Author: Lindsay Lees
Publisher: Indpendent
Pages: 299
Genre: Dystopian


In less than a year, fifteen-year-old Gypsy Capone will be considered a woman in Ovoidia, a “utopian” city-state where every woman can be approached for immediate sex by any man, where curving architecture adds weird whimsy, sporks are the only cutlery, and true intimacy between the genders is a sign of suspect subversion. After all, if a woman just plays along, she’ll also do her job and have children, with the reward of a fine home in the “Communities,” where she and the other “Mamas” live together in harmony with everything they need. Right?

The irony: Diam and Isis, the two leaders of Ovoidia, are themselves females. Fun, yes! And just below the surface, perversely sinister. They personally execute these precise sacrifices by women to establish their “happy,” absurdly totalitarian utopia, and are backed up by their chosen army of male “crusaders,” enforcing a crime-free, fully controlled society.

Men are relegated to work in the “City” where they may “enjoy”—right there on the street if they wish—any woman they want and are welcome to satisfy their sexual and emotional needs at establishments called Gaje Clubs where only the most “gifted” among women are chosen to work.

Not surprisingly, in Ovoidia women have evolved until they feel nothing of sexual pleasure. But in Gypsy’s deepest heart, she realizes her own dark secret: she is the exception. Next she discovers to her horror that her secret, if known, could result in the ultimate punishment—genital mutilation.

To save her body and even her soul, Gypsy chooses a dangerous path—to single-handedly confront this scary and absurd world. She has the support of her allegiant sister Sadie and Miles Devine, a rogue, secretly gay crusader, and also “Doctor,” a morally questionable physician to help her. But none of them fathom the levels of paradox, incongruity, and twisted evil they will soon face, and the ride becomes something even Gypsy could have never imaged.


“The Willing is stunning in its brutality as well as its sensitivity! Absolute must read. We all have a piece of Gypsy in us. We must consider our potential future as women now with eyes wide open.”

–Amazon Reviewer

“The Willing is an unusually deep commentary on a malignant dysfunction in our society, dressed in fishnet utopian stockings. While the premise and its sensual details push the boundaries of belief, a community that is ostensibly focused on the greater good but is governed by fear and hypocrisy fits perfectly in the dystopian genre. Gypsy’s character is flawed and immature in many ways, but her shield-like honesty is refreshing among a sea of conformists. A rather feminist piece filled with satire on the state of equality, The Willing is weighty and serious in its message, and sad in its reflection of how women are treated in our modern world. For a change from the norm, Lindsay Lees provides a gripping story that will have you thinking deeply about the importance of the relationships in your life.”
–Jennifer Jackson from IndiesToday.com


Amazon → https://amzn.to/3k2qbqC

Barnes & Noble → https://bit.ly/3yIQLZF

~ Chapter 1 ~


Three shrill bells blasted through the hidden speakers in the shiny ceiling tiles. A warning. Five minutes later, another three shrills will announce everybody’s butts better be in their chairs.

Gypsy took a seat in the front row of the dark, stifling auditorium for her Life Science class and wiped the sweaty auburn hair off her neck. Every time she entered the steamy classroom, she considered chopping off her hair, but didn’t dare go through with it, in fear of what everyone would say. Stagnant air lingered near an open oval window. Gypsy smoothed her denim shift against her bare legs. The sweat was everywhere. The heat had only gotten worse that year. The whole country sizzled like a frying pan on a burner without a high point.

Gypsy slid her right hand under her desk and stroked the round screws. She was in year ten of Passage school—her second-to-last year—but she had stopped paying attention when the Madams began the boring task of preparing the girls for life as women in the Communities. Life Science consisted of learning and drilling domestic life hacks and mothering skills.

Next to the whiteboard, a laminated poster of the Head Gaje family tree depicted the original Gajes—six desultory faces with deep creases around their rage-filled eyes. As the generations progressed, the Head Gajes began to look more their age, skin less ravaged, eyes less resentful. The current Heads, with the open-ended parentheticals under their busts, were on the bottom row—laughing, mouths splayed open, and lips the shiniest shade of red.

Above the poster, Gypsy noticed several new banners on the wall. The Head Gajes didn’t normally use colorful language or curse words to empower the women of Ovoidia, but this read, in upper case letters:

—Put Peace Between Your Legs—


Thanks to Our Cunts—

—SEX: Just Say YES!—

Sweat moistened Gypsy’s palms. She rubbed her hands down her chest to try to dry them off. Her boobs weren’t the biggest in the class, but they were close. She came from a big-boob family. Grandmama Goyma’s cleavage was a sight to behold, but most of the time, Gypsy wished Goyma would just put ‘em away. Gypsy’s bust made her hips appear narrow and out of proportion with her legs, which were thin, undefined, and in need of a tan. A handful of laminated brochures circulated around the room. Gypsy turned the shiny pamphlet over in her hands and sighed at the cover image of her house. Well, not her house specifically, but rather a standard “Communities” home. The drone’s angle offered a bird’s-eye view of a headless snowman, and Gypsy imagined it melting into a staircase ribcage. The brochure was titled: Welcome to the Communities: Living the Ovoidian Dream

Gypsy squeezed the pamphlet quickly into a wrinkled mess, surprising even her.

Madame Adel stepped in front of the room, her denim shift hanging below her knees, her voice already rattling on about the silly brochure. She wore thick cotton socks pulled up below the hem of her shift, revealing a hedgehog strip of black leg hairs. Gypsy thought Madame Adel dressed as though actively engaged in repelling men. The anti-Gaje. And she wondered how well her efforts worked.

Then she glanced at all the phonies around her with their stoic expressions, pursed lips, and suspicious eyes. Practically carbon copies of Madame Adel’s perennial sour face. As far as Gypsy knew, Madame Adel only had one daughter, Vegas, who had just turned sixteen and gone straight to the City for higher education, a career, or if that failed, a baby. Gypsy tried to drown out Madame Adel’s diligent explanation of the brochure for the new homes that would be available next year, when the girls in the class would make the passage into women, and then mothers.

Gypsy watched the other girls ogle at the glossy images. They were holding their future in their hands, and it was the first time anyone had seen the upgrades. Previous upgrades had included a massage chair and pinball machine; the most recent came with a tanning bed. Gypsy knew Grandmama Goyma wasn’t pleased she missed out on that one.

Gypsy raised her hand, but Madame Adel wasn’t looking her way, so she held it up until Madame Adel finally noticed her. “A question?” she asked.

“When are they going to turn the air-conditioning back on?” Gypsy asked, fanning herself with the brochure.

“Due to the heat,” Madame Adel said, “between the hours of eleven and three, the lights and air-conditioning will be temporarily turned off in the Communities to conserve energy. It’s a recent decision by the Head Gajes but they say it shouldn’t last long.” Madame Adel stepped in front of Gypsy and clasped her brochure. “And,” she said, “this is not a fan, please stop using it as such.”

“But I’m melting here,” Gypsy said, wiping droplets off her face and displaying her damp fingers to Madame Adel.

“I’ve had enough of your complaining, Gypsy,” Madame Adel said, and folded her arms. “You’re only required to be here for four hours a day, three days a week. That’s it! You’re long past the arduous twelve-hours a day, six days a week of Formation school, unlike your male counterparts, and yet you still are unsatisfied …”

Gypsy turned her face away and tried to ignore Madame Adel. She didn’t need to hear a lecture about how much better things were since she’d graduated into the Passage school back when she was eleven. Madame Adel still wasn’t finished with her lecture when Gypsy tuned back in.

