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A PERFECT STORM

BOOK BLURB:

Sgt. Windflower is back, untangling another swirling mystery, this one bringing the meth crisis and biker gangs to the quiet Newfoundland town of Grand Bank, feeling the sting of their deadly tentacles reaching all the way from Las Vegas.  He’s working with his familiar crew of RCMP characters – but wait, are some of the faces changing? New challenges for Jones, an unknown side of Smithson reveals itself, and what ever happened to Tizzard?  In the midst of putting the pieces of the puzzle together, Windflower and his beloved Sheila also find themselves navigating sorrows and surprises on the family front.

Come back to Grand Bank for more fun, food and cool, clean, Canadian crime fiction with Sgt. Windflower Mysteries…

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/36sHEBz

Book Excerpt:

Chapter One

Eddie Tizzard passed his card over the sensor and pushed the door open. He flicked on the light. “Holy jumpins,” he said when he saw what was on the bed in his hotel room— thousands of dollars strewn around like confetti. When he looked closer, he saw something else. There, right in the middle of the bed, was a very red, very large bloodstain.

His first instinct was to run. But his years as an RCMP officer got the best of him, and he had another look around. Soon the source of the blood became obvious. It was a man in a suit lying face down in the bathroom with a visible hole in the back of his head. Tizzard should have trusted his first instinct because when he did decide to leave the room, he walked directly into the path of who he would later find out was the head of hotel security.

He was remembering all of this as he sat in a holding cell with a dozen other men in the Las Vegas jail. Tizzard had gone to Vegas for private detective training, having decided on a new career path after leaving the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, or the Mounties. Technically, he was on leave for the rest of the year, but he doubted he’d ever return to his old job. He’d applied for and received his firearms license, but he wanted a certificate to put on the walls of his new office, that is when he got an office. That seemed very far away right now, about as far as he could get from his home in Newfoundland on the eastern tip of Canada.

He’d watched enough police shows on TV to know that he could make one phone call. But nobody had said when he could do that. The duty officer kind of smirked when he pushed him into the lock-up with his dozen new friends and told him, “Yeah, yeah, coming right up.”

Tizzard was confused but tried to look like he fit in with his fellow cell mates. They, in turn, looked like they were measuring his clothes to see if they might be a fit. As long as they don’t find out that I used to be a cop, I’ll be OK, thought Tizzard as he backed up as far as he could into a corner.

It seemed like he had waited forever, but as several of his new friends came in for a closer look, he heard his name called, “Tizzard, Tizzard.”

“That’s me,” he said and pushed by the two large men who had got the closest.

The duty cop opened the door, and Tizzard walked along the hallway to an interview room. He was pushed inside, and the door clicked shut behind him. It was a small, windowless room with a camera in the ceiling, a mirror on the wall, a single chair on one side of a table, and two on the other. Tizzard knew the drill and took a seat on the one-chair side. Then he waited, again. Feels like home, he thought. Just not my home.

On the other side of the continent Mayor Sheila Hillier was wrapping up her town council meeting and was on her way to meet Moira Stoodley who was babysitting her daughter, Amelia Louise. The meeting had been made unpleasant by a couple of contentious issues, including whether the older buildings in the downtown core of Grand Bank should be modernized or restored to maintain their historic character. But Sheila also realized that most of the tension was really about who would replace her as mayor in the election only a couple of weeks away.

Jacqueline Wilson was Sheila’s preference, but there was another candidate, Phil Bennett, who was leading the anti-tax faction of council. Every meeting, Bennett would try to disrupt things to show how influential he thought he could be, but Sheila would have none of it and would put him back in line. Bennett’s behaviour in itself was more than enough reason for her to want to leave, she thought.

Sheila had decided to go back to school part-time, eventually do an MBA once she had cleared up her scholastic records and completed the course load for an old degree program she had started several years earlier. Politics had never really been her thing, even though she was very good at it. She had only taken the mayor’s job to try to improve the town’s economy. And she had succeeded, mostly. The Town of Grand Bank’s fish plant was now operating on a regular basis with a quota for crab and the sea urchins considered a delicacy in Japan and China. The town also had a recycling factory and a solar panel fabrication plant.

Half of the town’s people wanted to not just preserve the past but to live in it. The other half wanted to blow it all up and start over. They had no use for the old and wanted everything to be modern, like the way it was in St. John’s or even nearby Marystown. It seemed there was no middle ground for the residents of Grand Bank, yet Sheila was sure you could have the best of both worlds. Getting others to agree with her, though, seemed impossible.

Sheila gathered up her things and drove to the Mug-Up, which was known through much of the province to be the best little café there was in Grand Bank. That it was the only café in Grand Bank was usually not mentioned. Sheila had owned the place years ago but gave it up after a horrific car accident left her with a slight limp and no desire to stand all day. Moira and her husband, Herb, had taken it over, and it was there that she found Amelia Louise sitting at a table with her Poppy Herb.

“Mama, mama,” she shrieked as Sheila’s heart melted. “Ook, ook.”

“I think she’s got talent,” said Herb Stoodley.

Sheila examined the crayon scrawls on the paper and murmured her approval. “It’s so nice,” she said. “Is it Lady, your doggie?” she asked, making a leap of faith based on the fact that there was one small circle on top of a large mass of scratches.

Amelia Louise smiled and nodded her head up and down emphatically. She had always been able to somehow say no, but now the 20-month-old toddler was happy to signify yes with a grand gesture.

“Well, thank you,” said Sheila. “And thank you, Herb. And here’s Moira, too. Thank you, Moira, for looking after her.”

“It’s our pleasure,” said Moira, wiping her hands on her apron. “I was just finishing off some baking.”

“Em,” said Amelia Louise. “Ook, ook,”

“I can see,” said Moira. “Has Poppy Herb been nice to you?”

“She’s like our baby, too,” said Herb. “It’s easy to be nice to her. ‘Those that do teach young babes, do it with gentle means and easy tasks.’”

“Okay, my soon-to-be-famous artist, let’s go,” said Sheila as she put on Amelia Louise’s jacket. Once outside again, Sheila noticed the November air had lost any tinge of summer warmth, and the wind was picking up, making it a bit of an adventure to walk the short distance to their house. Sheila tried to carry her daughter, but Amelia Louise was determined to walk on her own, while examining every leaf that blew their way.

