Fantasy's border...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

People generally know where fantasy ends and reality begins in the realm of fiction.  But, maybe the dividing line isn’t so clear in real life.

Donald Trump the frontrunner in the Republican primaries??  Are the voters kidding, or just temporarily insane?

Probably neither.  They’re in rebellion.  The kind of rebellion that manifests in flight from reality.  People (Republican people, at least) are fed up with the perceived ineptitude and corruption of government.  (They don’t understand much of it; they just want someone to give them easy answers.)  They love Trump because he’s an outsider (that is, someone who knows absolutely nothing about government) and more importantly, he’s the symbol and embodiment of everything the modern Republican party holds dear.  Money.  Greed.  Materialism.  Social Darwinism.  Life as reality T.V.  Winners and losers.  Winners get rich.  Losers, I guess, get deported.  And, those who are different are not welcome.  The GOP constituents are living in a kind of real-life science fiction dimension in which a giant wall is going to magically appear along the Mexican border, and illegal immigrants are going to magically disappear.  (Their kids too, BTW.)  Jobs will magically appear too, of course, and America “will be great again.”  No clue how.  That’s the thing about dreams; they aren’t limited to the boundaries of logic.  Oh, and good news:  Global warming doesn’t really exist; It’s just propaganda launched by Red China so they can trick us into shutting down our industry.  (Wow, that’s a relief, to discover those floods, storms and wildfires devastating the world are just figments of Beijing’s imagination!)

Donald Trump is no right-wing ideologue.  He is first and last a showman.  Like a carnival magician, he deals in illusion.  He tells the people what they want to hear, aiming at the heart instead of the mind (tossing in a few doctored statistics to make it sound reasonable) and, like any practiced con artist, he knows they’ll buy it simply because they want to.  He’ll seize the oil fields in Iran and give the money to the families of our veterans.  He loves our veterans.  He loves our military.  Never served a day in his life, but he loves them from afar.  He lays on the sugar-coated patriotic sentimentality thick, and lashes out with adolescent insolence and obscenity when attacking his competitors.  And, unlike real candidates, he gets away with it.  Yes, he’s the candidate for the cyber-age.  The public loves the Internet because it frees us from the constraints of courtesy and empathy.  We can indulge our petty, hateful, judgmental, adolescent side with complete abandon.

At some point though, the public has to wake up and face reality, right?  Don’t bet on it.  Remember the 1980’s?  The public twice elected a cowboy movie star who promised to make America great again, offering simple solutions to all of life’s complicated problems.  He ended up selling guns to Iran to finance right-wing death squads in Central America, he defended white supremacism in South Africa and he left this country with the biggest national debt in history.  Yes, it really can happen.  Fantasy and reality can merge with horrifying effect.  The one essential ingredient is a convenient enemy.  In Ronald Reagan’s case, it was the “evil empire” of Soviet communism.  In Trump’s case, it’s illegal immigration.

Flash forward to President Donald Trump. Would he really keep his hopelessly impractical promises, by whatever means necessary?  Would millions of undocumented immigrants and their children really disappear in the dead of night, only to turn up later in mass graves along the border, or scattered across the desert as ashes fluttering down from chimneys?  Probably not.  Trump’s not the kind of guy who cares about keeping promises after they’ve gotten him what he wants.  Chances are, President Trump would concentrate on lining his pockets by shipping more American jobs overseas and making life safer for corporate tax shelters.  He’d wage open war on organized labor, of course.  He’d become the standard bearer of the school of thought that corporations are people, and people are disposable assets.  And, forget the environment.  It’s history.  Four years of getting ripped off again by utterly unbounded corporate cannibalism.

The dream becomes the nightmare.  Why?  We trust the rich because they represent what we want to become, even as they squeeze the middle class into extinction and make upward mobility a remote memory that they will bloody-well keep to themselves.  So much easier to trust the charismatic leader…king, czar, fuehrer…and to blame all our problems on the outsider we can scapegoat and persecute.  Trump recently summarized the reason for his popularity:  “Politicians try to make themselves look like one of the common people.  But, the voters don’t want that.  They want somebody who can beat Japan and China.”  He likely has no clue how to do that.  But, the masses don’t care.  They just want some iconic, larger-than-life figure they can look up to.  It’s so much easier than actually governing themselves.