“… these are not difficult lessons, Gypsy,” Madame Adel said. “Would you prefer to spend your long days with the children in the Formation School filling in the coloring books of families being held up at gun point, and depraved monsters brandishing assault rifles and shooting-up preschools?” Madame Adel walked to her white, oval desk, pulled open the drawers and started rifling through paperwork. “Because that can be arranged for you, or perhaps you’d prefer a refresher course during detention, where together, we can go over some of the history of Pre-Ultimate Revolution murderers. I’d love to hear what you remember about the horrors of Hitler, Stalin, and Mao.” Madame Adel pulled out a thick history book complete with full-page illustrations and slammed it on the desk.

Gypsy remembered the text from her early history lessons. By the time students completed their formative education, they understood that the world outside of Ovoidia was filled with monsters. Only, to Ovoidian children, monsters were real people.

“No, Madame Adel,” Gypsy said. “I’ll be quiet and listen.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Madame Adel said, and turned to face the class. “Now open your brochures and we’ll go through them together.”

Gypsy opened her brochure to a young Ovoidian woman with harp-shaped cheekbones and buttery skin, holding two babies on her narrow hips. In the picture, she held a set of keys in the air and had the biggest smile Gypsy had ever seen. Gypsy quickly skimmed the text and flipped it over, looking for an answer to a question she’d been wondering. Unable to find the information, she raised her hand and when Madame Adel noticed her, she asked, “What if I want to live by myself?”

The class giggled.

“Communities’ homes are reserved for women with children,” Madame Adel said, clearly unamused. “You know this, Gypsy. If you want to live alone there’s always the City. I’m sure the new Head Gajes have made it much nicer for all the new women they’re expecting.”

“That’s not fair though,” Gypsy said. “What if I can’t get pregnant? There could be something wrong with my uterus.” She stared at her navel and shrugged. “I don’t know yet, and then I’d never be allowed a home in the Communities?”

“Come now, Gypsy.” Madame Adel said, wiping the sweat from her upper lip. “The chances of that happening are slim to none. Ovoidian women are extremely fertile.” Madame Adel rolled her shoulders. “But, if that is the case, the City does provide housing for women, including barren women. There’s really no need to be paranoid though. You’ll have ample opportunities to get pregnant and most of the time, it occurs much faster than you intend.”

Gypsy wasn’t concerned that getting pregnant was going to be a challenge. She had entered the last year of her childhood and began to wonder how mature those girls really felt the first time they were approached.

Then she thought of Sadie, and Madame Adel’s voice slowly faded to mute. On Monday, her older sister would turn sixteen and become a woman. In Ovoidia, the day a girl becomes a woman, she travels to the City alone for the first time. It wasn’t meant to be a ceremonious occasion; girls were introduced to their purpose every day.

But Sadie wasn’t just visiting the City. She was one of the new women moving there, and even though Gypsy wasn’t supposed to be worried, she kept coming back to an image that made her stomach sick—a white-domed luxury car, the driver pulling Sadie down a dark alley, a lifted shift, cold marble, supple flesh.

She hadn’t noticed her reverie until Madame Adel slapped a brochure against her palm and finished her lesson, as always, with the same admonition. “A woman’s body is her most trivial sacrifice,” she said with purpose. “You can love anyone as long as you serve your country.”

Gypsy took the steps two at a time to the house Mama Asya was given when she got pregnant with Sadie. At the top of the stairs, two lioness sentries flanked an arched glass doorway. The front room light was turned off, and the leather couches glowed in the angled shadow looking lonely, giving an illusion of vacancy. Gypsy opened the door to a familiar feeling of emptiness. The icy blast of the air-conditioning invited her inside.

A dim glow lit the kitchen hallway where Grandmama Goyma softly hummed the theme song to The Club Gajes—Ovoidia’s only reality soap opera. Even Gypsy found the melody inexplicably catchy; at times it made her want to dance around, and other times wipe a furtive tear from her eye. The music appealed to emotions; unlike the show, which followed the lives of stuck up, bitchy Club Gajes.

Gypsy climbed the stairs and found her sister, Sadie, standing in front of a round plastic container holding a pile of sweaters, red and blue sleeves spilling over her arms like octopus-legs. Her frizzy mahogany hair whipped around as she spun her head from side to side looking around the mess she’d made on the floor. Gypsy had always been the neater of the two, but Gypsy couldn’t deny she was going to miss seeing Sadie’s messy room.

“How’s it feel to pack up all your stuff?” Gypsy asked her, walking in under the oval archway.

Sadie pursed her lips, and Gypsy instantly recognized the expression on her face. Sadie huffed and said, “Mama Asya put these out to take, but she’s crazy. They’re too thick. I’m not taking everything I own!”

Gypsy gave a half-shrug, not wanting to get in the middle. “What’s wrong with some extra layers?”

“I’ll never wear them.” Sadie raised an eyebrow. “It’s boiling outside.”

“What about at night?” Gypsy asked.

Sadie rolled her big brown eyes and dropped the sweaters into the container.

“Oh, my Gaje! Oh, my Gaje!” Goyma yelled from the kitchen. “Girls! Get down here quick!”

They rushed downstairs side-by-side, and Gypsy saw Goyma resting her chin on her perched hands, and her right ear pressed to the radio speaker due to her faulty hearing. Her light-gray hair was braided into a bun and there was an astonished look in her green eyes, the way an eager fox might look when chased away from a chicken coop. Her thin lips were sealed together and tiny bubbles formed alongside her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Gypsy asked.

“Hush!” Goyma pressed her finger to her mouth. It was a special gesture both Gypsy and Sadie understood to mean, “I love you. It’s best if you don’t ask questions.”

The volume was on max, and the reporter’s voice bounced off the high ceiling.

“There’s not much that can be done for the young woman,” he said, and they listened closely. “It’s up to the tribunal to decide the consequences. In many ways, her fate has been sealed. We must bear in mind this form of crime is virtually extinct. Historically, the Head Gajes have a zero-tolerance policy for subversive behavior, but our current Head Gajes haven’t had to dole out punishments since their inauguration, and we’re all eager to hear their plans. The age of this young woman may result in leniency, but we’re still waiting on reports.”

Gypsy ran to the living room across the tile floors, her white sneakers squeaking. In the dark space, she stopped in front of Mama Asya’s thirty-six-inch, flat-screen TV.

Gypsy thought about the creased brochure stuffed in her backpack: the new upgrades would come standard with sixty-inch voice-automated plasmas. Mama Asya would want to see it when she got home from her daily group powerwalk, one of the many activities assiduously attended by the Communities’ women. They called it leisurcise, and Gypsy had to smile.

She couldn’t think of a time when Mama Asya had missed a day. On the weekends, hundreds of women flooded the streets in custom shifts, designed to wick away moisture, as they weaved through the neighborhood.

Gypsy flicked on the lights and pushed the red button on the remote. The TV flashed, then faded into focus, revealing Ovoidia’s anchorman, Stan Mac, sitting at a desk and staring at the camera with his sad, shocked eyes, hidden beneath black and gray eyebrows. Wisps of his feathery hair stood up in varied shades of senescent color. He had been the anchorman of Ovoidia news since Mama Asya was a baby. He wore the same suit, every day; a boring, itchy-looking affair.

Gypsy tried to imagine Stan Mac’s life outside of work, a life others were only allowed to dream of. Yet, even with the most freedom any one person could have, he was still confined to that uniform—a stiff button-up, that pinched at the neck, an area of his body which appeared more saggy by the day. It was garroted by a dull, lifeless tie; a fashion accessory that once served a functional purpose—to keep a man’s shirt together before the invention of buttons. But the tie remained, Gypsy assumed, to satisfy men’s asphyxiation fantasies.

