The Shade Under the Mango Tree: Between Two Worlds Book 5
Evy Journey
Sojourner Books
288 pages
Women’s Fiction / Cultural Heritage Fiction

After two heartbreaking losses, Luna wants adventure. Something and somewhere very different from the affluent, sheltered home in California and Hawaii where she grew up. An adventure in which she can also make some difference. She ends up in place steeped in an ancient culture and a deadly history.

Raised by her grandmother in a Honolulu suburb, she moves to her parents’ home in California at thirteen and meets her brothers for the first time. Grandma persuades her to write a journal whenever she’s lonely or overwhelmed as a substitute for someone to whom she could reveal her intimate thoughts.

Lucien, a worldly, well-traveled young architect, finds a stranger’s journal at a café. He has qualms and pangs of guilt about reading it. But they don’t stop him. His decision to go on reading changes his life.

Months later, they meet at a bookstore where Luna works and which Lucien frequents. Fascinated by his stories and his adventurous spirit, Luna volunteers for the Peace Corps. Assigned to Cambodia, she lives with a family whose parents are survivors of the Khmer Rouge genocide forty years earlier. What she goes through in a rural rice-growing village defies anything she could have imagined. Will she leave this world unscathed?

Inspired by the healing effects of writing, this is an epistolary tale of love—between an idealistic young woman and her grandmother and between the young woman and a young architect. It’s a tale of courage, resilience of the human spirit, and the bonds that bring diverse people together.

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08KFMR9SG

Also available as an audiobook: 


Barnes & Noble:


Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-shade-under-the-mango-tree-1

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-shade-under-the-mango-tree/id1606925369

 First Chapter:

August 2007

I am home.

I stand on the sidewalk, somewhat lightheaded from the six-hour flight between Los Angeles and Honolulu. I breathe the plumeria-infused air deep into my lungs. Relish the crisp warm breeze that blows my hair on my face.  As I grab the handle on my luggage, I scan the neighborhood. Nothing much has changed since last summer.

I roll my luggage across the concrete entryway, pass the hibiscus hedge, and stop to pluck a bouquet of its flaming-red flowers. Its home is a vase on the coffee table in the living area. To signal I’m back. While visitors surf, tan on the beach, don flowery muumuus and shirts, and slurp maitais or Hawaiian punch while ogling hula dancers, I look forward to domesticating with Grandma. 

Grandma’s house—a two-story of stained wood in Waipahu, Hawaii—is where I left my innocence.

I pause at the foot of the six steps to the trellised porch. A tinge of sadness never fails to temper the joy of arriving. Two months are never enough. Just when I’m getting used to the pace and pattern of languid days with Grandma, I must leave again. Back to the modern stucco in the burbs of Los Angeles I left nine hours ago.

Life keeps going forward, like Mom says, and I must march along with it. This summer will wane. I brush the thought aside and reassure myself: another is sure to come.

Gripping the handle on my luggage, I drag it up the porch. The house has been home to Grandma since the mid-sixties when she married my grandfather. Grandpa’s parents had built it before sugar plantations dating back to the 1850s were transformed into a town, their history and artifacts ensconced in a museum and a park a couple of miles or so from here. Before streets—including where Grandma’s house stands—were sucked into housing subdivisions of cookie-cutter stuccos like my parents’ California home. Before mango and papaya trees and an occasional lychee tree replaced sugar cane.

The Kamakas have lived here for four generations, two more than other families in the neighborhood. Yes, time marches on. And I must march along with it.

Before I can press the buzzer, the door opens, releasing a familiar scent much like the Lady Emma Hamilton rose in Grandma’s garden. A rose fragrance with an undertone of lemon. It wafts past me to blend with the salty open air.

“Green mangoes?” I say, as Grandma’s petite frame emerges from behind the door. I have grown half a head taller than she is.

Her mouth turns up ever so slightly at the corners in that familiar little smile. Her hazel eyes beam their welcome at me. It’s Grandma’s eyes, more than her mouth, that have always revealed her emotions.

“Here I am again.”

“Luna, my little keiki! Right on time.”

“Big keiki, Grandma.” I stoop to receive her kisses and hug and kiss her back.

I pick up traces of the scent of green mangoes from her hair, mixed with the lingering bouquet of jasmine. Grandma has never worn perfume or cologne. Instead, she picks jasmine from her garden every morning and tucks it under her long hair, pulled back and twisted into a bun above the nape of her neck. The first few years of my summer visits after returning to my family in California, I slept with Grandma on her king-sized bed for a week or so. I often fell asleep, snuggled close to her, inhaling the hint of jasmine from her loosened hair.

“Go, take your bags to your room and come to the kitchen. Lunch is almost ready.”

My bedroom on the second floor was carved out of a bigger one Mom had shared with her sister, Auntie Juanita. As in previous visits, it’s much like it was when I went back home last September. The same red-and-green-striped spread on the bed, its padded headboard lined in cotton printed with a Ti-leaf Haku lei—a crown of green leaves from the ti plant—large enough to span the bed’s width. The wooden desk by the window that belonged to Mom, bare now except for a couple of children’s books on top. The old, dark-brown, wooden chair where my three dolls sit. I place them there on the last day of every visit and imagine them waiting for my return.

Minutes later, I sit on a high-backed bar stool at Grandma’s long butcher block work table. The same stool Grandma fitted with a child seat when I was a toddler. The kitchen-dining room with its high, sloping ceiling is bathed in early afternoon sunshine by a skylight above it. She hands me a tall glass of fresh iced coconut water.

She continues blending some sauce with a whisk.  When she’s not in her garden, she spends her waking hours at this table, sitting on a chair of cane and wood, preparing meals and snacks, managing her now-reduced household, writing cards or letters, and reading magazines she stashes on open corner shelves that—along with cabinets—line an outside wall.

The chunky butcher block is the hub around which everything happens when the Kamaka family get together. It’s cleaned, adorned with flowers from Grandma’s garden, and outfitted with as many chairs and dinner settings as required by the expected number of visitors. 

I gulp a mouthful of coconut water, trying to chase away the unease creeping up my chest as I watch Grandma. She’s graying faster every year, and becoming a little more bent.

“Mango salad?” I force myself to focus on her twirling hand as she whisks lime juice, fish sauce, sweet chili paste, and garlic. The sauce releases a pungent aroma, making my mouth water.

