants remained of his once luxurious surfer-boy hair and sent greasy paper bags, discarded whiskey bottles, and random debris scurrying across the sidewalk. He absent-mindedly patted his bald spot to make certain it was covered.

He couldn’t see them, but their chatter floated over to his bench. Even though the words were indecipherable, Sam heard three distinct voices. Then he heard Marcus speak.

“Go get Louis.”

Out of habit, Sam felt his jacket pocket again, reassuring himself that his piece was still there. Marcus and one other young man came into view. Sam nodded as they approached.

Marcus was a commanding presence. Tall, and athletic, intricate tattoos of black ink woe across his dark skin, tracing his biceps, and emphasizing his ropy, muscular arms and powerful shoulders. His long hair, pulled back into a pony-tail, flowed down his back. No one questioned his authority.

“We’re gonna wait a minute for Louis,” Marcus pulled out a cigarette from his back pocket and lit it, blowing billowy clouds into the night air.

“Yeah, sure. But what’s this all about?” Marcus ignored Sam’s question and pulled hungrily on his cigarette, blowing smoke rings, refusing to make eye contact with Sam.

Several minutes later a tall young man and a boy who couldn’t have been over sixteen joined them.

“You and your people gotta go. You’re right in the middle of my territory. I’m claiming it, and I’m taking it – now. Ain’t nothing you can do about it.” Marcus threw down his cigarette and stomped it into the grass.

Sam stood up to face Marcus. “Fuck you, Marcus. You don’t need my three blocks. I’ve had it for years, and its outside your territory anyway. You can’t just take it.” Sam clenched the fist of his left hand and shoved his right hand in his jacket pocket where the gun was hidden.

“That’s where you’re wrong, mother fucker.” Marcus grabbed another cigarette and rammed it three times against the pack. “I got business coming to me from uptown all the time now. It’s time for you to give it up.” Marcus nodded to the three boys, who formed a circle around Sam and Marcus.

“No way, bro’!” Sam’s hand instinctively tightened around the gun.

Surrounded by the group of young men, Sam saw an opening, turned, and simultaneously pulled the gun from his jacket. As he stepped toward his escape, he saw something moving along the sidewalk next to the street. It appeared to be a man dressed in dark clothes, but it was impossible to be certain. Sam heard one shot, and felt it whizz by him. The distant figure dropped. Sam twisted around, and aimed his weapon toward the sound of the gun fire. Then he heard another shot.

Feeling something hot in his chest, he crumbled to the ground. The last thing he saw was the young kid, the one they called Louis, running toward the river.

***

Brother Antoine said good night to Alicia on the front porch of her aunt’s apartment and started his walk back home. He was feeling good, lighthearted. He and Alicia had completed her application and she had nearly finished her essay. He was certain she was a shoo-in for the scholarship. He’d only traveled a few feet down the sidewalk when he saw a group of men and a few boys gathered together in the grassy area next to one of the buildings. The cloud-covered moon offered enough reflection to allow him to make out the scant silhouette of the tallest member of the group. There was no doubt. His swagger and perpetual cigarette were unmistakable. Marcus Bishop. They had to be up to no good.

Brother Antoine followed the curve of the sidewalk, which brought him a little closer to the group. He noticed there was movement, perhaps a scuffle. He heard a shot, then felt a searing pain in his chest. He placed his hand on his shirt where he felt dampness, and, struggling to breathe, fell to the ground. He grabbed the scapular around his neck, praying, as he lay there, someone would come administer the last rites.

***

Excerpt from The Redemption by Cynthia Tolbert.  Copyright 2021 by Cynthia Tolbert. Reproduced with permission from Cynthia Tolbert. All rights reserved.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

In 2010, Cynthia Tolbert won the Georgia Bar Journal’s fiction contest for the short story version of Out From Silence.  Cynthia developed that story into the first full-length novel of the Thornton Mystery Series by the same name, which was published by Level Best Books in December of 2019. Her second book in this same series, entitled The Redemption, which is set in New Orleans, was released in February of 2021. 

Cynthia has a Master’s in Special Education and taught children with learning disabilities before moving on to law school. She spent most of her legal career working as defense counsel to large corporations and traveled throughout the country as regional and national counsel. She also had the unique opportunity of teaching third-year law students in a clinical program at a law school in New Orleans where she ran the Homeless Law Clinic and learned, first hand, about poverty in that city. She retired from the practice of law several years ago. The experiences and impressions she has collected from the past forty years contribute to the stories she writes today.

Cynthia has four children, and three grandchildren, and lives in Atlanta with her husband and schnauzer.

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