She may have drawn her conclusions from watching too many episodes of Ovoidia’s three imported documentaries: Most Wanted Men and Women, Killer Couples, and Unsolved Tragedies. Every night at six, an omnibus ran until midnight, and Gypsy often stayed up late, glued to the re-enactments of murders and kidnappings occurring outside of Ovoidia. She was never sure where, exactly. Ovoidians weren’t taught much about foreign countries, other than information about their safety concerns, which acted as a large enough deterrent in learning anything else.

Stan Mac provided the voice over for Most Wanted Men and Woman: Depictions of the Most Heinous Atrocities Man is Capable of Inflicting. In fact, Mac opened each show with that line, while his puppy eyes reflected, “How can humans be so cruel? Feel sorry for them. Be grateful.”

At this moment on the screen, Stan Mac turned his attention to the top right corner above him. Gypsy expected him to reveal some scenario like a young woman throwing babies into the Ovoidia river or walking through the mall with an ax, hacking shoppers while they carried their bags.

“Can you tell us what you remember about the girl?” Mac asked aloud to the blank screen.

The thumbnail expanded to fill the screen with a live feed from the City. The camera focused on a dark-haired young man with close-set eyes and a squashed cherry for a mouth. He was standing on one of the marble bridges spanning the Ovoidia river. Oval skyscrapers lined the horizon. The chyron beneath his chest read, “City Man Approached Traitor One Time.”

“She was a pretty girl,” the young man said. “I remember wanting her right away. She looked fresh. It didn’t seem like there was anything wrong with her. She acted no different than most women. I figured she was shopping.”

Stan Mac appeared back on the screen and said, “There you have it, folks; witnesses claim sixteen-year-old Vegas Adel was not acting suspiciously before attempting to take her own life during the early hours of this morning. Up next, stay tuned for the weather. Some unexpected rain is on the way!”

“Did he say Vegas?” Sadie asked, turning to Gypsy. Her normally sunny complexion had gone pale.

“He’s wrong,” Gypsy said, turning the volume down a bit. “I just had class with Madame Adel. She didn’t say anything.”

Madame Adel had been responsible for preparing thousands of girls for womanhood. She taught women to believe the spirit of what was best for society. Madame Adel had tried to make Vegas into a perfect specimen. An ideal Ovoidian woman.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Sadie said, shaking her head. “Vegas didn’t want a baby. She was studying to be a doctor.”

Stan Mac’s voice came back from the screen. “Before the weather, we wish to provide this commentary.” He cleared his throat. “Vegas Adel’s fate is yet to be determined. Suicide is viewed as a form of treason in Ovoidia, which could result in a public stoning or hanging. If the Head Gajes are lenient, they may decide on a hundred lashes or a genital sealing. Based on the severity of the crime, we hope swift and earnest action takes place. These acts of terrorism on Ovoidia’s status as a utopia should be handled with the utmost seriousness.”

Gypsy flicked the red button on the remote and turned to Goyma who had followed them into the room. She had dried dough squished between the stack of rings on her fingers.

“What did he say they were going to do to her?” Goyma asked.

Gypsy had one image in her mind. A picture from a history book.

“What’s a genital shutting?” Sadie asked.

Gypsy remembered learning about “sealing” in year two of Formation School. They were performed on women as purity rituals, before the Ultimate Revolution, but Gypsy didn’t fully understand why it would be used as a form of punishment.

Goyma said, “It’s called a sealing, not a shutting,” then shrugged, indifferent. “They’re going to zip her up. Teach her a lesson. She’s going to wish she were dead. They would have shown more mercy with a stoning.”

“That still happens?” Gypsy asked, hearing her voice squeak with fear at the mere thought of the agony.

“Not technically,” Goyma told her and rested a hand on her hip. “It hasn’t happened in centuries. There hasn’t been a crime this serious for years.” She took a seat on the couch and fell silent. Gypsy knew Goyma would take a minute to consider the best way to explain certain things to the girls.

Finally, Goyma said, “When I was a girl, a few good years younger than you two, a man was sentenced to death by castration for sex with a minor. It happened at Gaje Circle, and every man, woman, and child in Ovoidia was forced to walk past him.”

Goyma pressed her pink polished finger to her lips and looked lost in a thought for a moment, then continued. “By the time it was our turn, the man had been left outside for days. A puddle of black-tar blood covered his legs and groin. A flock of crows were plucking out his eyes and rats had taken most of his tongue. It was terrifying to see, but after that, we all felt safer, grateful for all our fore-Gajes had sacrificed. That man’s body was a warning and a reminder we were in safe hands. It’s that sense of security the rest of the world has never known.” She rose from her seat. “It’s so inconceivable people can’t understand. They’re jealous of our power. Ovoidian women are selfless. Invested in the greater good. What’s best for us all is best for you.”

“Vegas believed that,” Sadie said quietly and with less certainty than Gypsy was used to hearing.

“Impossible,” Goyma scoffed as she walked back toward the kitchen. “If she’s anything like your teacher, she just cares about herself.” She stopped and turned back around. “No wonder Vegas tried to drown herself! Madame Adel’s not an ideal role model. The woman’s too tense. She found a loophole to this life, but she’s not really living.” Goyma’s voice rose, along with her arms which started to wave. “She doesn’t embrace being an Ovoidian woman. To tolerate this existence is merely an act. A survival mechanism maybe, but such a waste of power.”

The front doorknob clicked open, and Mama Asya walked in.

“What’s going on?” she asked, surprised.

Her flushed cheeks glowed beneath a navy denim visor secured around her forehead. She wore her thick black hair pulled into a high ponytail.

Gypsy had never seen her mama wear make-up. When she was younger, with her naturally dewy lashes and plump lips the color of coral, she didn’t need it. Gypsy had slept in bed with her almost every night. It hadn’t been that long since she’d stopped, and it wasn’t because Gypsy didn’t want to sleep alone. Well, that wasn’t her favorite part of the day, but as she fell asleep, she always enjoyed stroking Mama Asya’s downy peach face—one of the first times Gypsy had connected body to mind with pleasure. She relished the tingles that pulsed down her arm and the quick, tiny thumps of her heart. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to feel that pleasure or what that pleasure even meant.

The rules were all unclear, and nobody talked about whether or not they enjoyed touch. Over time Mama Asya’s once-plump skin deflated, and with it, Gypsy’s enjoyment of stroking it thinned.

Goyma clutched her hips, the gold coins on her turquoise shawl jingling. “Vegas put our entire country at risk,” she said. “That stupid girl wasn’t thinking about us, about how her decision affects the greater good. You girls understand how important it is to follow the rules.

Without rules we’d be living like the barbarians on TV. It doesn’t warrant thinking about.”

Goyma tucked her chin and clicked her tongue. “I’m going to finish dinner. Be at the table in an hour,” she said before throwing her hands up and walking off.

“Would they seal her up because she can feel?” Gypsy asked. She felt suspiciously unnerved, and almost panicked. Gypsy could see Mama Asya wasn’t sure how to react. She hadn’t even stepped inside the house all the way. The arched front door was held open by her hand, and her fingers were decorated with a silver band engraved with the girls’ names and a couple of the biggest diamonds she’d ever received, back when she was desirable.

Mama Asya blinked twice and shook her head as though some pesky insect had flown in her ear. “Vaginal sealings? They’re archaic,” she said, and closed the door. “There’s been no need for them. Why would the Head Gajes start using them now?”

“Vegas tried to commit suicide!” Sadie said, her face filled with disbelief.

Mama Asya caught her breath. “I knew it. Women don’t belong in the City.”

Sadie glared at her. “Well, I’m still going!” she yelled, then turned and stomped up the stairs.

“They’re going to do that to her, too.” Gypsy’s voice broke, and she held her breath to stop from crying. A woman’s body is her most trivial sacrifice, echoed in the recesses of her mind.