The fantasy becomes reality.  And, then, God help us all.   

"She Dreamed of Dragons" by Elizabeth J.M. Walker

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Welcome to the Blog Tour for Elizabeth J.M. Walker's Young Adult Fantasy Novel, She Dreamed of Dragons!!

 

Follow the tour to read exclusive excerpts, guest posts, reviews, and spotlights.

Could a dragon mage be the next ruler of the magical kingdom of Dorlith?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Title: She Dreamed of Dragons

Author Name:  Elizabeth J.M. Walker

Genre(s): Young Adult, Fantasy

Length: Approx. 234 page

Ebook ISBN:  978-0-9947490-6-2

Print ISBN:  978-0-9947490-5-5

Release Date: July 17, 201

Publisher:  Mirror World Publishing
 

This is a re-release tour.  Book previously published through a different publishing company

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

About She Dreamed of Dragons:
 

Trina is a fifteen-year-old dragon mage in a kingdom ruled by witches and wizards – the same people who have brought dragons and other magical creatures near extinction. Trina can barely control her fire powers and is desperate for an apprenticeship, but finding a fellow dragon mage to be her teacher is proving more difficult than coming across an actual dragon.

Then there’s the Royal Tourney – a competition presented by the Queen to find a successor to the throne. Trina heads to the competition in the hopes of sparking some interest in the mage society and earning herself an apprenticeship.

She never intended to be a frontrunner in the competition.

She never meant to catch the attention of the evil witch trying to take over the throne.

She never expected to fall for a wizard.

Now Trina must face tough decisions about who she is and who she could become. Trina must ask herself: Can she really win the Royal Tourney?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

******
Excerpt:

Trina ran her finger over the spines of the books and looked over her shoulder, down to where the main door was. How long would the librarian be gone? If she could just read some of these books on witches, she could know all their secrets: how their magic worked, their spells, how to use a wand, how to make her own flying broomstick…

“I found them!” she heard Paisley say from down the aisle as she piled her arms full of books.

“Mmm-hmm,” Trina said as she took a book from the shelf entitled Finding the Right Man, Cauldron and Wand for the Young Bachelorette Witch.

The book was bound in pink leather and the title was written on the cover in gold. She took another look over her shoulder and then opened the book, rifling through the pages.

“It’s blank…” she said aloud as she looked at the empty pages of the book.

“Mine aren’t,” Paisley said as she rushed over. “Just look at this pattern!”

Trina hastily put the book back and pulled out a brown leather one entitled Love Spells Made Easy and flipped through it—blank again. She took another one from the shelf to find it was blank as well.

“Trina!” Paisley said, noticing the books her sister was trying to read. “You’re not supposed to look at those!”

Trina frowned. “I know…it’s just…”

“It looks like they’re spelled or something, anyway, so we can’t read them,” Paisley said, peering over at the book Trina held.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Trina agreed and put the book back with a pang of guilt. Maybe it was for the best. Witches and wizards were very secretive about their powers. She would just end up feeling even guiltier if she had actually found out information she wasn’t supposed to know.

*****

Purchase Links:
 

Amazon Kindle - US

http://amzn.to/1M1Ctat
 

Amazon Paperback - US

http://amzn.to/1dVVRYG
 

Mirror World Publishing -

http://mirror-world-publishing.myshopify.com/products/she-dreamed-of-dragons-e-book

Barnes & Noble -

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/she-dreamed-of-dragons-elizabeth-j-m-walker/1120223680?ean=9780994749055
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Meet the Author:
 

 

Elizabeth J. M. Walker lives in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. She has always loved books and writing. As a teen she discovered zines, which inspired her to publish her own litzine of odd fairy tales for over a decade.

She Dreamed of Dragons is her first novel.

Connect with her on her website: www.elizabethjmwalker.com
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Follow the Tour - Schedule Posted at the Following Link: 

http://saphsbookblog.blogspot.com/2015/07/tour-schedule-re-release-of-she-dreamed.html
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Meet Anne Montgomery, author of "A Light in the Desert"

I'm delighted to introduce you to my author friend Anne Montgomery. Anne is visiting today with her new release A Light in the Desert, an intriguing Soft Thriller novel I think you'll enjoy.