With a small spoon, Grandma scoops a few drops of the mixture for me to taste. The sauce tingles my taste buds and I nod in approval. Her green mango salad is legendary.

She stirs the sauce into a bowl of peeled and julienned light-green mangos and scatters torn leaves of mint and Thai basil on top. She takes a pinch of the salad and tastes it.

She passes the bowl to me and I put it on the breakfast table in the dining area. “Are these Tanaka mangos?”

“Maggie came by early this morning and gave me a few. I think they fell from her tree.”

“Are they okay?”

“Oh yes. Firm. Fresh. Good lemony green mango smell. Knowing Maggie, she couldn’t have left them on the ground an hour. Anyway, I peel them. How was your flight?” She glances at me.

“Good. Good. Nice summer weather for flying. I’m starved. What are you serving with your mango salad?”

“A bit of grilled tuna and some poi.” Her eyes twinkle, lips pursing to suppress a smile.

I crinkle my nose. I never liked poi and she knows it. 

Ten minutes later, we sit at the breakfast table by the window. She doesn’t serve poi. She has dug a few potatoes and picked zucchini from her garden, and grilled chunks of them along with the tuna.

From where I sit, I see the mango tree in the front yard rising above the rooftop of her house. Its lowest branches dip below the second story—a lush green canopy of waxy leaves that protects anyone looking for shelter from rain or sun.

But this mango tree has a problem: it doesn’t bear fruit. It soars, sprawls and flowers, promising a bountiful harvest. But in the first thirteen years I lived here with Grandma and two aunts, I’ve never seen those flowers morph into yellow kidney-shaped fruit. Even one mango hanging on one of its branches would have given cause for some celebration. The last four summers I’ve returned on vacation, nothing has changed.

Grandma and Grandpa never doubted the mango tree would fruit. They planted it thirty years ago, a few years before he passed away. It had been grafted from another tree that bore large green mangoes speckled with red and yellow.

But something had gone awry. The mere twelve feet of a semi-dwarf tree they expected grew more than twice as high. They waited for it to bear fruit, but ten years later, it gave great shade but not a single fruit. They would have settled for the speckled green ones from the stock into which the yellow mango was grafted. On a street where every house has at least one fruitful mango tree, the fate of Grandma’s tree is a small tragedy.

“Tanakas’ mango trees still bear fruit?” I ask Grandma before I shove another big bite of mango salad into my mouth. The Tanakas live two houses up the street.

“Oh, yes, lots. Maggie takes care of them like they’re her kids, now that they’ve all moved away, like your mom and your aunts. Especially, the big one with yellow fruit.”

“That’s a beautiful tree when it’s got lots of bright yellow-orange fruit. Like large nuggets of gold in a sea of dark green. I’ve seen passersby take pictures.”

“She keeps all the yellow mangos for her family. I can’t blame her. They’re as soft and sweet as custard. Juicy and fragrant. A hint of tartness to tease the taste buds.”

 I see and taste a succulent yellow mango in my mind and wish I had one to sink my teeth into. Instead, I ask, “Can you make salad out of them when they’re green?”

“You can, but why? They’re better eaten ripe out of hand. You can peel them like a banana. But I’m grateful she shares a lot of the fat green, speckled ones with me and your aunts.”

“Generous of Mrs. Tanaka,” I say.

“Keeps your aunts from complaining about my tree. Anyway, the speckled kind makes a better salad.”

My aunts grew up with the Tanaka children who gave them more mangoes than they could eat. Grandma made good use of leftover mangoes, cutting and freezing them for smoothies or mango bread when the season was over.

By the time I changed residences the summer before ninth grade—when my parents took me back to send me to the same public school my brothers went to—my grandmother had become philosophical about her barren tree. 

“It’s beautiful, your tree. Lush. Can cover the three Tanaka trees put together.”

Grandma smiles, pleased. “You can sit under it even when it showers. I’ve had many restful hours under its cool shade. Besides, it might surprise us yet.”

So far, though, no surprises. But every year, Grandma and I thrive under its protective spread of large waxy leaves. We sit on the beautiful Adirondack-style wooden bench one of Maggie’s brothers—who’s a craftsman—built for her. 

Grandma’s mango tree does have a distinct function for the neighborhood. It’s a landmark you can’t miss. It’s on a corner of the main street, is taller than her house, and you can see its wide umbrella of green luxurious leaves from afar. Locals use it as a reference point when giving directions to the area.

Years ago, my aunts tried to persuade Grandma to cut the barren tree down. She smiled but told them to “leave my tree alone.”

Grandma lives by herself. During the day, she tends her chickens and a garden while opera music soars out of her decades-old boom box. She gets help every Monday from a large and pretty Japanese Hawaiian house cleaner who’s been coming since I was little. By now, she must be almost sixty. When her chores are done, she stays for another hour to chat with Grandma over iced tea, wasabi nuts, or rice cracker.

About Evy Journey

Evy Journey studied psychology (M.A., University of Hawaii; Ph.D. University of Illinois). So her fiction spins tales about nuanced characters dealing with contemporary life issues and problems. She believes in love and its many faces.

Her one ungranted wish: To live in Paris where art is everywhere and people have honed aimless roaming to an art form. She has visited and stayed a few months at a time. 

Website: http://www.evyjourney.net

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ejourneywriter/

Goodreads: https: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14845365.Evy_Journey


We invite you to Mike Martin’s ALL THAT GLITTERS Cover Reveal! Please leave a comment to let Mike know you stopped by and don’t forget to order your copy!


Author: Mike Martin
Publisher: Ottawa Press and Publishing
Pages: 282
Genre: Mystery 

Sergeant Winston Windflower is moving on to a new chapter of his life, no longer an RCMP officer but now a Community Safety Officer in his home of Grand Bank, Newfoundland.

But when a body is found in the bed and breakfast he co-owns, diamonds are found in the body’s digestive system, and then Windflower’s friend Dr. Sanjay, who was given the diamonds for safekeeping, is kidnapped, it’s clear that crime has returned once more to Grand Bank.

Windflower finds himself back in the thick of it, helping his newly promoted friend, RCMP Corporal Eddie Tizzard, track down a ruthless diamond smuggler who will stop at nothing — kidnapping, even murder — to pull off his dirty business.

This is another finely spun Windflower mystery that contrasts suspense and tension with the joys of friendship, family, and gratitude.