“Why are you so upset?” Mama Asya asked. “If it’s true, she put everyone at risk. Who do you think would suffer? We’re safe because we follow the rules, and no one should be allowed to jeopardize that, Gypsy.” She paused, then said, “The better question is why would anyone want to? We can’t call ourselves a utopia if people start killing themselves. Poor Madame Adel, she must be devastated. Her own daughter a defector. I should go call Beth and Amira.”

Mama Asya exited the conversation as quickly as she entered, and headed up, the pristine stairs in her new white trainers, meant to target areas of her calf muscle and increase caloric burn by thirty percent.

“Can I get into bed with you?” Gypsy hovered over Sadie’s bed in her oversized night shirt and bare feet. It was late, and Mama Asya and Goyma had gone straight to their rooms after dinner. Most nights Sadie didn’t mind staying up late and talking to Gypsy, but over the past few months, she’d gotten annoyed with Gypsy for falling asleep before getting back into her bed.

“I don’t think so. I need to get some rest.” Sadie stared at the domed ceiling as she spoke. The walls were bare except for an oval mirror.

“Move over.” Gypsy lifted the white duvet and pushed Sadie. “I might not be able to do this again after the weekend.”

“Thank Gaje.” Sadie smiled.

Gypsy frowned, then followed Sadie’s gaze to the ceiling. “You scared?”

“Scared of what?”

“I don’t know. Going to the City. What happened to Vegas.”

“Mama Asya and Goyma are right,” she said. “What Vegas did was dangerous. We could have all been affected. If she didn’t like the City, she should have come back. The Head Gajes aren’t forcing us to stay.” Sadie closed her eyes and smiled. “When we move to the City, we’ll live in the top floor of one of the new co-ed hives, wear designer clothes, and you know, do something meaningful with our lives.”

Gypsy held her breath and bit her lip. She was afraid to look Sadie in the eyes. “We don’t know that for sure.”

Sadie rolled over and tickled her side. “Oh no, you’re not getting out of our pact that easily.”

Gypsy curled into a ball and almost fell off the bed.

“Whoa!” Sadie pulled her back up, and they both laughed.

They sat facing each other, pretending they were a mirror, sticking their tongues out, pushing their noses up and squishing their cheeks together. They loved to make each other laugh, and when they calmed down, Gypsy looked closely at Sadie. They had similar markings in the shadowy details of their brown eyes, but Sadie always looked more worried.

“What do you think being approached is going to be like?” she asked, a slight sadness in her eyes.

“No big deal.” Sadie shrugged. “Like how they’ve said.”

“But what if it’s gross?” Gypsy asked, sitting up. “What if a guy’s got bad breath like salami or something? Or what if their hands are small and they have warts?! Or if they don’t cut their nails? What if they’re a lot shorter than you? What if you can feel it?” Gypsy paused, and then said quietly. “Maybe that’s why Vegas did it. What if she could feel it down there?”

“I won’t feel a thing,” Sadie said and chuckled. “Maybe a breeze every once and a while.” She shuddered. “That might take some getting used to.” Sadie nudged Gypsy playfully. “All women say it feels the same. We do what’s best for the safety of everyone. Don’t you think that includes us as well? Being approached isn’t meant to be pleasurable. It would be different if we could feel sex.” Sadie looked closely at Gypsy. “Think of this—if women enjoyed having sex, then being “approached” would be called “rape.” But you can’t rape the willing.”

“What if you do feel it?”

“Then I’d get circumcised, so I couldn’t.”

Sadie answered so quickly and coldly that Gypsy felt a small stabbing pain between her legs and reeled back. “And you’d be okay with that?” Gypsy asked.

“Sure. Who wants the burden?” Sadie shook her head as though casting out whatever images had appeared. “You know our ancestors were sex slaves. They got circumcised as a form of mercy. We might not like being approached, but it’s better not to feel.”

Gypsy laid there quietly and thought about her late-night talks with Sadie about what life was going to be like in the City, and how until now, they’d never spoken about actually being approached. Even if the women of Ovoidia didn’t feel the pleasure of sex, Gypsy wasn’t sure Sadie was as ready as she claimed to be. She opened her mouth to say something but turned away instead. She wanted to press her further, but she also didn’t want to show Sadie how utterly afraid she felt about her leaving. Women in the Communities were more protected from being approached, although that wasn’t the case when it came to the Crusaders.

Sadie stirred beside her. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, half asleep.

“Nothing,” Gypsy said. “Weird thoughts. They’ll pass. Of course, you’ll be fine, and if any guy hurts you, we’ll have him castrated.”

Sadie smiled and seemed to nod and drift away to sleep.

About the Author

Lindsay Lees headshot

Lindsay Lees is originally from Los Angeles and holds dual citizenship in the U.S. and the United Kingdom, and while growing up and later in college, she split her time between the two countries. Lindsay earned a B.A. in 2008 from Manchester Metropolitan University, and next an M.F.A.in Creative Writing from California College of the Arts. The Willing is Lindsay’s debut novel. She currently lives a quiet Southern life with her husband and a houseful of pets. Visit her website or connect with her at FACEBOOK and GOODREADS.

Author: David Myles Robinson
Publisher: Terra Nova Books
Pages: 250
Genre: Thriller / Suspense


Famed reporter Russell Blaze is dead. It appears to be an accident, but after Russ’s funeral, his son, Cody, finds a letter in which his father explains that the death may have been murder. It directs Cody to Russ’s unfinished memoir for clues as to what may have happened. The opening words are: On the night of October 16, 1968, I uttered a sentence that would haunt me for the rest of my life. The sentence was, “Someone should kill that motherfucker.”

As Cody delves into the memoir, a window opens into a tragic past and thrusts the still-burning embers of another time’s radical violence into the political reality of the present. History that once seemed far away becomes a deeply personal immersion for Cody into the storied heyday of the Haight: drugs, sex, war protesters, right-wing militias, ground-breaking journalism—and the mysterious Gloria, who wanders into his father’s pad one day to just “crash here for a while until things calm down.”

Cody discovers aspects of his father’s life he never knew, and slowly begins to understand the significance of those words his father spoke in 1968.

Words Kill is a story of loss, violence, and racism; love, hate, and discovery. It is a story of then … and now.


As Russell Blaze emerged from the public parking garage on Montgomery, the famous San Francisco fog enveloped him and sent a chill through his body. He pulled his brown houndstooth sport coat around his chest, crossed his arms, and stuck his hands in his armpits. Despite the biting, wet cold, Russ smiled to himself. It was his first time in the city since the great pandemic of 2020, and it was good to see people out on the streets again.

As he turned onto Columbus, the wind coming off the bay hit him. He lowered his head and strode forward. He didn’t have far to go. He was meeting his son, Cody, at the historic Tadich Grill, which Russ was pleased to see had survived the shutdowns. He looked up and saw the sign not far ahead. Then his attention was drawn to a striking woman who was walking toward him. Her stride seemed purposeful as her high heels clicked on the pavement. She looked to be around Russ’s age, seventyish, and wore a gray wool pantsuit with a white blouse. Her gray hair was cut short. As they passed, Russ studied her face. Her green eyes darted his way for a brief moment, and Russ imagined some past familiarity. Was she someone he knew? Someone he should have acknowledged? She hadn’t seemed to recognize him.

Russ saw Cody standing at the entrance to the restaurant and put the woman out of his mind. Cody, in his early thirties, stood a little over six feet tall, about two inches taller than Russ. He had inherited his father’s rugged good looks but wore his hair short while Russ had spent his life sporting long hair, one of his enduring holdovers from his hippie days in the Haight Ashbury. A moment later, father and son hugged before they entered the restaurant.

They were seated in a dark wood-paneled booth. Russ ordered a vodka martini. Cody ordered a Coke. He was on his lunch break and was due in federal court in a few hours.