A Light in the Desert traces the story of a pregnant teenager who bears an odd facial deformity, a Vietnam veteran and former Special Forces sniper who, as he descends into the throes of mental illness, latches onto the girl, and a group of Pentecostal zealots – the Children of Light – who have been waiting over thirty years in the Arizona desert for Armageddon. 

The Amtrak Sunset Limited, a passenger train en route to Los Angeles, is derailed in their midst’s, a deadly act of sabotage. Their lives are thrown into turmoil when local and state police, FBI investigators, and a horde of reporters make camp by the twisted wreckage of the Sunset Limited. As the search for the saboteurs continues, the authorities find more questions than answers. The girl mysteriously vanishes, the assassin struggles to maintain his sanity, and a child is about to be born in the wilderness.

EXCERPT

Most of the two hundred and forty-eight passengers on the Sunset Limited were asleep when David Flowers – weaving slightly as the sleeper car rattled along at fifty miles-per-hour – moved along the passageway en route to the bathroom. At the end of the car he saw Mitchell Bates, a twenty-year Amtrak veteran. 

“Don’t forget to get me up when we get to Palm Springs,” the passenger said. “Don’t wanna sleep through my stop.” 

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Bates responded, smiling. “That’s what they pay me for.” 

Two cars back, Kelly sat wide awake, fingers cupped around her eyes, the outside edges of her hands pressed tightly to the window. She could see the moonlit desert careening by, the scattered mountains black against a star-filled night sky. She felt the gentle rolling of the car: a strangely pleasant feeling. A sense of calm surrounded her, maybe because, for the first time since her father died, there were other people who cared about her. Kelly glanced over at Miranda, still engrossed in a two-month-old, dog-eared issue of Glamour Magazine. Had her mother ever had a friend?

Up in the cab, the engineer watched as the massive headlight bathed the track ahead in bright white light. He’d been on this run hundreds of times. A curve that would lead the train onto a trestle that spanned one of the deeper washes between Phoenix and L.A. was just ahead. The headlight blazed – a star shooting in the darkness – wrapping the track in light as harsh as any clear desert day. 

But the damage was under the rails where no light could penetrate. 

****

Ramm was driving on the dirt road that would take him back to the cabin. That edgy, too-much-caffeine feeling gripped him again. He should be on the train, the one protecting Kelly. Had he made a mistake contacting the watchers, which meant he had put himself in play again? The community in which he’d worked for so many years was relatively small and there was always the possibility that word had spread about the debacle in Jerusalem. By contacting the watchers, he might have put himself in jeopardy, which could also bring harm to those around him. 

Ramm’s head began to pound, the migraine accompanied by a hazy aura.  His psychological state was fluctuating. How long could he stay ahead of the problem without medication? What if he blacked out again? What if he was hospitalized and people started checking on him? 

Feeling impotent, powerless, Ramm jammed on the breaks. The truck skidded to a stop on the soft shoulder where blacktop and dirt merged at the turnoff. He rubbed his face hard then gripped the steering wheel. When he looked up and peered through the windshield, Ramm blinked several times, confused.

There, in the night sky before him, floating in a spectral light, was Kelly’s face. Ramm squinted, shutting his eyes tight, then looked again. The ghostly image was still there, hovering before him, her troubled visage beckoning him to follow. She merged with paintings and sculptures – the mother of Jesus in all her quiet grief, the face of Mary on the shimmering white marble of Michelangelo’s St. Peter’s Pieta, on Raphael’s Madonna del Granduca, her desolate melancholy depicted by Masaccio, Veneziano, and countless other artists through time. 

Ramm painfully unclenched his hands from around the steering wheel. The suddenness of the bright light caught him off guard. His first reaction was to grab for the loaded Glock he kept under the front seat, but when the glare splashed past him, followed by the steady beat of the passing railcars, he relaxed. 

Then, an unexpected wave of heat engulfed Ramm, and he pushed open the cab door and stepped out, breathing deeply, trying to clear his head. The noise hit him like a blow, shattering the desert calm, causing Ramm to reflexively drop to the ground. He lay there listening to the calamitous groaning, a ghastly noise that washed over him like a rogue wave. 

======

To read more from A Light in the Desert please click a vendor's name:

Sarah Book Publishing  -  Amazon  -  Barnes & Noble

 

Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.