Ottawa Press and Publishing | Amazon U.S. | Amazon CAN

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 award-winning and best-selling author of the award-winning Sgt. Windflower Mystery series set in beautiful Grand Bank. There are now 13 books in this light mystery series with the publication of All That Glitters

A 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. 

Some Sgt. Windflower Mysteries are now available as audiobooks and the latest A Tangled Web was released as an audiobook in 2023. All audiobooks are available from Audible in Canada and around the world.

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 Writers’ Guild and Capital Crime Writers.

Website: https://sgtwindflowermysteries.com/

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

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

Peter J. White was born in Colorado and raised in SE Alaska. He has degrees in Education, French, and an MFA in Creative Writing. He taught ELL in Bangkok, Thailand for six years, and currently teaches high school English in Washington State. Hobbies, past and present, include writing, bicycling, mountain climbing, kickboxing, MMA, and yoga.

Website: https://peterjwhite.weebly.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100088706454075

Would you call yourself a born writer?

No. I’ve wanted to write since I was little, but it took me a long time to get around to actually writing. It wasn’t until I entered the MFA program in Creative Writing at National University that I
really buckled down and started.

In fact, the first screenplay I wrote became the basis for the Ghost Hunter series, specifically book three, Bangkok Redemption. Click here for the screenplay.

What was your inspiration for The Hollow Men?

The Ghost Hunter Series is based on a combination of things. First, I encountered a pair of ghosts while I was living in Thailand. Second, I read an article about modern-day slavery in the United States. Click here for a more detailed version of the story with a link to the article in question.

How long did it take you to complete the novel?

Each big novel takes me about a year to write, revise, and edit.

Are you disciplined? Describe a typical writing day.

I’m pretty disciplined. I get up at 4:30 on workdays to write and I write for about an hour and half
before I have to go to work.

What did you find most challenging about writing this book?

I really like writing. I suppose the most challenging thing is to push through the dry spells.
What is one thing someone should have told you when you became an author?

Don’t be afraid of the marketing. Start early.

What do you love most about being an author?

I love the story telling and the writing. I write to movie soundtracks, and every day I wake
excited to get to it. The writing time is often my best moment in the day.

Did you go with a traditional publisher, small press, or did you self publish? What was
the process like and are you happy with your decision?

I self-published. I’m thinking of approaching traditional publishers. Marketing is hard. I really
believe once I put my books in front of the right people, they will take off. But finding the right
people is hard.

What is one thing you want readers to take away with them after reading your book?

The is an afterlife. What that looks like is anyone’s guess, but my experience with ghosts has
proven that conclusively to me. And what we do in this life matters. A lot.

What advice would you give to aspiring authors?

Butt in chair. Set a time to write every day and stick to it, come hell or high water. If you do that,
the words will come. But you have to do that. Every. Damn. Day.

I have a couple of free giveaways I’d like to offer:
If you sign up for my mailing list, I am offering you book two of the Ghost Hunter Series,
Slouching Toward Tenancingo. Click here to redeem that offer.
If you want a feel for the main character and series, click here for a repurposed true story written
to fit Max.
A version of this story is in book four, The Bad Beginning.

Title: Fateful Connections
Author: Karen Charles
Publisher: Bookbaby
Pages: 91
Genre: Thriller

Fateful Connections tells the story of four people brought together by the tragic events of 9/11 in the United States. These four individuals were attending a conference in Seattle, Washington, and found it nearly impossible to make it back to their homes, which were scattered across the country. They decide to rent a car and drive together, as they cannot get any flights home. As rental cars are also impossible to come upon, they find a friend who has access to a repossessed car, which he is willing to rent out. Unbeknownst to the friends, the rightful owner of the car wants his car back, and as they find out, hidden inside the car are drugs and guns. What ensues is a dangerous journey which impacts the four friends’ lives forever. The story follows them on their harrowing journey home, then one and two years later as they meet up for an annual reunion. 

The strengths of this story are the easy-to-read narrative and compelling plot. The author introduces four intriguing main characters, as well as a number of antagonists, who hunt down the friends and engage in dangerous and illegal plans to not only recapture their guns and drugs, but also kill the friends so there are no witnesses to their illegal activities. The reader is instantly drawn into the storyline, and moves along with the characters as they experience fear, joy, love, and relief. The plot is compelling, and the reader cannot help but become invested in the lives of these four main characters.

Amazon: https://amzn.to/41WDECT

Chapter One

Everyone was stunned. The conference room was hushed except for a gasp here and there. The gigantic screen above the stage had lit up with the news that the North Tower of the New York World Trade Center had been impaled by a massive jet liner. Fire was pouring from the eightieth-story windows. Was this a terrible accident? Eyes were glued to the report as first responders rushed to the horrific scene. 

A round-table group of four looked at each other in disbelief. They watched, mesmerized by the enormity of the implications. Only eighteen minutes had gone by when a second Boeing 767 appeared, turning sharply toward the World Trade Center, and slicing into the seventy-fifth through the eighty-fifth floors of the South Tower. The massive explosion rained down burning debris. These were not accidents! America was under attack. 

Planned closing conference speeches were immediately canceled. Speakers and participants were all dismissed. Henry, the group’s leader, suggested they all meet in the hotel bar. In quick agreement, they found a table where they could continue to watch the news. No one wanted to hang out in his room alone. They somberly ordered drinks as they listened to President Bush call the events a terrorist attack on our country. Six minutes later, Flight 77 crashed into the western façade of the Pentagon. At 9:37 in the morning, the building would be full of military and civilian personnel. 

The traumatized conference group sipped their drinks in shock. The sudden collapse of the South Tower was too much to take in for Harper. Her big, brown eyes filled with tears as she tightly hugged herself. Another hour went by before they heard of another plane crashing into a field in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. 

Ethan, sensing how upset everyone was feeling, suggested they head up to his suite. The Bell Harbor International Conference Center on the waterfront in Seattle offered spacious suites where they could continue to watch the news. Rain ran in rivulets down his expansive windows, obscuring his waterfront view. No one was interested in the view anyway. Without asking anyone what they wanted, he ordered lunch and drinks for all. 

Owen plopped down in the closest easy chair to the TV. President Bush was announcing that U.S. Navy destroyers had been dispatched to New York and Washington, DC. 

“Owen, you have a brother living in New York, don’t you?” asked Henry. 

“I do,” Owen answered, with a little catch in his voice. “He shouldn’t have any reason to be near the Trade Center. I’ll give him a call.” 