Cody watched his father studying the menu and smiled. “Why are you even looking at the menu?” he asked. “We both know you’re going to have the Cioppino and a glass of Pinot Grigio.”

Russ looked up and grinned. “Oh, we know that, do we? Mister smarty pants lawyer.” The grin disappeared as fast as it had appeared as he looked back down at the menu. Cody said nothing but continued to watch his father stare at a menu he knew by heart. Russ had aged well, Cody thought, although his chiseled face was well-lined and his brown eyes, usually intense and piercing, would sometimes drift into a faraway look.

After a moment, Cody was struck by the thought that Russ wasn’t really looking at the menu at all. He was thinking about something else. That, in and of itself, wasn’t surprising. Although Russ had been an exemplary father, never missing a soccer game or a debate club tournament or any of the myriad events parents were expected to attend, Cody had noticed from a young age that Russ would sometimes space out as if his internal attention became focused on something else. It would start with that faraway look, and at times Cody thought he saw a kind of sadness in Russ’s expression. But it was always fleeting, and more often than not, Cody assumed he’d imagined it.

Russ must have felt his son watching him; he looked up again, smiled, and put the menu down. A moment later, as an ancient waiter asked to take their order, Russ said he’d like the Cioppino and a glass of Pinot Grigio.

When the waiter left, Cody asked, “Something on your mind, Dad? You seem distracted.”

Russ gave a small shake of his head. “No, not really. Just before I arrived, I passed a woman on the street I thought I recognized, but I can’t reel it in. It bugs me when that happens.”

“Give yourself a break,” Cody said. “You’ve interviewed thousands of people in your career. You can’t expect to remember every one of them.”

Russ shrugged and drank the last of his martini. “Especially at my advanced age,” he said. “Tell me what’s happening in your world. Anything new?”

Cody smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. I’m in the process of settling a major discrimination case.”

“Nice. Can you tell me about it?”

“Not too much. I’m sure the defendant will insist on a confidentiality clause.” Cody paused and took a sip of his Coke. “Let’s just say it’s a big tech firm that allowed and, at times, even nurtured an environment of sexual harassment.” Cody paused again and then let out a small snort of a laugh. “With a dash of racism. We got our hands on a bunch of internal emails. One of my favorites was from the CFO that referred to a Black woman in accounting. The email said he’d like to get some of that ‘brown sugar,’ ” Cody said, making air quotes.

“Oh, my.”

“That’s what we said. Anyway, I’ve been lead counsel on it and have worked my ass off, so it’s very rewarding.” He grinned again. “Not to mention it will be a big payday.”

The two men were silent while the waiter served their food and poured Russ’s wine. When he left, Russ raised his glass in a toast. “I’m proud of you, Son.”

What Russ didn’t say was how bittersweet it made him feel that Cody had become a civil rights attorney. That was a story he’d save for another day.

But Cody never saw his father again.


Amazon → https://amzn.to/3Bqov0c


About the Author

David Myles Robinson has always had a passion for writing. During the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, while in college, Robinson worked as a free-lance writer for several magazines and was a staff writer for a weekly minority newspaper in Pasadena, California, called The Pasadena Eagle. However, as he himself admits, upon graduating from San Francisco State University, he decided against the ‘starving writer’ route and went to law school, at the University of San Francisco School of Law. It was there that he met his wife, Marcia Waldorf. After graduating from law school in 1975, the two moved to Honolulu, Hawaii and began practicing law. Robinson became a trial lawyer, specializing in personal injury and workers’ compensation law. Waldorf eventually became a District Court and ultimately a Circuit Court judge.

Upon retiring in 2010, Robinson completed his first novel, Unplayable Lie, which was published by BluewaterPress LLC, in 2010. He has since published five more novels, three of which are legal thrillers set in Honolulu: Tropical Lies, Tropical Judgments, Tropical Doubts, and Tropical Deception. His other three novels are The Pinochet Plot, Son of Saigon, and Words Kill. Robinson has also published a book of short travel stories, Conga Line on the Amazon.

Robinson and Waldorf divided their time between Honolulu and their second home in Taos, NM for seven years before finally deciding to see what it’s like to be full-time mainlanders again. They now live in Taos, where Robinson can pursue his non-writing passions of golf, ski, and travel.





Instagram – http://www.instagram.com/davidmylesrobinson

Author: Irene Woodbury
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 180
Genre: Women’s Fiction / Dark Humor


To marry or not to marry Connor J. Barrington? That is the question Roxy Drake faces one hour before her wedding, when she discovers her handsome fiance may have murdered his first two wives. Did Connor kill Annie and Charlotte, or simply let them die? Does Roxy become wife number three, or the runaway bride from hell? Find out in the darkly funny Honeymoon Roulette.


Honeymoon Roulette is funny and off the average track of love and romance stories. Honeymoon Roulette was a very quick and fun read. It was impossible not to love Roxy and share in the troubles she got herself into at every turn. There is plenty of romance but no vulgar sex scenes or cursing going on, only lots of good clean reading. This book is perfect for an afternoon at the pool or a relaxing day snuggled in front of the fireplace. Irene Woodbury has created great characters and a plot that leaves you wanting more. I am hoping for a second book so I can continue to follow my new friend Roxy’s life. Do not pass up Honeymoon Roulette – it is a winner.”

Readers’ Favorite 5-Star Review


Amazon → https://tinyurl.com/cjbrcb2u

Smashwords → https://tinyurl.com/3sr6vd7m


Meet The Author

Luckily for all you fans of romantic fiction, Irene Woodbury knows that what happens in Las Vegas doesn’t have to stay there. The Denver-based author has captured the heart and soul of Sin City in four colorful, suspenseful novels.

In the gritty, engrossing Romeo Stalker (2021), a Vegas showgirl’s life is plunged into stalker-hell when her ex returns from prison and learns she has a new boyfriend. Love and Payback (2021) is a dark, dramatic look at a married woman’s mysterious death in Sin City, where she has gone to meet an Internet love.

In the darkly humorous Honeymoon Roulette (2021), a bride goes rogue after learning her handsome fiance may have killed his first two wives. And A Slot Machine Ate My Midlife Crisis (2021) is the vibrant, funny story of a mixed-up newlywed who goes to Vegas for a girls’ weekend that never ends.

Irene, a successful travel writer whose favorite destinations are London and Las Vegas, is currently working on another novel.

You can visit her website at www.irenewoodbury.com or connect with her on Twitter and Facebook.

Title: GROUP
Author: Lynne Turner
Publisher: FriesenPress
Pages: 102
Genre: Mystery / Crime Thriller


Dr. William Osgood, a Beverly Hills psychologist, must make a quick decision. Seventeen-year-old Loretta, his most troubled patient, has just fainted on his couch, and his Thursday night group is about to arrive. Knowing that allowing Loretta to stay is ethically murky and potentially perilous to the group’s dynamic, Dr. Osgood begins to consider what might happen once Loretta opens her eyes. He feels that Loretta will be safe – but even the good doctor can’t possibly predict the results of his decision.

Loretta, as it happens, has come to be Dr. Osgood’s patient under somewhat mysterious circumstances. Her story rivets the six members of Dr. Osgood’s weekly group, who themselves struggle with inner demons and life conflicts; when a bigtime talent agent is shot, the doctor recognizes that each of the group’s members may have had a motive. These psychological twists and turns – as well as Dr. Osgood’s own as he copes with a bitter divorce and downsized

lifestyle – pave the way for the captivating story told in the debut mystery GROUP, by Lynne Turner. The thriller’s author knows her subjects well: she herself is a psychotherapist in Beverly Hills, and deftly weaves the lives and maladies of her characters with elements of mystery and surprise, set against the backdrop of the fringes of Hollywood and Beverly Hills.