 

When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne Montgomery on Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.

Of Symbols and Substance, of Sheep and Wolves...

And, as always, the world turns and a new day dawns.  Everything changes and everything stays the same...

The Supreme Court has ruled that our citizens born with homosexual orientation have the same right to marry as those of our citizens "lucky" enough to be born heterosexual.  Public opinion currently happens to coincide with this ruling, though many still oppose it.  And, as in decades past, with other civil rights rulings, history's wheel turns, but stubborn conservatives and reactionaries still vow to cling to the old ways.

They mean business, those stubborn conservatives and reactionaries.  Those bigots and rabble-rousers.  As they did back in the day when George Wallace cried "Segregation forever," placing himself in the doorway of a public school rather than accept integration.  As thugs and hooligans harassed and brutalized young black students entering integrated schools for the first time.  And, the racist resistance continues to this day, though in more subtle forms.  Some still cling to the past in the form of symbols, like the Confederate flag they want to keep flapping from the flagpoles of state capitals, never dipping it an inch.  When they're told that flag offends many in a deeply personal and cutting way, because it stands for slavery and racism, they say they embrace only the good things that flag represents:  valor on the battlefield, commitment to cause and fellowship.  Conservatives always seem to embrace the shadows of old dreams, ignoring the ugly substance that such shadows mask.  Like wolves hiding in sheep's clothing.

In opposing marriage equality, as in demanding the right to display racist flags, they aim always for the symbols, for the peripheral abstracts.  States' rights.  Constitutional process (as it suits them to interpret it, of course.)  They conveniently ignore the substance of human life, human rights and human dignity.  The Confederate flag is a symbol.  "Traditional" marriage is a symbol.  No matter that those symbols have historically excluded and demeaned, even dehumanized and killed minorities.  Conservatives insist on preserving their precious traditional culture and identity, and they always scream about their rights and about due process.

But, is that really what it's about?  How much have they cared about preserving Constitutional due process when advocating undeclared war or governmental spying and wiretapping?  How often have they cried "lawlessness" over abductions, secret prisons or torture chambers?  They care nothing about law or due process except when society finally gets around to acknowledging the human rights of those historically disenfranchised.  It's no longer fashionable or politically advantageous to demean gay or lesbian people with adolescent profanities or hateful threats of violence, so conservatives stoop to invoking the Constitution (a document they have time and again seen fit to ignore.) They love to invoke tradition, too, because it's always their last fallback position when society moves forward in advancing civil rights.  "It's always been done this way, therefore, it's right."  "Our society will collapse if anything changes; this old way is basic to our way of life."  "What right does the Supreme Court have to impose its will on the people?"  How many times have we heard these stale complaints?  These twisted bits of Orwellian double-think that turn our system of law and basic rights inside-out?

They wave the flag, they wave the Constitution, and they preach traditionalism when it suits them.  But, they lack the moral courage to face the substance of the issues.  The meat of the matter is that they're saying (as they always have) that certain groups of people (a.k.a. white, heterosexual men) have the right to lord it over everybody else.  They hide behind symbols and wave false banners of freedom.  What else can they do, really?  The tide of history will always be against them.  But, they'll always linger in the shadows like termites, trying to eat away at the achievements of progress.

In the end, the stars and bars will come down and the rainbow banners will go up.  But, they'll keep trying.  They always keep trying.  What else can they do?

Author S.G. Rogers -- Of Heroes and Dragons...

“What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

 

 

 

My sword and sorcery fantasy novel, Tournament of Chance: Dragon Rebel has just been published.  I couldn’t be more pleased, especially considering its inauspicious beginnings.  You see, I originally wrote Tournament of Chance as a short story (around 8,000 words).  I submitted the short to several fantasy magazines, and although the feedback was positive, I couldn’t find a magazine willing to publish it.  Battered and bruised, I ordinarily would have chucked the manuscript into a folder marked REJECTS, licked my wounds, and moved on to something else. 

But I just couldn’t let it go.