Owen called, leaving a message to return his call as soon as possible. 

The foursome munched their way through the afternoon, rarely taking their eyes off the dreadful news. Owen had just stepped out onto the covered balcony for a breath of fresh air when he heard a scream. He rushed back into the sitting room. Harper had her hand over her mouth, sobbing softly. Henry had his strong arm around her shoulders trying to comfort her. The second tower had collapsed after burning for hours. The lower floors had been evacuated. The unspeakable terror seemed nonstop. 

President Bush was making another announcement. The Federal Aviation Administration had issued the first national ground stop in US history, prohibiting departures for all civilian aircraft. After the third hijacked plane struck the Pentagon, all aircraft were ordered to land at the nearest airport. Three and a half hours after the first plane hit, all US airspace was clear. 

Suddenly, Ethan, who had been unusually quiet, jumped to his feet. “Our flights!” he yelled. “We don’t have any way to get home!” 

The room was silent. “Maybe we could rent a car,” Harper suggested. 

Henry sprang into action, calling every car rental agency in Seattle. Nothing was available. Dismayed, he sank into his chair. “What are we going to do now?” 

After thoughtful silence, Owen spoke up. “I have a friend over on Yesler Way who repossesses cars. Maybe he might have an idea what we could do.” 

Everyone agreed, hoping for a solution to their transportation dilemma. Ethan had to get home to San Jose, California; Owen to Santa Clarita, California; Harper to Phoenix, Arizona; and Henry to Austin, Texas. All of them, industry-leading CEOs of No. 1 ranked companies, had flown in to attend this elite executive conference. 

Owen interrupted a conversation about the ramifications of air travel being halted. “My friend Jimmy says he has a car we can use. They don’t usually rent them, but in these unusual circumstances, he doesn’t see any problem. It was repossessed a while ago, so the guy has had lots of time to make up his payments. Jimmy said we can pick it up anytime.” 

“Wait a minute,” objected Ethan. “Are you sure it’s legal?” 

“We don’t have any other options,” confirmed Owen. 

“Let’s pack, get some sleep, and leave in the morning,” instructed Henry, always the leader. 

Jimmy had the car ready for them early the next day. 

“What happens if that guy gets the money and comes back for his car?” asked Ethan, still worried about this being a smart idea. 

“He’s probably got another set of wheels by now,” answered Jimmy. “Don’t think we’ll ever see his ugly face again!”

About Karen Charles

Karen Charles is a children’s book author and educator. She lives with her husband on a beautiful bay in Washington State. Her latest book is the thriller, Fateful Connections.

Website: https://karenrabe18.wixsite.com/my-site-2

Twitter: https://twitter.com/karenra24229683

Fateful Connections Banner

Walking a Fine Line
W.L. Brooks
The Wild Rose Press
Romantic Suspense

Fletcher J. McKay has been shot, driven insane, and tortured by a madman, so what’s one more psycho coming after her? But this foe’s disturbing attempts to extinguish Fletch’s light leave her shaken. Running out of options, she must consort with the enemy.

Fletcher is undoubtedly Sheriff Noah Reed’s nemesis. Their discord began with an irrevocable outcome of an unforeseeable trauma, but duty demands he keeps her safe. The closer he gets, the more his loathing turns to lust.

Devastated by loss, Fletcher agrees to go into Noah’s protective custody. Passion takes them across the boundaries of their animosity, but is their tentative bond enough? Or is the line between love and hate, as with life and death, fixed.

Pre-order eBook on Amazon: https://amzn.to/3TD6x4a

Amazon (paperback): https://amzn.to/3FJd33G

 First Chapter:

Noah Reed grimaced and set the mug down; the coffee was cold. How long had he been standing here, staring? He leaned his muscled shoulder against the wall and continued to study the woman on the other side of the two-way mirror. At twenty-five, his suspect could easily be mistaken for a teenager. She was young, brash, and bewitching. Her long, tawny hair was in twin braids on either side of her head, her overalls were frayed, and her boots were muddy. By all appearances she was dismissible, but underestimating her would be absolute folly. Not only was this woman intelligent and resourceful, but she was also his nemesis, and he had charges that would stick. Murder in the first degree; he had her dead to rights. And he hated it.

 Her gaze landed on him through the glass. She couldn’t see him, but that didn’t stop Noah’s gut from clenching at the ice in her blue-green gaze. Fletcher McKay didn’t try to disguise her feelings. No, her hatred of him radiated off her slender form like a plume of smoke. 

Noah straightened from the wall and rolled his neck. There was no doubt he would be walking on dangerous ground. He had given up being a homicide detective in the city, a job he’d loved, to take over as interim sheriff when Jasper Hart asked him to. Noah had been honored. But that was before this. Technically, Daemon Randle’s murder wasn’t his jurisdiction, but Noah had called in a couple of favors so he could take the lead with this particular suspect. He had her. Fletcher returned from her “vacation” the same day as Randle’s transfer. A sniper had shot the victim—and Noah loathed calling Randle a victim— through the heart. Fletcher was a damn fine marksman. She also had a reason for killing the bastard—a worldclass-bordering-on-justifiable motive. But murder was murder, and he was the law in this town. 


Fletcher held Reed’s steely gaze when he entered the room. It wasn’t the first time she’d sat on this side of the interview desk, and with Noah as sheriff, she doubted it would be her last. Reed outweighed her by a good hundred pounds, was over a foot taller, and was fucking massive—linebacker huge. Plus, he had it in for her. The man was a dumb jock turned cop. Okay, he wasn’t a jock, and he was far from dumb. But he drove her batshit. 

He’d had her sitting in this small-ass drab room stewing for almost two hours. She could wait; her lawyer was on the way, though Reed wasn’t aware of that yet. Reed had been kind enough to give her a cup of sludge passing as coffee to fight the chill in the interview room, which would have been nice of him if he had given her time to use the restroom. If he had come in and offered her a bathroom break, she would have accepted, then told him they needed to wait for her lawyer. But he hadn’t come back until now—the asshat. 

Was it the oldest trick in the book? Give the perp a beverage, withhold the bathroom, and watch them squirm? Yes, yes, it was. But that was beside the point.

 The legs of the chair scraped against the concrete floor. “Did you kill Daemon Randle?” 