“None of the characters in the book are based on my actual clients. However, the many compelling cases in my work, along with my deep love for Los Angeles, inspired me to write GROUP,” explains Turner, a lifelong fan of mystery writers. “My years of practicing psychotherapy have enhanced my ability to create characters that readers experience as real people, as opposed to caricatures.

“What is underscored in GROUP is the discrepancy between outward appearance and the actual genesis of one’s dynamics and one’s pain. In writing it, I wanted to give readers a ringside seat inside a therapist’s office and allow them to ‘hear’ the intimate details of each group member’s life, as well as to give them the rare opportunity to hear a therapist’s internal dialogue and witness his private life.”

Equally authentic is the geographic setting Turner provides, in part because another of her passions, Los Angeles street photography, gives her a literal close-up view of the city and its denizens.

“The many cultural references drawn from life in Southern California are, on the surface, funny and absurd,” Turner notes. “However, they also reveal a great deal about the values and aspirations of many Americans. The social injustices are gently exposed with humor and compassion. I’d like to think readers will be entertained, especially in these troubled times.”

By book’s end, not only is the mystery solved, but the characters – psychologist and patients alike — have grown and begun to heal, and a romance has bloomed. “GROUP is indeed a story about a particular group,” Turner says. “However, the word ‘group’ accrues meaning as the story develops. It demonstrates what can be accomplished with group effort, strength and understanding.”

After the group had left, there was an eerie quiet. Even the wheezing of the cleaning crew’s vacuum cleaner had ceased. The doctor opened one of his desk’s secret compartments, which was empty save a single glass and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black. He poured himself a generous double. His lips surprised him. They trembled as he took his first horrid swallow; the second one went down easier. He could see the Hollywood sign from his office window tonight. The Santa Ana winds had cleaned up the city. It was now flooded by an amber wash that was so devastatingly beautiful his throat tightened unexpectedly.

— GROUP (p. 54)


Amazon → https://amzn.to/3zLojYJ

About the Author

Lynne Turner is a psychotherapist in practice in Beverly Hills, California, where she has practiced for over 30 years. She grew up on the East Coast, in the aptly named seaside town of Point Pleasant, New Jersey. After earning her Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature from Montclair State University, she moved to Los Angeles, where she earned her Master of Science degree in psychology at California State University, Los Angeles. In addition to her practice and her writing, she is a Los Angeles-focused street photographer, which has afforded her the opportunity to take a closer look at the human condition from yet another perspective. She lives with her daughter and two dogs in the Hollywood Hills. Visit her WEBSITE or connect with her on INSTAGRAM.

Two beautiful stories of eternal love and redemption…

By Arabella Sheraton

Author: Arabella Sheraton
Publisher: Bublish
Pages: 90 (novella)
Genre: Regency Romance


In this romantic traditional Regency novella, Patience Cherwell is resigned to a life of spinsterhood. Therefore, when her young friend, the lovely Lorna Hartley, comes to stay for a London season, she decides the eligible, charming Lord Blackwood is the perfect match for Lorna. Granted, Lord Blackwood, at forty, is much older than the vivacious 20-year-old Lorna, but Patience is determined to help her young friend make a good match. So why isn’t she happy when his lordship and Lorna seem to like each other’s company? The problem is that Patience is already madly in love with his lordship! An unexpected invitation arrives for Lorna and Patience to attend Lord Blackwood’s Valentine Ball. This is the perfect moment for him to propose to Lorna. Mysteriously, a corsage arrives from an anonymous admirer. Who is it for? And what will be the outcome for the wearer at Lord Blackwood’s Valentine Ball? Patience and Lord Blackwood’s enchanting story continues in The Lady’s Revenge.


“Set in the era of grace and chivalry, Lord Blackwood’s Valentine Ball by Arabella Sheraton is the heart-warming novella prequel to the more adventurous novel, The Lady’s Revenge. Written with similar charm and panache of Jane Austen’s, Pride and Prejudice, this enchanting story captivates the reader and draws them into the vibrant life of Patience Cherwell. Patience’s loving and noble spirit is evident from the onset of the story; instantly capturing the reader. Despite the results that could lead to a lifetime of loveless solitude, Patience’s sacrifice of self for the love of a friend is gut-wrenching, yet profoundly noteworthy. This is a beautiful story of eternal love and redemption, and I highly recommend it to hopeless romantics.” – Amazon Reviewer 5 stars

Charles Edward Jasper, Lord Blackwood, was, in her opinion, the handsomest man she had ever met, possibly, the handsomest man in London. The first time he shook her hand had sent a shocking tingle radiating right through her body and caused her to blush so fierily that she was sure he must have noticed. He had held her hand for a few moments as he spoke to her, his touch producing such an alarming effect that her knees trembled as if they had turned to water. Patience had felt breathless and thought she might have gasped her greeting. He did not appear to have observed her awkwardness because by then he had turned to welcome Lorna and her ever-giggling friend, Miss Sophie Sutcliffe. Had he even really noticed her that first time? Perhaps the only reason he tried to engage her in social chat on subsequent occasions was out of politeness to her as Lorna’s hostess during her London sojourn.


Amazon → https://amzn.to/3vEp1Vd

Barnes & Noble → https://bit.ly/3vyAW6O

iBooks → https://apple.co/3p7GoLm

Kobo → https://bit.ly/3wJE8g7

Title: THE LADY’S REVENGE (Book 2)
Author: Arabella Sheraton
Publisher: Bublish
Pages: 186
Genre: Regency Romance


This engaging traditional Regency romance is the sequel to Lord Blackwood’s Valentine Ball. Miss Letitia DeVere decides that revenge is a dish best eaten cold when she returns to London after a two-year absence to find her former admirer Lord Charles Blackwood on the verge of proposing to Miss Patience Cherwell. Lord Blackwood’s Valentine Ball proved to be the turning point in his fledgling romance with Patience. Letitia is not the kind of woman who gives up easily, as Patience and Charles soon find out. She stops at nothing to achieve her aims. However, Letitia has a dark past, with secrets that threaten to return and destroy her newfound social success. When Charles proves less malleable than in the past, Letitia resorts to subterfuge, seduction, blackmail, and even violence to force him to propose. Will he see through her tricks and remain true to Patience, or will Letitia’s seductive wiles lure him back?


“The timing is one of the most wonderful things in this read, especially because of the various means of subterfuge and blackmail which are at play. Author Arabella Sheraton has a knack for timing her comedy and her suspense in just the right balance to keep that rompy pace going, just like authentic Regency novels should do. I can’t recommend this two-partner enough, or indeed the author herself and her other super-fun works. Readers with a modern mindset or a lack of historical knowledge might not fully ‘get’ the style, but if you’re someone that does, then you’re going to truly fall in love and want to keep stepping back into this world time and again, so give them a try!” – Amazon Reviewer 5 stars


Amazon → https://amzn.to/3vD5mER

Barnes & Noble → https://bit.ly/3vyAW6O

iBooks → https://apple.co/3fyBPH4

Kobo → https://bit.ly/3vPFZzK

Arabella Sheraton grew up reading her mom’s collection of Georgette Heyer novels, the queen of modern-day Regency romance, and of course, Jane Austen’s iconic Regency novels. Although Arabella’s literary background was in publishing and editing, she had never written a fiction book. Her first novel started out in response to her mom’s complaint that she had nothing new to read. That first Regency novel was The Dangerous Duke! Since then, Arabella has penned six more authentic Regency novels and a romance self-help guide to finding the right partner, with useful quotes by none other than Jane Austen. Arabella has branched out with a mash-up of genre in her latest work in progress. A murder-mystery, time travel, Regency romance coming soon!