I liked the concept of a young woman striving to break through the glass ceiling between commoners and royalty by honing her skills as an archer. In the back of my mind, I knew there was more to the story than the 8,000 words I’d written.  So in between revising, editing, and promoting my other titles, I allowed the full-length version of Tournament of Chance to unfold. Unlike other, more disciplined authors, I usually let my stories discover themselves.  As the novel moved along, I was actually quite surprised at all the twists, turns, and events in store for me.  For example, who knew time travel and shape shifters would find their way into the mix? It took about six months to finish Tournament of Chance: Dragon Rebel, and it incorporates many of my favorite things – peacocks, lava tubes, caves, volcanoes, dragons, wizards, romance, and magic.  It also deals with some very human foibles, such as deceit, treachery, false hope, envy, abuse of power, and pride.

So if it weren’t for the rejections I experienced, Tournament of Chance: Dragon Rebel would never have been published as a full-length novel. Perhaps it’s the fighting Irish in me, but when I get knocked down, I get up again…and then I write some more. I’m not sure I agree with the Nietzsche quote, above, one hundred percent of the time, but it’s better than the alternative.

Has rejection ever motivated you to succeed?

~ S.G. Rogers

 

Here is a brief intro to S.G,'s latest release.

 

If Heather manages to win the Tournament of Chance, she’ll be the first commoner to earn a place at court. Instead of a glorious victory, however, she’s arrested and marked for execution. After a daring escape, she joins the Dragon Rebels, who seek to overthrow the despotic monarchy and restore the former kingdom of Ormaria. Amongst the rebels are three shape-shifting wizards who claim to be rulers from the past. On a perilous quest to free the wizards’ magic, Heather battles wild dragons, vicious predators, angry trolls, and unexpected traitors. When a horrendous accident sends her back in time to fulfill a mysterious prophecy, she must rely on her warrior skills, wits, and endurance to survive.

 

To read an excerpt from Tournament of Chance: Dragon Rebel, please click here.

To read excerpts from other books by S.G. Rogers please click here.

 

 

 

S.G. Rogers lives with her husband and son in romantic Savannah, Georgia, on an island populated by deer, exotic birds, and the occasional gator. She's owned by two Sphynx cats, Houdini and Nikita. Movies, books, and writing are her passions.

 

Learn more about S.G. Rogers on her blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter. Also, be sure to check out the website for the Sweet Romance written by S.G. Rogers.

Shadows of sacrifice...

 

 

 

 

Memorial Day.  A day of remembrance.  A day to give thanks to those who have laid down their lives to defend our nation.  A day to mourn their passing.  As we reflect upon how much we owe them…do we think adequately on how we are to repay them, and all others who may follow in their footsteps?

We acknowledge that we owe the fallen a debt of thanks.  The question is, do we owe them a debt of apology?  Could their deaths have been avoided?  If so, did we do all we could with our hard-won rights as citizens to keep them out of needless combat?  Did we do all we could to demand that they be adequately equipped once they were deployed?  Have we done all we could to help them heal and readjust once they were out of military service?  The answer to all those questions, I believe is, sadly, no.

We live in a free country.  That in itself is a rare and precious birthright that far too many take for granted.  The soldier pays the price for that.  Speaking as the son of a former Polish freedom fighter and prisoner of war, I feel very grateful, as my father does, that the United States army was there to help liberate Poland from Nazi occupation.

Of course, war is very different today that it was during World War II.  The death is the same of course, but not the rationale.  The days of nation states going to war with legal declarations of hostility, clear lines and objectives, and decisive surrender followed by armistice are long gone.  Since WWII, it’s been about limited interference in the internal conflicts of other nations or regions.  (Limited in every sense except the dying, of course.)  Constitutional requirements of Congressional declaration of war are long-gone, too.  As are clear objectives and clear beginnings or endings.  It begins when the President says it does and ends…who knows when?  Today, in terms of foreign policy, presidents are like kings or despots who can send our nation’s soldiers to war by royal decree.  And, for reasons of politics or personal gain.  That’s not to say our nation often finds itself on the dark side of history.  The enemies our nation’s warriors have fought have been a pretty nasty lot.  From the despots of North Korea to the often vicious Viet Cong to the tyrant Saddam Hussein.  But, as in any war, the innocent dead far outnumber the soldiers.  And, to topple one despot may be like kicking over a wasp’s nest that brings far more death and misery in the chaos that follows.  That doesn’t diminish the noble sacrifice of the American soldier, but it sure as blazes puts on civilian society the moral burden of justifying what they died for.