An image of Daemon invaded her brain. Not how he looked after he’d received a new face and had taken her hostage, but before. When all she’d suspected him of was murdering his brother. And she’d wanted answers bad enough to do or say whatever she had to. Not only had he believed her, but he’d also sworn his everlasting love and devotion. She had sacrificed so much to trap him, and he had taken the easy way out. Or so she thought, but she had been irrevocably wrong. The actual ramifications of his “devotion” came later…with the torment. 

Fletcher jerked when Reed rapped his knuckles against the table. Fuck. She’d gone down the rabbit hole again. She inhaled through her nose, then exhaled through her mouth in such a way that it went unnoticed. She had practiced. She straightened in her chair and shot Reed a droll look. “What was that?”

 “Did you murder Daemon Randle?” Reed asked again, looking over his shoulder when the door opened. 

A dark-skinned man in an impeccably tailored grey suit entered the room. “Don’t answer that, Fletcher.”

 Pure delight shot through her. Reed was going to be so pissed. She slapped an eat-shit-and-die grin on her face.

 “And who the hell are you?” 

The man held his hand out for Reed. “I’m Malik Watson, Ms. McKay’s attorney.” 

Noah shook Malik’s hand, but his eyes never left hers; one dark brow rose. “Attorney?” 

Fletcher shrugged. 

“Fine,” Noah grumbled. “I’ll leave you to speak to your client alone.” 

Fletcher waited until the door shut. “You got here fast,” she said, her bladder forgotten. 

Malik smiled. “Your voicemail was persuasive.” 

Fletcher grinned. Mal hadn’t changed since college. He was several years older than her and incredibly handsome in a bookish way. 

He stared at her for a moment with his dreamy hazel eyes and sighed. “Did you kill him?”

 “No. Did I want to? Yep.” More than anyone could fathom; more than she would ever admit. Daemon Randle had kidnapped her, kept her prisoner, and that was the least he’d done to her. Did she want him dead? You bet your ass. 

Malik’s lips quirked upward. “I’ll advise you not to mention that to anyone else.” 

Fletcher snorted. “No shit! But if it makes you feel any better, I have an alibi.”

 “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” He undid the button on his suit jacket and sat. “Is it solid?” 

Was it ever! “Rock.” 

Raising a brow, Malik opened his briefcase. “Then why not tell Sheriff Reed and save yourself all this?” 

“ ’Cause, Reed’s had a vendetta against me for years. Now he’s getting his chance to get his revenge. I want him to think he’s got me, and then when he goes to arrest me, I’m gonna lay it on him.” It was going to be sweet. 

He waved a hand in the air. “And I’m here because?” 

 “It’ll make Reed think I’ve got something to hide. Convince him he’s won. Then wham!” She slammed a fist on the table. “It’ll be great. The look on his face alone will be worth it. I’ll be paying you either way, so stop pouting.” 

He smirked. “The higher they rise, the harder they fall. Let the games begin.”

About W.L. Brooks

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!

Website: www.wlbrooks.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authorwlbrooks

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16200243.W_L_Brooks

Title: Ascension (Book Two of The Bergerker Chronicles)
Author: Kevin D. Miller
Publisher: Bifrost Books
Pages: 318
Genre: Science Fiction/Fantasy

After his fateful fight in the bowls of an Asgardian prison, Leif returns to Midgard for  some much needed rest and recuperation. Unfortunately, his reprieve is interrupted when he is  unexpectedly attacked and once again pulled into a civil war between the gods. As he wrestles  with his past, Leif quickly learns his Berserker strength is no match when his enemies are the  gods themselves. In an attempt to grow stronger and control the rage within, Leif sets out to  track down a surviving Berserker clan that may hold the secret to mastering the gold-like  power the Berserker promises. Will Leif learn the secret and ascend?

Ascension is the action-packed sequel to Awakening that follows Leif’s journey to  master the Berserker and prevent Hel from plunging the nine realms into a period of blood and  darkness.

You can pick up your copy at Amazon → https://a.co/d/eSiJz1i

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 4  

The electrical storm crashed around Leif in a terrifying staccato, burning his  retinas in the process. A wave of static energy washed over him, tingling his skin as the earth  shook from the cascade of lightning bolts that slammed into the ground, terrifyingly close.  Then, as quickly as the storm appeared, it was gone. Bright yellow sunlight spilled over Leif as  his nose was filled with the thick smell of ozone. He blinked to clear the flashing spots from his  vision; he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of Thor standing not two feet away from  him. The mountain of a god was dressed for war. His body was encased from shoulder to  boots in gleaming silver-plated armor. His trusty war hammer, Mjolnir, was held firm in his right  hand. Glancing at Leif, the thunder god gave him a quick smile before returning his focus to  Fenrir and Ra. Following his gaze, Leif was shocked to see, unlike him, the two dark gods had  not come out of the storm unscathed.  

A look of pure hatred wafted from Ra; the ancient god seethed in anger so palpable Leif  thought he could taste it. The god’s simmering orange eyes flared like the fires of Duat, causing  the berserked Leif to take an involuntary step backward. Ra’s shirtless torso was covered in  forked electrical burns, and his leather pants had been ripped to shreds from repeated  lightning strikes.  

Likewise, Fenrir appeared to have fared no better. His fur cloak was gone, probably  disintegrated in the attack, while his shirt and pants were in tatters. He too had a look of  outrage on his face, but hiding behind that façade, Leif saw true fear. With Ra at his side, Leif  knew the damned wolf couldn’t back down, not when he talked such a big game moments  ago.  

Bolstered by Thor’s presence, Leif let out a war cry, swinging his axes in a complex  pattern, warming up for the fight. He prepared himself to charge the battered gods, but a  gauntleted hand clamped down on Leif’s shoulder, giving him pause.  

“No, my friend,” Thor said in his thundering baritone. “You are in no condition to fight. I  know your blood boils, but you must know you are outclassed. Let me deal with them,” Thor  said, taking a meaningful step forward. As if to accentuate his point, lightning burst from the  Aesir’s armor, momentarily encasing the god before flickering out. 

Leif desperately wished to join the fight, but a tiny part of him knew he wasn’t strong  enough. If he were to fight, he would just get in Thor’s way or, gods forbid, get himself killed.  Gritting his teeth, Leif remembered his vow to not let his weakness be the cause of his  comrades’ deaths. So, he held himself back. The sheer rationality of his control surprised him.  When he had first awakened to his powers, the only thought he could muster while berserked  was who to fight next. Now, he was capable of at least a modicum of rational thought while  maintaining his berserked state. If he survived Ragnarok, he will be a much more deadly  warrior.  