When they got home, Molly the cat watched them carefully as they came up the walkway. The dog, Lady, was more directly affectionate and showed how much she had missed them both by almost knocking them over in the hall. The only one missing from the happy family was Sheila’s husband and the father of Amelia Louise, Sergeant Winston Windflower of the RCMP Grand Bank Detachment. He was at work, but Sheila expected to hear from him soon because his stomach would be rumbling any minute now, and he’d want to know what was on for dinner.

About the Author

Mike Martin

Mike Martin was born in St. John’s, NL on the east coast of Canada and now lives and works in Ottawa, Ontario. He is a long-time freelance writer and his articles and essays have appeared in newspapers, magazines and online across Canada as well as in the United States and New Zealand. He is the author of Change the Things You Can: Dealing with Difficult People and has written a number of short stories that have been published in various publications across North America. 

The Walker on the Cape was his first full fiction book and the premiere of the Sgt. Windflower Mystery Series. Other books in the series include The Body on the T, Beneath the Surface, A Twist of Fortune, and A Long Ways from Home, followed by A Tangled Web, which was shortlisted for the 2017 Bony Blithe Light Mystery Award as the best light mystery of the year, and Darkest Before the Dawn, which won the 2018 Bony Blithe Light Mystery Award. Fire, Fog and Water was the eighth in the series. He has also published Christmas in Newfoundland: Memories and Mysteries, a Sgt. Windflower Book of Christmas past and present.

He is Past Chair of the Board of Crime Writers of Canada, a national organization promoting Canadian crime and mystery writers and a member of the Newfoundland Writing Guild and Ottawa Independent Writers.

A Perfect Storm is the latest book in the Sgt. Windflower Mystery series.

SOCIAL LINKS:

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/mike54martin

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

The Story Behind the Book

You know the hand of serendipity when you see it.

During a period of time when I had finished one novel but not yet come up with an idea for the next, I found myself in that boring no woman’s land where the creative spirit begins to shrink because it doesn’t have an outlet. I was four years living in New Mexico by then, and since my freelance load—most of which had come from sources in New York—had dried up a bit as well, I decided to reach out to local publishers to let them know I was available for any writing/editing/book-related work they might have. One of them called to say they needed someone to read their backlist books and write up short descriptions for their website. This was right up my alley. And I loved the publisher (Synergetic Press) because all of their books were concerned…

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THE ANCESTOR
Lee Matthew Goldberg
Thriller / Mystery

A man wakes up in present-day Alaskan wilderness with no idea who he is, nothing on him save an empty journal with the date 1898 and a mirror. He sees another man hunting nearby, astounded that they look exactly alike. After following this other man home, he witnesses a wife and child that brings forth a rush of memories of his own wife and child, except he’s certain they do not exist in modern times—but from his life in the late 1800s. After recalling his name is Wyatt, he worms his way into his doppelganger Travis Barlow’s life. Memories become unearthed the more time he spends, making him believe that he’d been frozen after coming to Alaska during the Gold Rush and that Travis is his great-great grandson. Wyatt is certain gold still exists in the area and finding it with Travis will ingratiate himself to the family, especially with Travis’s wife Callie, once Wyatt falls in love. This turns into a dangerous obsession affecting the Barlows and everyone in their small town, since Wyatt can’t be tamed until he also discovers the meaning of why he was able to be preserved on ice for over a century.

A meditation on love lost and unfulfilled dreams, The Ancestor is a thrilling page-turner in present day Alaska and a historical adventure about the perilous Gold Rush expeditions where prospectors left behind their lives for the promise of hope and a better future. The question remains whether it was all worth the sacrifice….

Praise for THE ANCESTOR:

“Lee Matthew Goldberg is an animal—there is no other way to say it. His prose is heavyweight ambitious, as visceral as a sweaty-toothed dog at your throat. He evokes Robert Louis Stevenson as much as he does a modern thriller novelist. And I’ll be honest: I expected a crime novel, but I got a spell-binding epic, an epistolary revelation, a tale as rich as a paying gold mine. The Ancestor is more than a novel. It’s an ode to the rich tradition of adventure storytelling…seasoned with ample spice of love and violence and greed.” —Matt Phillips, author of Countdown and Know Me from Smoke

“In The Ancestor, Lee Matthew Goldberg masterfully weaves together a story involving family and violence set against the backdrop of an unforgiving Alaska of both past and present.” —Andrew Davie, author of Pavement and Ouroboros

“From the icy opening battle of man vs. wolf, you feel yourself in the hands of a master storyteller and that feeling never lets up.” —SJ Rozan, bestselling author of Paper Son

“This thrilling novel is rich in descriptions of the vast, snowy, and deadly wilderness of Alaska; it ably captures the type of person who chases gold.” —Foreword Reviews

“A story that blends the familiar and the supernatural in a manner that calls Stephen King’s work to mind. That said, Goldberg’s book possesses a flavor all its own—a distinctive mélange of the sincere and the strange.” —Kirkus Reviews

“Beautifully written, and capturing the unforgiving grit of Gold Rush Alaska, Lee Matthew Goldberg’s The Ancestor is a thrilling page-turner with an ache in its heart. I’m a huge fan.” —Roz Nay, author of Hurry Home and Our Little Secret

“A suspenseful historical thriller.” —Indie Reader

“One of the year’s best thrillers. Blake Crouch fans will love Goldberg’s Alaskan opus.” —BestThrillers