So, as we enter the second decade of our most recent undeclared, formless, seemingly endless war, the question stands:  Have we as citizens of the United States truly done our duty to honor our nation’s soldiers?  More than that, to honor the covenant between citizen and defender?  We acknowledge that our lives are in their hands, but do we acknowledge that their lives are in ours?  Their job is obviously the more demanding, but ours is the more complex.  As citizens of a free nation, it is our civic duty to choose our leaders wisely and yes, to question and debate what those leaders do once they’re in office.  It’s easier not to, of course.  It’s easier to just mind your own business, wave the flag and blindly follow the guy in office, as long as it’s someone else who ends up doing the fighting and the dying overseas.  After 9/11, we wanted revenge, and didn’t much care where it came from.  We blindly followed our president then.  Didn’t matter who he was, or even if he knew what he was doing.  He was the only leader we had, and like all politicians, he told us what we wanted, or needed, to hear.  And, as always, the soldiers ended up paying the price.  Easy answers, gratifying slogans and tall promises.  And, the soldier always pays the price.  Over ten years later, the soldier is still paying the price, with no end in sight.

Historians will judge our wars as they always do, with 20/20 hindsight.  But, those of us in the here and now owe it to those in the armed forces to question what our presidents do.  As a people, we feel a strong bond of loyalty to our soldiers, and that’s laudable.  But, the only way we seem able to express that loyalty is through blind obedience to our presidents, many of whom have never served in armed combat a day in their lives.  Criticism of a seated president, even an unpopular one, in time of military engagement, is blindly equated with treason.  To support the troops, we have to support the Commander-in-Chief, right or wrong.

Easy.  Simple.  Not necessarily a good idea.

If you have some selfish jerk or lunatic in office (and, let’s face it:  We’ve had a few) who orders our soldiers to march off a cliff, then what is our patriotic duty as citizens?  To get behind the troops and help push them off that cliff?  Or, to throw obstacles in their path to try to keep them alive?  It’s not the soldier’s responsibility to question the war.  It’s ours.  Yes, many prefer to say we elect the leader, the leader leads and the soldier dies.  Those are our assigned roles.  But, we’ve seen leaders leave office in disgrace.  We’ve allowed…yes, ALLOWED…leaders to lead us into wars based on false information.  We’ve swallowed lies packaged in ribbons that read “Mission Accomplished” only to find ourselves looking on row after row of gravestones and flag-draped coffins and no more answers to the question “Why?”  Are we even still asking?

At some point, the line between war and peace blurs.  The deaths of our service men and women fade into background static.  The idea of war being not only undeclared and lawless but actually perpetual, as in Orwell’s 1984, seems to have become our new way of life.  The young and the brave continue to march off to war because they feel it’s right, and the rest of us just toil along at our jobs through one president after another, barely noticing the death that goes on and on. No end in sight.  New enemies rise from the ashes of the old, the situation growing worse, not better.  A generation has come of age in this war.  Will the day come when no one can remember not being at war?  Some say the nature of the enemy has changed, and we must change with it.  But, are we just digging the hole deeper?  Is anyone bothering to ask?

The drones kill, and kill and kill.  The engineers at M.I.T. devise increasingly sophisticated robotic systems that may someday be used to kill with increasing efficiency.  Will the robot killing machine someday replace the human soldier?  If so, will war become so easily managed from the relative comfort of a distant control room that we as a society find absolutely no reason to even question its existence or try to avoid it?  How does a society know exactly when war ceases to be an occasional instrument of national survival or necessity, and becomes a way of life?

Today, we honor their memory.  But, do we honor the reason they died?  Do we even remember?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VktJNNKm3B0

 

               

Romantic Suspense and spine-tingling mystery from Vonnie Hughes...

Guest author Vonnie Hughes talks about romantic suspense and her new release...

Romantic suspense is my favorite genre to both write and read. Nowadays there’s an overlap between ‘suspense’ and ‘romantic suspense’ as most suspense novels contain a certain amount of romance. Once, well-known male writers seemed to have decided at the last second, “Oh, don’t forget my female readers.” And they hastily shoved in a little liaison. Or perhaps their publisher gave them a nudge. But often those interludes seemed forced. However over the past few years they’ve become much more adept at the romantic aspect e.g. Harlen Coben and James Patterson.