Leif stepped back to give Thor some space, while Ra and Fenrir looked at each other  for a silent second. Ra unsheathed his strange sickle-shaped sword, and it glowed with the  same amber orange of a sunrise, perfectly matching his smoldering eyes. Fenrir bared his teeth  in a snarl as he soundlessly unsheathed his blade.  

The atmosphere grew still, as if the very weather was holding its breath. Then the trio  moved. It was then that Leif fully understood why Thor had restrained him. As the gods moved  back and forth on the street, minor sonic booms rang out as all three warriors cut loose. Even  berserked, Leif could barely follow their movements, let alone comprehend what they were  doing. The air and ground around them shook with their fearsome power.  

About the Author:

Kevin D. Miller is an attorney in Southern California who spends his two hours a day  commuting to work either listening to sci-fi/fantasy books on Audible or plotting out the  storylines for his future books. When he isn’t working, Kevin can be found spending time  with his girlfriend Amy and their dog, Riley. Kevin enjoys writing, ceramics, playing  video games, kayaking in Big Bear and enjoying the ocean air in Newport Beach.

Website: www.BifrostBooks.com  

Twitter: www.twitter.com/bifrost_books  

Facebook: www.facebook.com/bifrost_books

Title: Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000
Author: L. Ron Hubbard
Publisher: Galaxy Press
Pages: 1092
Genre: Science Fiction, sub-genre: Alien Invasion, Classic Science Fiction, Space Opera, Military Sci-Fi, Adventure Sci-FI

If you liked Dune, Atlantis Gene, Foundation, Enders Game, and Starship Troopers, you’ll love Battlefield Earth.

Sadistic Aliens…

…Man is an endangered species.

Is it the end of the world or the rebirth of a new one?

In the year A.D. 3000, Earth is a dystopian wasteland. The great cities stand crumbling as a brutal reminder of what we once were. When the Psychlos invaded, all the world’s armies mustered little resistance against the advanced alien weapons.

A young hero rises from the ashes and rallies the last survivors in an all-out rebellion for freedom that explodes across the continents of Earth to the cosmic sprawl of the Psychlo empire.

The fate of the Galaxy lies on the Battlefield of Earth.

You’ll love Battlefield Earth because of the characters you’ll love and hate and the unexpected twists that keep the pages flying.

“Over 1,000 pages of thrills, spills, vicious aliens and noble humans. I found Battlefield Earth un-put-downable.” —Neil Gaiman

“Battlefield Earth is a terrific story! The carefully underplayed comedy I found it delicious. A masterpiece.” —Robert A. Heinlein 

“Pulse-pounding mile-a-minute sci-fi action adventure that does not stop. It is a masterpiece of popular adventure science fiction.” —Brandon Sanderson

“Space opera that hits the right notes. It’s provocative, exhilarating and genuinely enjoyable.” —SCIFI.COM

“Like the Harry Potter series, its got concepts like good vs. evil, the noble savage and the hero’s journey—and people go crazy over it!” —Dr. David Powers, Educator

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01B41I4NI/ 

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/battlefield-earth-l-ron-hubbard/1100824883?ean=9781592129577 

BooksaMillion: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Battlefield-Earth/L-Ron-Hubbard/9781592129577?id=8748446917116

Bookshop: https://bookshop.org/p/books/battlefield-earth-a-saga-of-the-year-3000-enlarged-expanded-l-ron-hubbard/15283828?ean=9781619865099

Book Excerpt:

To get Battlefield Earth, Chapters 1-13 delivered to your inbox, click here!

About the Author:

Aboard Apollo – 1970 L. Ron Hubbard

With 19 New York Times bestsellers and more than 350 million copies of his works in circulation, L. Ron Hubbard is among the most enduring and widely read authors of our time. As a leading light of American Pulp Fiction through the 1930s and ’40s, he is further among the most influential authors of the modern age. Indeed, from Ray Bradbury to Stephen King, there is scarcely a master of imaginative tales who has not paid tribute to L. Ron Hubbard.

Website: https://battlefieldearth.com/battlefield-earth/ 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/be_the_book

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

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

13 chapter download (eBook): https://dl.bookfunnel.com/y2zuqaj7yi

1 hour download (audio): https://dl.bookfunnel.com/243bnk6m09

Discussion Guide: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/y84enq7cje


Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@GalaxyPress/playlists

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29532708-battlefield-earth

Other books by L. Ron Hubbard: https://galaxypress.com/l-ron-hubbard-books/

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/JRbxWRwMI5w

Making of the Audiobook video: https://youtu.be/wABlKjhRDkQ

Brandon Sanderson’s Review video: https://youtu.be/S-80Tx1olgc

Short trailer: https://youtu.be/sU_V3O5Gemk

Title: L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future Volume 39
Authors: L. Ron Hubbard, Kevin J. Anderson, S.M. Stirling, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Lazarus Chernik and 24 Award-Winning Authors and Illustrators
Publisher: Galaxy Press
Pages: 544
Genre: Science Fiction/Fantasy Anthology


This is an anthology with 24 new authors and illustrators and bonus content by L. Ron Hubbard, Kevin J. Anderson, S. M. Stirling, Kristine Kathryn Rusch.

Short Description of Each Story:

Join a team of time travelers who set out to save London from a terrorist’s nuclear attack … when a blast from the past changes everything.

Meet a vampire, a dragon and a shape-shifting Chihuahua in Key West … this is one beach party that’s about to get wild!