Amazon → https://amzn.to/31Oays9

Down and Out Bookshttps://downandoutbooks.com/bookstore/goldberg-ancestor/

1

       One eye open, the other frozen shut. He knows what an eye is, but that other “I” remains a mystery. Mind scooped out and left in ice. Words are hunted, slowly return. Blue sky, that’s what he sees. The sun twinkling like a diamond. Tundra, there’s another recalled word. Packed snow on all sides as if the world succumbed to white. The air a powerful whistle. A breeze blows, not a friend but a penance. It passes right through and chills to the core, this enemy wind. Limbs atrophied, no idea when they last moved. Boil of a sun thaws and prickles. Tiny spiders swinging from leg hairs, biting into flesh. He cries out but there is no sound. For it feels like he hasn’t spoken in centuries.
            Back of throat tastes of metal. Blood trapped in phlegm. A cough sends a splatter of red against the stark land, a streak in the form of a smile. When was the last time he ate? His stomach growls in agony, a good sign. Organs working, or at least attempting to work. His one eye scans to the left and the right, no sign of anyone, not even an animal. No chance for a savior or sustenance.
            He gums his jaw, the first inkling of movement. Aware of his scraggily beard coated in frost. Crystals spiral from his chin, collect in his lap. Now he sees his hands, luckily in gloves except they are a thin brown leather, rather useless. Bones crack as he maneuvers to remove the gloves. Fingers tremble once hit with fresh air and numbness subsides. Massages his legs, gets the blood flowing, an injection of life. The spiders accelerate and then relent, toes wiggle, and he sits up. Around his neck rests a notebook and a fountain pen, the tip crusted in flakes. He feels an object in a front pocket and pulls out a silver compact mirror, the back embroidered with floral patterns, ladylike. This is not my mirror, he decides, but then has a more important realization. Who am I? With trembling hands, he brings the mirror up to his face for a glance.
            The reflection of a stranger. All beard save for some features that emerge. A bulbous but authoritative nose, green eye flecked with gold, a mane of dark hair cascading to his shoulders. Handsome in a grizzled way. Shades of a bear in the roundness of his cheeks and a wolf in his stare.
            “I am…,” his lips try to say, but there is no answer. Often one can wake from a dream and the dream seems real for a moment, but a sense of self never vanishes. Whoever he was has been long gone, unlikely to return anytime soon. At least while he remains freezing in the wilderness.
I must make it out of here.
            It’s relieving that he thinks of himself as an “I”. Whoever he is, he is someone. A mother birthed and fed him from her breast. A father taught him.…taught him what exactly? Survival skills? How to hunt? If he had a father worth his while, he’d know how to do this.
            And then, a caterwauling from the depths of his soul, a fawn-in-distress call that plants a trap for curious predators. He knows this sound well, meaning he’s lured prey before. His daddy schooled him like a good man should.      
            The waiting game. Another call erupts, a coyote’s howl this time. He can recognize the difference. Then it comes to him that he needs to know what to do should an animal appear. He pats down his pockets, no weapon but his fists. And then, the clinking of sharp nails against the ice sheet. A majestic wolf, eyes like the sky, shimmering coat the color of clouds. Its charcoal nose twitches; the blood he hacked up in plain sight. He and the wolf lock into a dueling stare, neither wanting to be the first to flinch. A vision of death with baring teeth, or the start of his new life if victorious. The wolf doesn’t give him a chance to contemplate, lunging with a mouth full of saliva. He catches it in a brutal embrace and becomes knocked off his heels, slamming his back against the hard ground. They skitter down a slick snowcap, snapping at one another like angry lovers. The wolf is relentless, a worthy opponent, a test of wills. He gets the beast in a headlock, trying to crack its neck, but the wolf is too slippery. Breath fumes from other kills circle into his nostrils—this wolf has never lost a battle before. Blood splashes, no clue which of them has been wounded. They spin in the snow like a tornado. He makes a fist, jams it in the wolf’s mouth. Teeth marks scrape against his knuckles as he rams his fist farther down the wolf’s throat. The wolf heaves, chokes, attempting to chew off his hand but its strategy is futile. It has only come across other animals, never a human mind that can think steps ahead.
            Now he attempts a headlock again with his left arm, squeezing off circulation. The wolf lets out a whimper that reverberates through his wrist. They lock into a dueling stare again, except this time he does not see the many kills of the wolf through its gaze. He visualizes its sadness, its inevitable end. And then, the sound of a heavy branch snapping, the wolf’s neck broken, his blood-soaked fist removed from the back of its throat. Its dead tongue lolling out of its mouth against the icy bed. He pets its beautiful coat, this formidable foe, now a present wrapped with a bow. Delectable to quench his all-consuming hunger.
He needs the clearest block of ice he can find. Using the wolf’s teeth to carve a fine translucent round piece, he creates a magnifying glass. He rubs the dirt away and keeps rubbing until enough moisture flecks off. There’s a bed of whittled grass at the slope he and wolf ended up in, and he holds the ice over the dry grass, propping it against two logs until a brilliant rainbow prism shoots through and ignites a fire. He rips off all the breakable branches he can locate to stoke the flames. While it continues to spread, he procures a rock to blunt out the wolf’s teeth, then uses them for the painstaking task of skinning the fur. He does it carefully so a semblance of a coat remains, which he dips into a nearby brook to wash away any lingering blood and sinew. The sun has mostly dipped behind the mountains and he wears the wolf’s coat to mask the chill, then roasts its carcass over the roaring fire, breaking off legs and gnawing while the true flesh still cooks.
            The meat is a godsend to his empty stomach and also an immediate poison that his body rejects by throwing up. But he sucks on some ice and the queasiness diminishes. By the time it’s fully cooked, darkness reigns and he feels more like a shell than anyone has before. Except with each chew, this lessens and soon he becomes human again. But the loneliness isn’t as easy to fight off. There are souls that feel lonely, he assumes, but at least they have themselves for company. They can rely on memories to help them through cold nights. He searches his mind for a wisp of the past, any nugget, wading through a never-ending sea. The horizon seemingly attainable, but with every stroke just as far away. He’d cry but the tears are frozen in his ducts, and his one eye still sealed shut.
            When enough of the wolf has been eaten so his belly distends like a newly pregnant woman, he feeds the fire with more broken limbs and curls up to its warmth, his only confident in this harsh wilderness, possibly his only companion forever—a lifetime of attempting to be caressed by flames and nothing more. He wraps himself tightly in the wolf’s fur, hoping that when he wakes again he’ll know who he is. The nightmare vanished along with the sun rising like a bride’s pretty little hand on his grizzled cheek.