And hey, haven’t female authors got gutsy and down and dirty lately when writing suspense? Huh? I just love Karen Rose, Tami Hoag and Anne Stuart. Their background knowledge shines for me because it’s not overly technical as if it’s saying: “Hey, I did my homework!” But the romance is peripheral to a darned good story each time.

I was born in New Zealand and spent most of my life there, although our family now lives in Australia. The two main differences between Australia and New Zealand are the weather (warmer over most of Australia if you discount Tasmania which is very blue/green like New Zealand because it’s wet and often cold), and the fact that NZ has 4 million people and B-I-G Australia has 21 million residents. Yup. Australia is vast. It is the sixth largest country in the world and has a whole continent to itself. It’s not the sort of place where you get in your car and zip over to Auntie Flo’s. If you hear an Australian say, "It’s just down the road," you know they lie. Sure, it’s just down the road, but the road is a 2,000 kilometer dust-encrusted two-lane bitumen highway straddling two states, millions of curious kangaroos, hundreds of racing emus trying to beat your car, some wild camels, a million gumtrees, several townships and a couple of rivers if you’re lucky. Nor is it the place to get lost in the bush, since much of the bushland looks the same. You can go around in circles forever.

When they say, "It’s just down the road" in New Zealand, they mean it’s down a one-lane bitumen highway that goes for ten kilometers then switches to a gravel road that finishes at Jessop’s farm with 1,000 sheep dotting the peaceful hillsides. And at the back of that farm is bushland, tight, green and impenetrable. In the winter it drips with damp and in the summer the cacophony of cicadas screams in your ears.

But I digress. They say ‘write what you know’ and because I know more about the NZ Police than I do the Australian system, I based LETHAL REFUGE on the NZ system. But I took liberties with the truth. Of course I did. It’s fiction, for heaven’s sake. But think of the British Police and you’ve got a handle on the NZ Police Service which was originally based on the British system.

In LETHAL REFUGE, Célie Francis, a prickly young woman, self-reliant to the point of being irritating, witnesses the aftermath of a murder and is stalked by the murderer. When she is placed in the witness protection program, she can no longer be self-sufficient. She is at the mercy of a bunch of people who want to help her, for God’s sake. And then there’s Brand Turner, the police psychologist with a vulnerable intellect as high as the sky who has an annoying habit of demanding trust from the relocatees. When the murderer seems to track their every move, Célie finally realizes she can’t do stuff on her own any more.

I’ve had two romantic suspense books published over the past couple of years and there’s another in the works. I’ve much enjoyed writing them, even though I’m known more for my Regencies. Anyway, here’s something about LETHAL REFUGE, set in New Zealand:

Who can you trust if you can’t trust your own mother? Through the clammy fog, Celie Francis hears the chilling message. “I know who you are, Celie. I know where you live.” And in the terrifying aftermath she reconnects with her dysfunctional family in ways she had never imagined.

BLURB:

Abused and abandoned as a child, Célie Francis knows better than to trust anyone. But after she witnesses a murder, she's placed in the Unit "New Zealand's witness protection program" where she's expected to trust strangers with her life.

It's psychologist Brand Turner's job to ease witnesses into their new identities, not to protect them, but Célie stirs feelings in him that are far from professional. When it appears someone is leaking critical information that could endanger Célie, Brand will do anything to protect her. But first he has to convince her to trust him.

Adrift in a frightening world, Célie would like to believe the handsome psychologist is everything he seems, but as witnesses are murdered and danger swirls around them, Célie must decide "can she trust Brand with her life?　

Please click onto my Amazon page or The Wild Rose Press where you will find LETHAL REFUGE in both paperback and e-book.

I have attached two pictures to show just how impenetrable the New Zealand bushland can be.

This house is Brand’s next door neighbor’s place. Steve and his wife don’t miss much and Brand’s low profile gets shot to hell by Célie’s behavior.

Now this picture shows the type of area that Célie stumbled around in, right on nightfall. Creepy, huh?

If you have any more questions or would just like to say "Hi", email me vonniehughes@yahoo.com.au.

In the meantime, have a great day!

~Vonnie