Follow Dan Shamble, Zombie P.I., who’s investigating the craziest case of his so-called life.…

A miracle? An omen? Or something else? One day, they arrived in droves—the foxes of the desert, the field, the imagination….—“Kitsune” by Devon Bohm

When a vampire, a dragon and a shape-shifting Chihuahua meet on a beach in Key West, fireworks go off! But that’s just the background.—“Moonlight and Funk” by Marianne Xenos

The Grim Reaper, trapped in an IRS agent’s dying body, must regain his powers before he dies and faces judgment for his original sin.—“Death and the Taxman” by David Hankins

In a metaverse future, a woman who exposes falseness in others must decide what is real to her—the love she lost or the love she may have found.—“Under My Cypresses” by Jason Palmatier

Vic Harden wasn’t lured by glory on a daring mission into the reaches of outer space—he was ordered out there by his editor.—“The Unwilling Hero” by L. Ron Hubbard

Dangerous opportunities present themselves when an alien ship arrives in the solar system seeking repairs.—“White Elephant” by David K. Henrickson

With her spaceship at the wrong end of a pirate’s guns, a former war hero must face down her enemies and demons to save Earth’s last best chance for peace.—“Piracy for Beginners” by J. R. Johnson

Dan Shamble, Zombie P.I., faces one of his funniest and most perplexing cases ever—an enlightened ogre, a salamander with low self-esteem, and a raging fire dragon terrorizing the Unnatural Quarter!—“Fire in the Hole” by Kevin J. Anderson

Years after the Second Holocaust, the last surviving Jews on earth attempt to rewrite the past.—“A Trickle in History” by Elaine Midcoh

When I said I’d do anything to pay off my debts and get back home to Earth, I didn’t mean survey a derelict spaceship at the edge of the solar system—but here I am.—“The Withering Sky” by Arthur H. Manners

High-powered telescopes bring galactic life to our TVs, and network tuner Hank Enos figures he’s seen everything—until the day an alien boy stares back.—“The Fall of Crodendra M.” by T. J. Knight

Knights, damsels and dragons, curses and fates foretold—the stuff of legends and stories, but unexpectedly perverse.—“Constant Never” by S. M. Stirling

Determined to save his wife, Tumelo takes an unlikely client through South Africa’s ruins to the heart of the Desolation—a journey that will cost or save everything.—“The Children of Desolation” by Spencer Sekulin

When a terrorist smuggles a nuclear weapon into London, a team regresses in time to AD 1093 to assassinate a knight on the battlefield, thereby eliminating the terrorist a millennia before his birth.—“Timelines and Bloodlines” by L. H. Davis

The Grand Exam, a gateway to power for one, likely death for all others—its entrants include ambitious nobles, desperate peasants, and Quiet Gate, an old woman with nothing left to lose.—“The Last History” by Samuel Parr

Website Address: This is the cover reveal event address:  


Twitter Address: https://twitter.com/WotFContest

Facebook Address: https://www.facebook.com/WotFContest

Other Social:




Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1619867680

Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BWHDJV4K

Books a Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/L-Ron-Hubbard-Presents-Writers/L-Ron-Hubbard/9781619867680?id=8748446917116

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/l-ron-hubbard-presents-writers-of-the-future-volume-39-l-ron-hubbard/1142955660?ean=9781619867680

Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/l-ron-hubbard-presents-writers-of-the-future-volume-39-the-best-new-sf-fantasy-of-the-year-samuel-parr/19699175?ean=9781619867680

Writers of the Future Cover Reveal Judges

About the Contest

The international Writers of the Future Contest was created and endowed by L. Ron Hubbard. After several years of success in fostering new writers, the Illustrators of the Future Contest followed. The winning stories are illustrated and published in the annual L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future anthology. Described by critics as a perennial “glimpse of tomorrow’s stars,” a “must-have for the genre reader,” and “the bestselling science fiction anthology series of all time,” it is today the most enduring and top-ranking publication of its kind.

The blue-ribbon panel of judges is what makes this possible. The winning stories are selected by bestselling authors, including Brandon Sanderson, Orson Scott Card, Nnedi Okorafor, Kevin J. Anderson, Brian Herbert, Jody Lynn Nye, Larry Niven, Robert J. Sawyer, Katherine Kurtz, and many others. The best of the best are hand-picked each year.

There is no entry fee, and stories are judged blind, making it a fair competition for all authors and illustrators who enter from anywhere in the world. There are cash prizes. The winners are paid professional rates and maintain their rights.

It is an excellent program for new authors and readers, who often discover their next favorite writer.

Quick links to free resources:

Enter the Writing Contest https://www.writersofthefuture.com/enter-writer-contest/

Free Writing Workshop https://www.writersofthefuture.com/writing-workshop/

Writing Podcast: https://www.writersofthefuture.com/podcast/

Writers Forum: https://www.writersofthefuture.com/forum/

Writing Contest Rules https://www.writersofthefuture.com/contest-rules-writers/

Contest Judges: https://www.writersofthefuture.com/writer-judges/ 

Contest Blog: www.writersofthefuture.com/blog

List of Writers of the Future & L. Ron Hubbard books https://galaxypress.com/l-ron-hubbard-books/

Thomas White began his career as an actor. Several years later he found himself as an Artistic Director for a theatre in Southern California and the winner of several Drama-Logue and Critics awards for directing. As Tom’s career grew, he directed and co-produced the world tour of “The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Coming Out Of Their Shells”. The show toured for over two years, was translated into seven different languages and seen by over a million children. Tom served as President and Creative Director for Maiden Lane Entertainment for 24 years and worked on many large-scale corporate event productions that included Harley Davidson, Microsoft, Medtronic Diabetes, and dozens of others. The Siren’s Scream is Tom’s second novel that follows up Justice Rules which was nominated as a finalist in the Pacific Northwest Writers Association 2010 Literary contest.

Tom’s latest book is the mystery/horror, The Siren’s Scream.

Visit his website at www.thomas-white-author.com or connect with him at Facebook.

Would you call yourself a born writer?

Well, I was born and I am a writer so… But seriously folks, I did not spend my childhood writing escape stories or pirate stories, I was mostly doing plays. I started out as an actor and transitioned to a director. A director’s main job is to tell a story, either on stage or through a film medium. Story telling is probably a better word than writer and, in that event, then yes, I am a born story teller.

What was your inspiration for The Siren’s Scream?

I wanted to do a different take on the mermaid mythology. So many stories and myths surround this creature and I wanted to create something different. I was at a family dinner and we were having trouble with a particularly challenging sister and I wondered if mermaids ever had to deal with this stuff. Do they have families? Is there a siren lineage? Where do they come from and how are they created. Once I started down this path and decided on their origin the story began to form around that theory.

What themes do you like to explore in your writing?