Lee Matthew Goldberg is the author of the novels THE DESIRE CARD, THE MENTOR, and SLOW DOWN. He has been published in multiple languages and nominated for the 2018 Prix du Polar. The second book in the Desire Card series, PREY NO MORE, is forthcoming, along with his Alaskan Gold Rush novel THE ANCESTOR. He is the editor-in-chief and co-founder of Fringe, dedicated to publishing fiction that’s outside-of-the-box. His pilots and screenplays have been finalists in Script Pipeline, Book Pipeline, Stage 32, We Screenplay, the New York Screenplay, Screencraft, and the Hollywood Screenplay contests. After graduating with an MFA from the New School, his writing has also appeared in the anthology DIRTY BOULEVARD, The Millions, Cagibi, The Montreal Review, The Adirondack Review, The New Plains Review, Underwood Press, Monologging and others. He is the co-curator of The Guerrilla Lit Reading Series and lives in New York City. Follow him at leematthewgoldberg.com

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: http://www.leematthewgoldberg.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/LeeMatthewG
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/leemgol
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/53472461-the-ancestor

At a recent author event, an excited eighteen-year-old stepped up and asked me about my new novel, Blood on the Chesapeake. After I’d given my elevator pitch, he pivoted and asked “How hard it to get a novel published?”

My response threw him. “The hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“Really?” He looked unconvinced. “I mean it looks like fun. First you hole up in your room and write your story and then you get it published. I mean, you sign books and everything.”

I plowed on. “The book you see here took years to research, write and edit, and that doesn’t include all the time and effort it took to find the right publisher.”

The young man said he had a friend who wrote a fantasy novel and published it himself. “Jeremy said it took him only about three months. No big deal, he said.”

I nodded, not answering right away. “The self-publishing route wasn’t right for me, but some authors do it like that. But getting it ‘published’ is only a start. Maybe a few stats about the business will help make my point about the challenge ahead.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and I could almost see the glaze roll over his eyes.

I went on, “Do you realize that there is a new book title released on Amazon every two minutes! Just to be clear, that means about 33 books every hour, 800 new titles every day and that’s more than a quarter million every year. At last count, Amazon listed over 6,000,000 books on Kindle—and that’s only one tenth of the total number of books on their site.!

He started shaking his head. “That’s unbelievable.”

“And on Amazon, guess how many copies of an individual title are sold, on average.” I paused.

He took the bait. “A hundred. Uh, no, maybe a thousand?” He looked up hopefully, his brown eyes narrowing.

“Six.”

“What?”

“The average number of copies of any title sold on Amazon is six.I stopped, letting it sink in. “And that includes adding in the million seller titles too.”

He shook his head.

“So why do you do it?” The young man pointed to the paperback in the hand. “If it’s really that hard and you don’t sell that many books, why do you even bother?”

I smiled. “Because I love it. The only reason you should choose to do something this hard is because you love it.” He looked unconvinced. “When I’ve spent hours, days and sometimes weeks to get a paragraph, a page, a chapter just right, I’m thrilled with the result.”

He started nodding his head.

“After it’s published and readers write back or post 5 star reviews, saying how much they love the book, or how the book was hard to put down, or how reading the novel late into the night made them lose sleep…well there’s no feeling like it.”

He grabbed up my other novel, now holding both in his hands. “I’ll check them out. Thanks for the explanation.”

I gave a quick wave. “Just decide if writing is something you love.”

With the tsunami of books out there and the pandemic wreaking havoc everywhere, I’m grateful my novels made it this far. And I am truly thankful that readers continue to discover and enjoy my new series, the Haunted Shores Mysteries. These novels have been described as a cold case murder mystery wrapped inside ghost story, served with a side of romance, set in some of the most beautiful locations in the country.

The first entry in the series, BLOOD ON THE CHESAPEAKE, was published last year by the Wild Rose Press and earned rave reviews and even picked up two national awards.  BLOOD ON THE CHESAPEAKE takes place on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay, where Darrell Henshaw—teacher, coach and paranormal sensitive—encounters the spirit of a student murdered years before still yearning for justice. When the ghost haunts Darrell, he finally agrees to help, only to discover a much uglier crime than he could have imagined.

The second installment in the series, CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY, was released this summer and it quickly garnered two ★★★★★ reviews and a national award, the Gold Award from Literary Titan. CRIMSON follows our hero, Darrell Henshaw to the incredible resort town at the tip of New Jersey. There, he is stalked by the Haunted Bride, who is desperate for him to seek justice for her, and for many more victimized girls.

Reviewers have been generous in their praise of my writing.

“A haunting, yet fast-paced whodunit that captures the reader’s attention from page one. A wonderful book!”—Alexandra Ivy, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

“Delivers an unpredictable mystery along with a powerful look at people…Completely engaged by the intrigue.”—Long and Short Reviews

“With both elements of mystery and suspense, readers across genres will find this second book about Darrell Henshaw intriguing…I highly recommend it.” ★★★★★Literary Titan

“It’s a ghost/mystery story filled with suspense and action. The plot is so engrossing it had me hooked from the very first page.” ★★★★★—Nana’s Reviews, Greece

“The well-plotted storyline keeps a steady pace through two-thirds of the book and then gradually ups the ante, adds tension, grit, drops more pieces of the puzzle then explodes.”—V. Williams, Rosepoint Publishing

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dr. Randy Overbeck is an award-winning educator, writer and speaker who has earned recognition in the Midwest and beyond. As a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Dr. Overbeck is an active member of the literary community, contributing to a writers’ critique group, serving as a mentor to emerging writers and participating in writing conferences such as Sleuthfest, Killer Nashville and the Midwest Writers Workshop. When he’s not writing or researching his next exciting novel or sharing his presentation “Things That Go Bump in the Night,” he’s spending time with his incredible family of wife Cathy, three children (and their spouses) and seven wonderful grandchildren.