The Reluctant Bridegroom

The Wayward Miss Wainwright

Miss Dashwood’s Dilemma


Sponsored By:


J.W. Baccaro is the author of Prophecy of the Guardian, The Coming of the Light and Blood Dreams. Always a lover of creativity, from works of literature to writing music with his electric guitar; even baking and cooking. When not working on his next story or lost in a good book, J.W. enjoys kicking back with a couple of tasty craft beers and binging on Kaiju movies, 80’s action flicks, Japanese animation and slasher films (particularly the one involving a hockey mask). Heck, he even enjoys a good romantic comedy. Feel free to email him at jwbaccaro@yahoo.com. He lives in upstate NY with his wife Melissa, his son Alexander, his German Shepherd and his three cats.




Would you call yourself a born writer?

Probably more of a born creator. I love creating stories, writing my own music with my electric guitar, and I even love cooking and baking. I created my own style of ice cream pies that everyone seems to love. One of my favourite foods is also a creation of mine, spaghetti squash lasagna. It’s loaded with my own blend of spices, a good quality tomato sauce, freshly shredded mozzarella, pepperoni and ricotta cheese! Don’t knock it until you try it! 😊

What was your inspiration for Prophecy of the Guardian?

The inspiration comes from…well see…creative writing has always been a love of mine. I never had much interest in sports or automobiles. Sure, I know a little bit, but I couldn’t tell you the names of famous quarterbacks or talk for hours about rebuilding an engine block. Creativity has always been my thing in both literature and music. Inspired by authors such as J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis (to name a few), I too decided I wanted to create my own vivid world within the imagination…and on paper of course.


I didn’t look around at what genre was most popular in hopes to make a quick buck. I just wanted to write a story that I personally would love to read. A story with not only tons of action and warrior battles, but also filled with heavy emotion. A world where you feel like you’ve made friends with the characters and are a bit sad when the book comes to an end. You miss them!

I’ve always loved classic Good versus Evil tales. True they are a dime a dozen, filled with similar tropes and sometimes a bit cliché. You know, light versus darkness, one chosen character to rid the world of this monstrous evil, magical items, etc. etc. However, just when you think you’ve read something like this before, as soon as you’re enveloped into the story, you see how the tale carries its own uniqueness. Of course, there will be similarities, I can find that in just about every bestselling epic fantasy/sci-fi I read, but each story carries its own flair.

I love when a villain or even a hero begins to question their path, wondering if the task they are trying to accomplish is the right thing to do. Perhaps the Light has a point? Perhaps the Darkness has a point, and looking a little deeper, maybe, just maybe the Light (or whom we call our heroes), isn’t so perfect after all. Besides, all of us know the world is far beyond mere black and white. So, I took all my thoughts, likes and influences and molded them together and out came my book Prophecy of the Guardian: Book One, Guardian Trilogy.

How long did it take you to complete the novel?

Nearly a decade. So much changed within the story as time went on…

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

The battles, the suspense of what will happen next? And even the emotional parts, death scenes, slight romantic scenes and transformation of one’s self.

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

Urban fantasy. I also currently write dark erotica and paranormal thrillers. I’d never right a western cowboy novel, just like (no offense here) I’d never write country music with my guitar. It’s the epitimy of boring, in my opinion. But that’s what is beautifull about all us creators, so much to choose from.

What do you love most about being an author?

I love the character floating around in my head, me knowing they’re there, and most of them friends. Don’t fret, it’s not like I talk to them as imaginary friends, ha! But it’s nice having your own created world. Especially when another individua loves your world and characters.

What’s next for you?

A dark erotica/dark fantasy tale titled Tree of Damnation. This story takes place half a century after my Guardian trilogy ends with Piercing the Darkness.

Author: E.P. Bellows
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 195
Genre: Children’s Fantasy


John William Drake was born an explorer; just like many, many Drakes before him. His adventure really began with the discovery of a book hidden in the ceiling, followed by the mysterious disappearance of his father. He lived every day in misery until his twelfth birthday. A new friend gave him an invitation he could not turn down… follow me and change your destiny.

He never imagined being captured by bandits and taken to a ship riddled with river rats was part of his fate. Not just any bandits – the Bandits of Basswood; known to be a ruthless and wild crew of thieves. Trying to escape would be a ridiculous idea. No one has ever escaped and lived to tell about it. Uncovering traces of his missing father gave him hope and upped the stakes. John William was determined to get off the ship alive and search for the missing pieces of the puzzle. The chase out of Basswood was on. He took a chance to change his destiny and ended up on a wild ride to solve the most important mystery of his life.


“The imaginative world created by the author is especially fun. Some animals can talk (with attitude!), magic is in the air and emu-like creatures provide fast transportation. Yes, I realize this series is for children- and they can certainly read it. Just as soon as I’m finished.” – Amazon Reviewer 5 stars

I enjoyed reading these books. Great for young adults, even though I’m an adult. I would recommend this series to those kids who like a good adventure…” – Amazon Reviewer 5 stars

“A simple walk into the world of furry and fairy alike. Enjoyed the character building, as the young boy finds himself in a world with furry pirates, and a feisty fairy princess. Even the villains (as a group,) were only bad because of the main villain of the piece. all in all a nice intro to a simply enchanted world. Hope to see more…” – Amazon Reviewer 4 stars


Amazon → https://amzn.to/3okMyYh


E.P. Bellows

A few random things about me…

Um, let’s see… when I was eight, I had a pet turkey. I used to take it with me on my very short lived paper route. Needless to say, I was terrible at delivering the paper. No one wanted a “Dollar Saver” with turkey poop splattered across the front page. Apparently that’s where the best coupons are.

Books… well, “Treasure Island” is a fantastic pirate tale. I love just about anything by Roald Dahl. I would also like to thank C.S Lewis for sending me on an unrelenting childhood quest for portals to amazing worlds (even in the most unpleasant locations, e.g… the older brother’s closet, etc…)

I write fantasy stories for children. Yep – I am a HUGE fantasy geek. I can’t help myself! It’s too darn awesome to escape to another realm with sorcerers and wizards. The underlying theme in my stories is empowerment, self love, and living purposefully.

When football is on I turn into a different person. I may even use a curse word or two… or three. I enjoy running; which is a good thing because I need to do it in order to fit into my jeans.

I love to cook and really, really love to eat. I have a theory that avocados actually contain super powers and have the amazing ability to make any snack epic. I also love garlic… which, according to my loved ones, also has an unfortunate super power … the pungent breath-inator… or something of that nature.

Few things make me smile more than chocolate, cheese… AND, if the Chargers would make it to the Super Bowl again – just once:)



W.L. Brooks was born with an active imagination.  When characters come into her mind, she has to give them a life- a chance to tell their stories. With a coffee cup in her hand and a cat by her side, she spends her days letting the ideas flow onto paper.  A voracious reader, she draws her inspiration from mystery, romance, suspense and a dash of the paranormal.

A native of Virginia Beach, she is currently living in Western North Carolina. Pick up her latest novel, Unearthing the Past – available now!




Would you call yourself a born writer?

I don’t know if I would say “born writer,” but I absolutely believe storytelling is in the very fabric of my being.

What was your inspiration for The Truth Behind the Mask?

This book is the fourth in my Romantic Suspense series, so my inspiration was the main character herself. I wanted to give Alexandra McKay a story that allowed her to heal old wounds, find love, and be who she really is underneath her carefully crafted persona.

How long did it take you to complete the novel?

It didn’t take very long to complete the first draft but edits and rewrites took months.

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

When clues unravel for my cast of characters.

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

I’ve written a paranormal romance (Between Death and Destiny), and I’ve thought about dabbling in a few other genres. I can’t think of a specific genre I would never consider writing, but I would probably scare myself if I wrote horror.

What do you love most about being an author?

Writing the story.

What’s next for you?

I’m working on the fifth and final installment of The McKay Series. 