I believe that inter-personal relationships are what I tend to develop the most. It comes from my actor/director background of feeling a character from the inside-out. What are the motivations, feelings, desires of each person. What do they want and why are they present in the scene I am writing? So much of our everyday existence is based on interaction with each other and it often becomes the focus of our day. Someone merges in front of you in traffic and your anger flairs. That interaction affects your day. (Personally, I believe the secret to happiness is to let people merge. They aren’t insulting your family lineage, they aren’t calling your kids fat, they are just in the wrong lane. Let them in so that they can get where they are going.) Yet, how that one action effects your response is what makes character development effective. Too often cliché responses are the go-to for a writer and it is so boring. My pet peeve, mostly on TV, is the undercover agent who struggles with not being able to tell their spouse what they did at work. Duh! They are an agent for a special organization and no, they can’t tell anyone what they do. What was unclear about that when they signed up? Be honest with your characters and have them react in a manner that makes sense for them.

How long did it take you to complete the novel?

This was actually my first novel which I shelved and referred to as my practice novel. After many years I dragged it out and took another look at it. It was very poorly written but the story line held together. Once I was able to create a lineage for the siren the story came together. From concept to finish was probably 25 years. LOL! It was ten years between my first and second novel so I will never be accused of ‘cranking them out.’

Are you disciplined? Describe a typical writing day.

I have found that the greatest motivating factor in my writing is boredom. I have many things going on in my life, including a career in the theatre, and I often go weeks without writing. However, when I do start up again, I am focused and relentless about writing every day. Once I find that through line in a story, I make it my priority and will spend every waking minute I can spare developing and twisting a plot line. But to answer your question, am I disciplined? No, I am sporadically disciplined at best.

What did you find most challenging about writing this book?

Writing a novel is the hardest thing I have ever done. I can’t believe I have done it twice and am actually onto my third. It is relentless and difficult and just when you think you are finished someone reads it and asks a very simple, totally justified question that sets your world to spinning once again. 

What do you love most about being an author?

To be honest, I love the look of my novel on a bookstore shelf. I love the feel of holding a printed copy and knowing that I did this. It is so grueling to write, and to accept what people tell you so that you can improve the story that the simple satisfaction of seeing the result in print really has to be enough. So few people attain success that you must glean what satisfaction you can from the fact that so many people are missing out on what you created. 

Did you go with a traditional publisher, small press, or did you self publish? What was the process like and are you happy with your decision?

Traditional Publishing? I don’t even know how that works. My first noel, Justice Rules, was submitted to 58 different publishing houses and each came back with a resounding ‘no’. I had three agents at different times who saw promise only to leave the industry for marital reasons (two marriages, one divorce). I tried every way I could to get recognition and got nothing in return. Justice Rules went on to be a finalist in the Pacific Northwest Writer’s Association Literary Contest, one of eight selections from 2,800 submissions. I sold almost 3500 copies. At that point I went back to traditional publishers and was told that if I had sold 10,000 copies they might be interested. I said, “If I had sold 10,000 copies I wouldn’t need you.” So, end of the day I have self-published. My audience is considerably smaller, I work with groups like The Dark Phantom to get my work out there, and I take solace in the fact that I know my writing is better than many published works, it just hasn’t happened for me yet. (Sound like big old sour grapes, I know, but it is so frustrating) But that is the lot I have signed up for and I’m okay with it. Lack of traditional publishing success hasn’t dampened my writing and I still get the same satisfaction from holding that printed book!

Where can we find your book on the web?


https://youtu.be/QlD-pdXYy7A  – youtube Siren’s

https://youtu.be/I5YAYe8kLVw – Justice rules

https://www.amazon.com/Justice-Rules-Thomas-White/dp/1453796614 Justice Rules


Title: Kiss My Boots
Author: Jennifer Learmont
Publisher: Shawline Publishing Group
Pages: 170
Genre: Memoir

My commitment to eating healthy was only equaled by my desire for cocaine…

Setting out on an adventure to the USA with my best friend, we had no plans, no rules and no limits. It started in the wild 80’s in Hollywood, LA and the spread across the ’90’s, fueled by drugs, sex, rock n roll. We met the people who later became famous actors, musicians, singers. I took some risks, made mistakes and lived through them; I was one of the lucky ones.

For 14 years I worked as a Dominatrix in Hollywood. 

I was a natural and loved the work. My clients included a US General, Top Surgeons, Politicians, High Court Judges and VIPs. There is a grey side to my work, and no one really knows what goes on behind the dungeon doors.

I married a charming, captivating Italian/American criminal and lived a dangerous life, involved in crime, drugs and crazy choices where I almost lost my life. My turning point came the day I walked into the Sanctuary of an Interdenominational Church. I loved it so much I joined the gospel choir and took up yoga. 

Now I was a dominatrix, yoga student singing in a gospel choir. 

Eventually, and exhausted, I returned to Australia permanently to set up my own yoga studio and started to build a new life away from a blurred past. I was a wild and fearless child with a kind compassionate heart and a determination to live my life to the full, regardless of any cost. 

“A spectacular life journey of a woman filled by verve and passion for life and who found her place far from where she thought it was going to be…sensitively written and thoughtful reflection of an explorative youth…wonderful…” Tara, Indiebooks reviewer

Publisher: Shawline Publishing, March 15, 2022 

Formats: Paperback, 170 pages, $7.42; E-Book/Kindle, 240 pages, $5.99; ISBN-978-1922594709 and ISBN-13-978-1922594709. Available for purchase at: https://www.amazon.com/Kiss-My-Boots-Jennifer-Learmont-ebook/dp/B09S9Y7JX7 as well as Walmart, barnesandnoble.com, abebooks.com, Alibris, booktopia.com.au, thriftbooks.com and bookshop.org

Publisher web link: https://www.shawlinepublishing.com.au/search/?query=kiss+my+boots

Book Excerpt  

“One night, Steve and I were at home, smoking cocaine and, naturally, we ran out, which is the mist desperate feeling.  Steve went out to get some more, and he seemed to take forever.  I was frantically pacing the floor for him to return.  I couldn’t stand it any longer, so to take the edge off, I took some over the counter sleeping pills to relax my agitation.  Finally, Steve returned and quickly cooked up the cocaine.  I took one hit, and that’s all I remember.” 

About the Author

Jennifer Learmont was born in a little town called Wagga Wagga in New South Wales, Australia, but grew up in Sydney, Australia.  She attended a variety of schools since her family moved here and there while she was growing up. Jennifer credits her mother, who was an opera singer, a concert pianist and very educated woman for her education.  “She was my teacher,” remarks the author.  Jennifer Learmont  maintains her home in Australia today. Author Instagram page: https://www.instagram.com/p/CYiaX-GJ8lG/

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