Randy Overbeck

randyoverbeck@authorrandyoverbeck.com

www.authorrandyoverbeck.com

@OverbeckRandy

FB: Author Randy Overbeck

Purchase Links

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/crimson-at-cape-may-randy-overbeck/1137088608?ean=9781509231638

https://www.bookbub.com/books/crimson-at-cape-may-by-randy-overbeck

Author Joni Parker

Writing fantasy novels is what Joni Parker loves to do. She’s just completed her third series, “The Admiralty Archives,” a trilogy. Her first series, “The Seaward Isle Saga,” includes three books and a short story, while her second, “The Chronicles of Eledon,” has four books. An award-winning novelist, she’s also branched off into short stories, joining local authors in an anthology called, “Beyond Tucson: Adventures in the Multiverse.” Her writing career began after 22 years in the U.S. Navy and another 7 years in federal civil service. She currently resides in Tucson, Arizona with her sister.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: http://www.joni-parker.com

Blog: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7191836.Joni_Parker/blog

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ParkerJoni

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

INTERVIEW

Would you call yourself a born writer?

I wish. But no, I have to work at it. The delete key is one of my best friends.

What was your inspiration for Call From Home?

This book is the third and last book in the Admiralty Archives series so it follows the previous books. It only made sense that Alex would be homesick and find reminders of home everywhere.

How long did it take you to complete the novel?

I can’t answer this question because I don’t track it. I did find a file I saved for this book dated in August 2018, so that’s over two years ago. The rough draft sat for a while until I finished the previous series. After that, I began rounds of editing, both on my own and with a paid editor. I take as much time as I need before I feel satisfied with a book.

What do you feel is one of the most exciting parts of your book?

That would give away the climax of the book. Suffice it to say, Alex saves the day before it’s too late.

What other genres have you thought about writing? What genres would you personally never consider writing?

I like thrillers and have incorporated some aspects into my current writing, but I’m not a thriller writer, per se. Thriller writers don’t recognize fantasy as part of their genre. One area I would never write in is the horror genre. It scares me.

What do you love most about being an author?

It keeps my brain going, which is important as I get older.

What’s next for you?

I’ve got rough drafts of four books for my next series, the Epsilon Account. Alex, my main character, will be helping the Elves with the Golden Harvest. Every four thousand years, the Elves must pay the Mentors in gold for living in Eledon but it’s not without a lot of problems.

About the Book

CALL FROM HOME

If home is where the heart is, the warrior Lady Alexin is very far from home, indeed. Banished from her home in the Elven realm of Eledon to the mortal world of near future London, and robbed of her magic, she has no choice but to try and find a place in a world where she doesn’t fit in. Yet for all their peculiarities, the mortals have not been unkind; she has a new career as a high fashion runway model, her very own flat in a posh section of town and a host of opportunities to socialize with a variety of admirers, including a handsome Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard.

Yet nothing but her former training as a tracker and assassin could have prepared her for the discovery that beautiful young Elven women are being kidnapped and trafficked as slaves into the mortal world by the notorious Rock Elves, working with the white supremacist 23rd Infantry–an unholy alliance led by Alex’s old nemesis, Sawgrass. As the truth unravels her mission is clear–a call from home she cannot allow to go unanswered, even if it means her life.

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3bPgW6P

An inventive, intriguing, and extraordinarily thought-provoking tale, Somebody Else’s Troubles centers on a titillating question: who among us hasn’t dreamed of walking to the corner store and simply disappearing?

About Somebody Else’s Troubles:  Ohio businessman Travers Landeman has plenty of troubles. Between a marriage that is loveless at best, a hateful, greedy, self-consumed wife, and a family business changing in unexpected and unwelcome ways, Travers copes in the best way he knows how: by making a conscious effort not to think.  But when his teenage nephew, Matthew Calkins, reaches out to him for help, Travers turns away. When his inaction causes unspeakable guilt, Travers fakes his death on the Caribbean Island of Mabuhay, an act that sets into motion a most unusual series of events—events that will bond together a most unusual cadre of people.

Years pass and it appears that Travers, now settled in to a new life with a new family and a new name, has gotten away with it.  Or has he?

The Atlantis Fidelity Insurance Company hires Albert Sydney McNab to bring Travers back to Ohio. But McNab, a bumbling, sore-footed, ne’er-do-well with a litany of failed careers—waiter, bus driver, door-to-door salesman—is surprisingly somehow hot on Travers’ trail.

Chicago bookseller Joe Rogers leads a group of amateur archaeologists to Mabuhay. Dealt a fistful of trouble when he acquired Chicago’s oldest bookstore, The Yellow Harp, Joe Rogers has a penchant for vodka, an abject ineptitude for following orders, and an abundance of useless knowledge. But at a dig site in Mabuhay, Rogers discovers an ancient treasure—a jeweled mask. Will Joe, who has his own axe to grind with Atlantis Fidelity Insurance, step off the sidelines and get back in the game?

Esmerelda McNab, United Nations Ambassador of the UN’s newest member nation, the Commonwealth of Mabuhay, has her own set of troubles—protestors who denounce her part in the sale of the mask that Joe Rogers discovered as “cultural genocide.”

Do love, peace, and redemption even exist on Mabuhay?  Or are somebody else’s troubles just that?

A brilliantly-rendered tale, Somebody Else’s Troubles takes readers on an unforgettable journey spanning from the streets of Chicago’s gritty Austin neighborhood to the remote island paradise of Mabuhay.  Resplendent with richly-drawn characters that spring to life in the novel’s pages, Somebody Else’s Troubles is peppered with wit and subtle humor. Novelist J.A. English delivers a clever, captivating, smart, seamless story replete with fascinating historical detail and literary allusion.   A beautifully written literary novel about escape and inertia, action and inaction, faith and doubt, and finding home—and hope—in the unlikeliest of places, Somebody Else’s Troubles is destined to stay with readers long after the final page is turned.