High on a cliff in Hawaii in 1807, an irrepressibly curious native boy dives into the sea and swims to an American merchant ship anchored offshore, embarking on an extraordinary adventure that will change history…

By Susan C. Riford

Author: Susan C. Riford
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Genre: YA / Historical


The journey of a lifetime told in the audiobook BLACK ROCKS AND RAINBOWS begins with a ship: “An enormous canoe, with great white wings like a magnificent bird.” This is the merchant schooner Triumph from New England, anchored offshore by what is now known as the Big Island of Hawaii, and in 1807, the sight of it captivates a young Hawaiian boy’s imagination and spirit of adventure. Fifteen-year-old Hiapo Opukahaia, orphaned as the result of a war between two rival island chiefs, has been contemplating his future. He dives into the sea and swims to the ship, where he is invited to stay for dinner. When the captain asks if he would like to go to America, he nods Yes.

The audiobook BLACK ROCKS AND RAINBOWS, an historical novel for young adults, edited and narrated by actress Suzanne Ford, was written by her late mother, Susan C. Riford.  The audiobook chronicles the gripping story of Hiapo – renamed “Henry” by his fellow crewmen – whose literal and figurative journey leads to the greatest adventure of all: a hunger for knowledge which ultimately changes Hawaii forever. The title refers to the lava rocks and beautiful rainbows of the Big Island, the vision of which Henry carries with him for the rest of his life.

Working as a cabin boy, Henry does encounter true-life adventures – pirates, storms – during the ship’s year-long voyage, via the Seal Islands and China, back to its home port of New Haven, Connecticut. He also learns to read and write English, unlocking his quest for further knowledge; upon arriving in New Haven, Henry realizes he desperately wants to keep learning, but has no idea how.

Weeping one day on the steps of Yale College, he is found by a kind student, a relative of the school’s president. Taken under the president’s wing, Henry becames a scholar. He wants to translate written works from English into Hawaiian, but at the time, there is no such written Hawaiian language. So he begins to apply the principles in an American spelling book – devised by Noah Webster, of dictionary fame – to the sounds of his native tongue. In doing so, he creates the alphabet-spelling-grammar system that is the basis for the Hawaiian written language in use to this day.

Sadly, Henry dies of typhus fever in 1818 at the age of 26. He is buried in Cornwall, Connecticut, until 1993, when he makes one final journey: a group of Hawaiian residents has successfully crusaded for the return of his remains to the Big Island for permanent burial. Hiapo Opukahaia has come home.

Suzanne Ford was inspired to create the audiobook BLACK ROCKS AND RAINBOWS originally written by her late mother, Susan Riford, a prolific author of children’s books and plays and founder of what is now known as the Rev Theatre Company in Auburn, New York. Her mother became fascinated with Henry’s story when she moved to Maui. “The novel was her final work before she died,” Ford says. “I took on the unfinished manuscript, wrote the last chapter, had a few copies printed and recorded the audiobook. The story is such a fascinating and compelling adventure, fun to listen to for anyone, but especially for young adults.”

Ford is working on an updated, illustrated book version of BLACK ROCKS AND RAINBOWS. “It’s noteworthy that there has never been a full-length historical novel about Opukahaia, who is such a major figure in Hawaiian history and whose story carries a timeless message about the importance of education,” she observes. “Especially in this era of the dawning of deeper recognition of indigenous peoples and their heritage, this as yet unfamiliar but universal coming-of-age story is resonant and relevant to youth of any culture.”


“This adventure story is riveting from start to finish and the action keeps coming. The ending, though sad because it’s a true story, was very uplifting and inspiring. A very satisfying audiobook experience.”


Listen to a sample of the audiobook here:

And here:

Suzanne Ford is an actress and writer working in film, television, and theatre. She has performed in more than100 stage productions in New York and Los Angeles, on tour and in regional theatres around the country. Her many film credits include the Duplass Brothers’ recent hit Manson Family VacationYou, Me and Dupree and The Apparition, and she has appeared on such television shows as Grace and Frankie, Grey’s Anatomy, Criminal MindsIt’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Friends. She has been an advertising copywriter, has written a biography of Mel Gibson, screenplays, and cookbooks, and has ghostwritten memoirs. She and her husband live in the Hollywood Hills.


Sponsored By:

Author: Mike Martin
Publisher: Ottawa Press and Publishing
Pages: 264
Genre: Mystery


Sgt. Windflower is on a special assignment in St. John’s and adjusting to life in the big city. He is navigating traffic, a difficult boss at work and what seems like an epidemic of missing girls. He becomes more interested when he discovers that one of the girls is from Grand Bank. Then a girl approaches his RCMP van one night and he is pulled into the underlife of the capital city. But he still manages to enjoy all of the good things in life. His family, old and new friends, and the love of living so close to the Atlantic Ocean. Welcome back to St. Windflower Mysteries.

Windflower looked across the lake. Well, he would have if he could have seen anything through the thick blanket of fog that had been sitting on Quidi Vidi Lake for the past seven days. One whole week, he thought. Every day since they had arrived in the port city of St. John’s, it had been the same. Windflower knew the lake was out there because he remembered running around it as his daily exercise when he was temporarily stationed here a few years back.

Sheila Hillier, his wife, knew the lake was out there as well. She’d spent a couple of months doing rehab at the nearby Miller Centre when she was recovering from a serious car accident. If there wasn’t any fog, she could look out her window in May and see the rowers getting their practice in as part of their training for the Royal St. John’s Regatta, an annual event that took place down there in August.

But it was a long way from spring as Windflower gazed out his window at the typical scenery for a January morning. He was the first one up, except for Lady, his collie, and Molly, the cat who never seemed to sleep anyway. She would close her eyes sometimes, but Windflower had never come into a room with her in it when she wasn’t awake and watching him. Windflower liked this time of day when his two children got up. They were Amelia Louise, his soon-to-be two-year-old daughter, and his almost-daughter, Stella, who he and Sheila were fostering.

He liked this house on Forest Road, too. It wasn’t similar to his and Sheila’s in Grand Bank on the southeast coast of Newfoundland, but for a rental it suited them perfectly. It had four bedrooms, two and a half baths and a large backyard for the kids to play in and, if the weather held, for Windflower to barbeque. But the likelihood of the weather staying just simply foggy and damp was not good. There was snow in the forecast and more snow coming after that.

Windflower had been in snowstorms in St. John’s before. It was hard to miss one if you travelled here regularly in the fall, winter or spring. And they didn’t come with a few flakes or a few inches of accumulation. No, snowstorms here often meant feet of snow, sometimes in the double digits, and he had come out some mornings to look for his car, only to find it buried under a virtual mountain of snow. The worst storms came in double or even triple waves. That’s when a storm system would blow through and dump one load of snow and then drift out to the nearby Atlantic Ocean. Unfortunately for the good people of St. John’s, it would blow back in and repeat the damage—sometimes more than once.

Windflower grabbed his anorak and hat and took Lady out to the backyard. He also brought his smudging kit. Inside were small packets of his four sacred medicines: cedar, sage, sweetgrass and tobacco. There was also an abalone shell, a small box of wooden matches and an eagle feather fan that had been gifted to him by his grandfather many years ago.

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 the award-winning Sgt. Windflower Mystery series set in beautiful Grand Bank. There are now 10 books in this light mystery series with the publication of Safe HarbourA Tangled Web was shortlisted in 2017 for the best light mystery of the year, and Darkest Before the Dawn won the 2019 Bony Blithe Light Mystery Award. Mike has also published Christmas in Newfoundland: Memories and Mysteries, a Sgt. Windflower Book of Christmas past and present.

Mike 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.

Website: www.sgtwindflowermysteries.com

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

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



Fire Fog and Water



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