About the author:

A proud native of Paterson, New Jersey, J.A. English came of age in Mexico City, Mexico. He received his B. A. cum laude from Colorado College in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and an M. A. from Rice University in Houston, Texas. English is a Woodrow Wilson Fellow. He has lived for a half century in the Austin neighborhood on Chicago’s west side, where he still maintains a residence, but now spends much of his time in Sosua, Dominican Republic. English is a widely-published writer whose works have appeared in the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago Sun-Times, the Chicago Reader and Co-Existence, the literary journal which featured the works of Henry Miller.  Visit J.A. English online at:  https://sites.google.com/view/somebodyelsestroubles/home

Find out more on Amazon

Title: TROPICAL DOUBTS
Author: David Myles Robinson
Publisher: Terra Nova Books
Pages: 282
Genre: Legal Thriller

BOOK BLURB:

When Honolulu’s flamboyant and quirky attorney, Pancho McMartin, agrees to step out of his normal role as a criminal defense lawyer, he thinks it will be a challenging but welcome change from his daily dose of criminal clients. His old friend and father-figure, Manny Delacruz, has beseeched Pancho to handle a medical malpractice claim against the physicians who botched what should have been a routine surgery, but which resulted in Manny’s beloved wife being in a permanent vegetative state. The case looks good, the damages enormous, but when Manny is arrested for the murder of one of the doctors, Pancho finds himself back in his old role. If Manny is convicted, it means he won’t be able to be at his wife’s bedside to hold her hand, caress her face, and read his poems to her. He will have lost his reason to live. The pressure on Pancho is enormous. While he and his team try to make sense out of one of the most sinister and complicated murder schemes he’s ever seen, the medical malpractice case chugs forward, in jeopardy of being worthless should Manny be convicted.

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 Barnes & Noble → https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tropical-doubts-david-myles-robinson/1128284518?ean=9781948749015

CHAPTER 1

Pancho McMartin watched as his client, newly convicted of murder, was escorted to the side door of the courtroom by two men in brown jumpsuits with “Sheriff” stenciled across the back. The client, a large Samoan in his early twenties, had a shaved head. Except for his face, every square inch of visible flesh was tattooed.

With shackles on his wrists and ankles, he shuffled to the door and then stopped and glanced over his shoulder at Pancho. He’d sat through the trial with a look of absolute disdain, even menace, and now Pancho almost laughed out loud at the expression on the man’s face—fear. Pancho gave him a small nod, which he hoped would convey some sense of encouragement. Not that there was much to encourage. The Samoan would spend the rest of his life in prison unless Pancho could win an appeal of little or no merit.

His client disappeared through the door, and Pancho was alone in the courtroom. He shivered as the room, now empty, returned to its usual freezing temperature. He leaned his elbows on the counsel table and put his head in his hands. This was his third trial loss in a row, the second this year—a record for him. Pancho knew his client was guilty and hadn’t wanted to take the case. But the client’s family in Samoa and Oceanside, California, had collected the $250,000 fee Pancho charged for a murder case. Even then he might have turned the case down, but Pancho’s private investigator and best friend, Drew Tulafono, had asked him to take it on.

“The guy’s family in Oceanside goes to church with my mother,” Drew had said. “And they’re using all their powers of persuasion to get her to get me to get you to take the case.”

“Don’t they know he’s guilty as hell?” Pancho asked.

Drew nodded. “Pretty much, although they’re hoping he’ll get off with self-defense. But the main thing here is that Samoan families, mine included, are tight-knit and supportive of each other. If someone’s in trouble, the family’s sacred duty is to come to their aid in whatever way possible.”

So Pancho had taken the client on and had presented a decent case for self-defense. In the end, however, Pancho figured the jury just couldn’t get past the way his client looked, which was like a gangbanger who would just as soon kill you as step out of your way.

Pancho sighed heavily and ran his hand through his long brown hair. Three in a row. He wondered if he was losing his touch. He felt tired and depressed. It had been a bad six months. Just before he’d taken on this loser of a case, his longtime girlfriend, Paula Mizono, a financial adviser, had tearfully told him she was accepting a position in Hong Kong. She loved him, she said, but she was in the prime of her work life and this opportunity, at triple her current salary, was too hard to pass up. “Besides,” she said, almost as an afterthought, “even though I knew what I was getting into when we hooked up, the fact of the matter is we hardly see each other. I’m off to work at three in the morning because of the time change to New York, and I’m ready to hit the sack by the time you get home.”

Pancho had lost his first wife to the long hours of his law practice and had vowed not to lose Paula. It was her job that caused the split, he told himself. But the pain of the loss and the loneliness of his empty bed hurt just the same.

The door to the judge’s chambers opened and Lew, the bailiff, poked his head into the courtroom. “You all pau in here, Mr. McMartin? I need to lock up.”

Pancho nodded and stood. “Yes, Lew, I’m done. Put a fork in me.”

“For what it’s worth,” Lew said, walking into the courtroom and pulling his keys out of his pocket, “I thought you did a great job on a dead loser of a case.”

Pancho gave a wan smile. “Thanks.” He loosened his tie, picked up his briefcase, and walked out of courtroom into the real world.

 

SEED OF TAMARIS by Penni Louise

Title: SEED OF TAMARIS
Author: Penni Louise
Publisher: Outskirts Press
Pages: 314
Genre: Fantasy Fiction

BOOK BLURB:

In a treacherous world, is it safe to be powerful?

A Brother with a tainted past. A Lord seeking a legacy for his daughters. A Queen in exhile from her ancestral home. For decades, the Lords and Ladies in the land of Tamaris have known peace among their Houses, unlike the Outlanders who face death everyday outside the kingdom’s borders. But when the King, consumed by power, turns against the beloved Queen, she is forced into hiding, and plots brew among the Houses. The threads of peace begin to unravel. From a Lord’s daughters facing the subordinations of womanhood, to the outcast who flees to The Coven of Sacred Sisters for redemption, to the boy in the mines who prefers darkness and worms to the Lightlands, the lives of the people of Tamaris are unknowingly tied to their Queen’s fate. Only the Witch knows to what end their loyalty leads them. They must navigate political ambitions, social expectations, the complexities of relationship, and traitor’s plots to survive in the midst of the building war. But many will forget that the worst peril often comes from those closest to home. SEED OF TAMARIS is an epic fantasy brimming with magik, desire, and wickedness. It is Book One of the Archipelago Series, and Penni Louise’s debut novel.

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Book Excerpt:

Having tired Timber out in the surf, throwing the stick till her arm hurt, the two weary

friends rested on a smooth rock, basking in the afternoon sun.

“I suppose they’ll be looking for us to get dressed and into the carriage,” Solar

sighed to Timber.

In the distance, the fishing boats were beginning to come into view on the

horizon, gulls circling and diving behind them, returning to their home harbor before the

night fell. She had asked Cook once why the boats did not stay out overnight. They

seemed as big as castles, and as sturdy. Cook had shaken her head.

“They used to, little one, but not anymore. It’s dangerous to be so…exposed at

night nowadays. That’s why we tuck away in houses at night; there’s no good to be found

out in the open in the dark.”

Cook refused to say why but Solar knew she had to be right.

Solar thought of her sister, always ill, and indoors. She felt badly for her, never

getting any fresh air or sunshine. She shook off the thought of stuffy rooms and stuffy

carriages and stretched her legs, examining them in the sunlight.

“Look, Timber, I am getting fur like you!”

How splendid, she thought, reclining in the warm sun, and drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later, Solar woke with a pain in her back, disoriented. She was

immediately overwhelmed by the gloom; it seemed to be trying to suffocate her in

shadow. She could hear and feel that the tide was coming in; the water was now

splashing against the rocks, the spray hitting her feet and legs.

How long have I been asleep? She peered into the dusk and saw the stars starting

to emerge overhead. A long time, then.

Something was missing. The spell of the stars suddenly broken, she realized

Timber was not beside her.

“TIMBER!” she called.

She thought she heard an answering woof but couldn’t be sure over the crashing

sound of the waves.

She stood gingerly, twisting to release her muscles, and called again, “Timber!”

She was certain she heard something this time, and slowly, feeling her way, began

to climb the rocks.

She called again when she reached the top but instead of the woof she was hoping

for, she heard men’s voices, coming from the direction of home. A Border Patrol! If she

revealed herself, she would end up in incredible trouble and worse, the men certainly

would not come back to search for Timber. He could be hurt, and was surely lost.

What would make him run away without waking me?

Maybe the fear of the dark was a real concern. More scared than ever, she worried

herself with thoughts of Timber being injured, stolen, or devoured by an unknown beast.

The voices were coming closer.

Despite the threat of being truly lost, or being eaten herself, Solar ran away from the

voices and into the darkness to find her beloved dog.

GIVEAWAY!

Penni Louise is giving away 2  Kindle copies and 1 paperback copy of SEED OF TAMARIS!

Terms & Conditions:

  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • Three winners will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive either a Kindle or paperback copy
  • This giveaway ends midnight September 30.
  • Winner will be contacted via email on October 1.
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

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About the Author

As an eager reader from an early age, much of Penni’s life was shaped by Bilbo’s exclamation that “he was going on an adventure!” Originally from Australia, Penni is now an avid storyteller and traveler (both physical and astral), currently located in Denver, Colorado. With a deep love of all things mystical, she also explores the energetic realm through her clairvoyance and channeling abilities.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: http://www.pennilouise.com

Twitter Address: http://www.twitter.com/Penni_Louise

Facebook Address: www.facebook.com/PenniLouise.Author

Title: MAGNOLIA
Author: James S. Kelly
Publisher: Outskirts Press
Pages: 432
Genre: Historical Fiction/Civil War Love Story

BOOK BLURB:

Two young men grow up in the south, become great friends and love the same woman. One moves north as the civil war nears and becomes Administrative Asst to Abraham Lincoln The one who remained in the south vacates his office of US Senator to become the south’s chief spy. Both men are pitted against each other during the war. As the war ends, they try to renew their friendship but will the presence of the one they both love be an impediment.

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Amazon → https://amzn.to/2ZulevO

Book Excerpt:

As soon as the seven southern states seceded from the union, their sons and relatives in the Union Army and Navy resigned their commissions and became the elite officers of the Confederacy. They were euphoric; they threw parties and prided themselves on their great fortune. They didn’t’[t stop there; they became aggressive. The state of South Carolina, one of the first to secede, claimed that Forts Moultrie and Sumter in the Charleston Harbor belonged to the Confederacy; therefore, the Union Soldiers in the fort must vacate. General PGT Beauregard, the former Superintendent of Cadets at West Point, who immediately switched sides,  was in charge of that state’s militia, but was taking his orders from Jefferson Davis in Montgomery, the interim Capitol of the Confederacy. Whether Jefferson Davis’ request to Lincoln to turn over the forts was rejected because it lacked merit or Lincoln took too long to respond, is mute in the long run.

The firing on Fort Sumter on April 12, 1861 began a war that had no reason to happen. It was as though a disagreement between father and son had escalated way beyond what either wanted. At some point, each realized that they had gone beyond the normal barrier of good behavior and tried to step back and assess their actions. The father made every effort to try to explain to his son why his actions were unacceptable, but a sense of freedom to do as he wished, made that view almost impossible for the son to accept. He and his friends were caught up in a wave of excitement, which escalated into a cause. The normal civility between father and son was met with obstinacy and imprudence. Consequently, neither could see how to rectify a situation that continued to fester and finally got out of control. There seemed to be no common ground, no mediation and no chance for reconciliation. Just like a family, a nation was splitting apart.

So too, did the distance between two childhood friends from Charleston, South Carolina, widen even though in the early stages, they tried to maintain a sense of decorum and respect, ignoring all outside influences. But it was not to be. The tension had grown from anxiety to acceptance, on both sides; their views were incompatible.

On that fateful day, James Stephen Harris and his wife Claire were sitting at the dining room table in their rented Georgetown Residence in Washington DC. The lights on the black wrought iron lamps on their porch illuminated their entrance steps and their beautiful white slump stone exterior.. They were hosting four of their closest friends to celebrate Claire’s thirtieth birthday. Her mother and step-father planned to attend, but the situation was such that they wanted to see what would happen next before they crossed the Atlantic to be with the one they raised.

James had spent the busiest two weeks of his life getting acclimated to his new position as Special Advisor to the newly elected President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln. All six friends looked solemn; the neighborhood outside was quiet; it was as though an honored member of their family had died. No one spoke of the situation; no one wanted to. They talked of trivial things until ten that evening and then the guests left.

Several hundred miles to the south in their home outside Charleston, South Carolina, John William Beauregard, with his wife Louisa and their two children were celebrating the same occasion with champagne at their magnificent plantation, called Magnolia. He’d resigned from the US Senate, as soon as the State of South Carolina seceded from the union. Interim President of the Confederate States of America, Jefferson Davis, with an endorsement from John’s cousin, General PGT Beauregard, asked him to lead the Confederate Signal Corp. He was that new nation’s chief spy.

They were embarking on an adventure and everyone was excited. John looked over at his wife and said, “We won’t be told what to do or how to run our lives anymore by some Union Bureaucrat in Washington.”

“Be careful what you wish for, John.” She responded.

“I just don’t understand the provocation. Why start something that can’t be reversed. The forts weren’t being supplied, so why not wait. The defenders would eventually have no recourse but to leave. Firing on the forts seemed to force the issue.” James Beauregard, their son, who was scheduled to attend West Point in the fall asked.

“I wouldn’t have done it that way, but the die is cast. I believe many in our new administration wanted to make the break as sharp and as quick as possible, so there’d be no recourse.” His father responded

Over the next four years, the two childhood friends, James Harris and John Beauregard, would be rivals, as antagonistic and would use every conscious moment during that period to assist their side in this ridiculous loss of life, property and dignity..

About the Author

James S. (Jim) Kelly is a retired United States Air Force Colonel with over 100 combat missions in Vietnam. Prior to his retirement, Jim was Program Director for a Communication’s Program in Iran, working directly under the Shah. Jim and his wife, Patricia own and operate High Meadow’s Horse Ranch outside Solvang, California. All of his novels use Solvang and the Santa Ynez Valley as a setting. Over the past 15 years, Jim and his wife have been active in a charity supporting our troops in forward operating locations, in hostile territory, overseas. To contact Jim, email him at  jkelly2020@outlook,com

Website: www.kellywritings.com

 

Title: TO KILL OR BE KILLED: A TRUE CRIME MEMOIR FROM PRISON
Author: Joni Ankerson
Publisher: WildBlue Press
Pages: 212
Genre: True Crime

BOOK BLURB:

Obviously, I knew better than to take a life — but that was before. Before him.

The day we met in October of 1997, I was working at the District Court in Traverse City, Michigan as a Deputy Clerk. It was like most other days with arraignments, sentencings, civil case hearings and the like. People shuffling in and out, everyone taking care of their important business with court appearances, document filings, paying tickets, fines and bonding loved ones out of jail.

I loved my job. It was extremely satisfying and interesting with constant interaction with all walks of life, including people on either end of the judicial spectrum and many in between. Suddenly, there he was. Tall, handsome, and looking so impressive and important in his Michigan State Police uniform with his hat, gun belt and badge. A powerful man who had chosen a profession to serve and protect. He was extremely friendly and upbeat, smiling profusely. Best of all, he, too, was unattached.

What could go wrong? He was like a dream man. We clicked, immediately, and began dating exclusively. But he was not a dream man. He was a nightmare … as I learned over the next twelve years.

Twelve years of enduring domestic violence at its absolute worse. Constant abuse, control, manipulation, and threats. Sadistic sexual deviance and sexual violence. It was only going to end one way: someone would die in our bed and someone would go to prison for murder.

This is my story about domestic violence, resilience, reckoning and survival.

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Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/KILL-BE-KILLED-Memoir-Prison-ebook/dp/B08DL6B2Q7/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2N8ZD9VEND9CS&dchild=1&keywords=to+kill+or+be+killed&qid=1596042060&s=digital-text&sprefix=to+kill+or+be+%2Cdigital-text%2C169&sr=1-1

WildBluePress:

https://wildbluepress.com/to-kill-or-be-killed-joni-ankerson-true-crime/

Book Excerpt:

And it was over, just two days after his last violent act. Over for him because he lay bleeding and dead in our bed. Over for me because I had put three bullets in his body from his very own gun. It was the same gun that he had always proudly said was ready to go, “just point and shoot.” Indeed, it had worked exactly like he promised. I pointed it at him as he lay asleep and I shot him.

Obviously, I knew better than to take a life — but that was before. Before him. Before he so blatantly and purposefully decided to use me, control me, dominate me, demean me, target me, intimidate me, shame me, guilt me, belittle me, isolate me, manipulate me, diminish me, disrespect me, degrade me, stalk me, rape me, scar and bruise me as a person, make me live in fear, and insist I become a whore and feel like a whore.

When I met him, I had no idea that his attractive qualities and benefits were intentionally luring me into an ugly, sticky web of abuse. It began slowly, of course, and presented itself very innocently and inconspicuously, but over the years it would play out in the ultimate form of power, control, and authority — full-on domestic violence. Hindsight is 20/20, and for me, a painful procedure. But I realize now, 17 years later, after the trauma and tragedy, that I was completely taken advantage of and preyed upon by a master manipulator, abuser, and outright psychopath.

How did this happen? Confidence and positivity were instilled in me by my loving parents from an exceedingly early age and reinforced throughout my entire life. I grew up in a loving and supportive home, with both parents teaching me, my brother, and my two sisters important life lessons of morals, manners, values, and respect. Most importantly, over and above these values to assist in the navigation of my life, was the gift of belief and confidence in myself and my abilities. My parents taught me that I could do anything I set my mind to, and that with hard work and persistence anything was possible. Carrying these lessons throughout the years of growing up and building relationships made it easy to see the good in people. Love and trust came easily, resulting in solid, life-long unions.

But here I am, writing this book from my prison room. I have been in this Michigan prison, the only prison for women in the entire state, for over six years. This fact is important for you to know at this early point for a couple of reasons: the first being that it is, of course, a huge part of my story. But it is also because after these six years in prison I have finally settled down and, with much thought and reflection, put my experience into some semblance of order and begun to write.

About the Author

Joni Ankerson lives in her hometown of Traverse City, Michigan. After being released from prison in April of 2017, he returned home to the house she grew up in and is moving forward with her new, independent life. She is a strong advocate for victims of domestic violence and has many family members, friends, and community members that support her and stand behind her. She hopes that by sharing her story, other victims will gain the strength to come forward and speak their truth. #endthesilenceofabuse

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website Address: https://wildbluepress.com/joni-ankerson-author-bio/

Facebook Address: https://www.facebook.com/Joni-Ankerson-Author-112245493913309/

 

 

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