Posts Tagged ‘writer’

Historical Fiction

Date Published: 12th May 2017

Publisher: Harper Impulse

A sensual, heartbreaking, romance

The sounds and scents of the Crimean War are strangling Harry Marlow, shutting him off and silently smothering his soul. But he is a soldier and that is his life, and he can see nothing else besides that. So why should he care when a woman watches him? His life is not one to share with a woman, other than for a few moments in his bed.

When a woman is already drowning so deeply in sin she is without any fear of judgement – what can it matter if she chooses to begin a new affair? It is like escape to choose her own man and Captain Marlow is the perfect candidate for a dalliance. All she has to do is obtain an introduction…


 


Jane began her first historical novel at sixteen, but a life full of adversity derailed her as she lives with the restrictions of Ankylosing Spondylitis. When she finally completed a novel it was because she was determined not to reach forty still saying, I want to write. 

Now Jane has been shortlisted for three reader awards, and become a bestselling author in the UK and the USA.

 


Excerpt

The Tainted Love of a Captain Excerpt One

She was there, with her maid. They were on the path at the head of the beach, a few yards away. He crossed the street. She walked towards him and intercepted his path. ‘Captain Marlow!’ she called. ‘Well met!’ She spoke as though she had not written and he therefore presumed the maid did not know that this interchange had been orchestrated.

He bowed, slightly. ‘Miss Cotton.’ What was the etiquette for a man’s mistress? He knew how to behave with whores and with respectable women, but a mistress was somewhere in between. ‘Would you care to walk with me?’ He lifted his arm, in the way he might have offered his arm to one of his sisters or cousins.

The maid held back to walk a few paces behind them as Ash looked up at him with eyes that asked why he had not walked on to the pebbles. Harry clicked the fingers of his free hand and tapped his leg to tell Ash to stay at his side.

‘I like your dog. What is her name?’ Miss Cotton said loudly. He presumed for the benefit of the maid as much as for an answer.

‘Ash. She was named by my niece.’

She looked at him as though the fact that he might have a niece was a bizarre thought. ‘Oh.’

He smiled. Her colour had been high since the moment they had faced each other, but now it became even redder.

‘Your dog has a very pleasant nature.’

‘Yes, she does.’

‘I am glad you came,’ she said in a quieter voice, leaning closer to him as he’d seen her do when she spoke to her maid. ‘It took me so much courage to write. But you have never looked at me here. Then you looked at me last night and I wrote in a rash moment because I have had a great desire to know the man with the lovely dog. I hope you do not think me too forward.’ Her back straightened when she had finished her conspiratorial whisper and her chin lifted high. There was a sense of dignity in her posture, no matter her status.

‘I was not sure that I would come.’

Her head turned and she looked at him about the rim of her bonnet, her fingers pulling on his arm a little. ‘I admire you as much as your dog. I have wanted to meet you as well as Ash.’

‘I am aware. I have seen you watching me.’ He breathed in. ‘It was flattering.’ He had not thought so a day ago and yet having seen the woman up close. Yes, the interest and attention of such a beautiful woman was flattering. Her large, expressive eyes, within the shadow of her bonnet’s brim, were particularly fascinating and the curls of her vibrantly coloured hair peeked from beneath the edges of the bonnet, providing a temptation to touch it.

She smiled. ‘I think it is lovely how you play with the dog. There seems such regard between you as you play. So, yes, I have been watching your games and admiring you and your affection for Ash, from a distance. It is very charming to watch. Your friend has looked back at me, but you have no more than glanced. You have given me no opportunity to compliment you before.’

‘I thought you were…’ He had been about to insult her and say that he’d thought her respectable, which would tell her that now he thought she was not. ‘I thought you someone different.’

‘Who?’

‘No one in particular, simply a young woman looking for a husband and I would make a poor candidate for that.’

The Tainted Love of a Captain Excerpt Two

‘Hello!’ he called from a few feet away.

The pace of her heart beat lifted in a fluttering sensation.

Since they had been talking each day, her heart felt as though it had grown the wings of a butterfly. ‘Hello.’

‘How are you?’ he asked as he joined her.

Charlie glanced back along the path at the maid who’d walked with her. She had left Tilly a few feet away to mind her own business and Tilly had not come nearer to listen, which was what Charlie feared. But if anything had been said to Mark about her liaisons with Harry, which it probably had, he had not complained to her about it.

She looked at Harry, again, turning her back on Tilly. ‘I am well. How was your game last evening?’

‘Must you ask?’ He threw the stick out into the sea. ‘Do you not know?’

‘No.’

‘Then do not ask.’

She laughed as Ash returned with the stick.

Harry looked at her after he’d thrown the stick again. ‘I have a question to ask you, though.’

‘Then you must ask it.’ She was very forward with Harry. She kept surprising herself. But it was the atmosphere he exuded. He always spoke so liberally it made her more confident to reply. But she had been forward with him from the beginning because she had been desperate to know this man with his dog. So desperate she had dared to write. But she had told herself that a woman of her status need not worry over what was right or wrong or fear the judgement of others. She had transcended those things. It was the one benefit of her status—she might do as she wished and she had wished to meet Ash and speak to Harry. That was not a crime.

Her chin lifted and her back straightened in denial of the accusation of forwardness that continued charging at her in her head.

Harry turned and faced her fully as Ash ran into the shallow, frothing ripples, chasing the stick as the tide pulled it out on a retreating wave. ‘If I hired a room in an inn, would you come there with me?’

‘Now?’ To… Oh… She had not thought about where this might lead. She had thought of nothing other than that she admired him and she had wanted to know him. But. ‘My maid is with me.’ Her heart had jolted suddenly into a sharp pace.

‘Tomorrow. Would you meet me there?’

Her heart was pounding as hard as her father had used to pound a hammer on a straight bar of iron to twist and curve it to make a horse’s shoe. She had not imagined, and yet she had in daydreams sometimes thought about what it would be like to kiss Harry.

But to make this a sin…

Ash shook the sea water off her coat, spraying them both. Then Harry took the stick from Ash’s mouth, lifted it and held it out of Ash’s reach. The dog barked and leapt around, waiting for it to be thrown again, then it was and Ash went racing after it.

Harry looked at her. ‘Will you?’


If you enjoy historical romance stories full of sensory details transporting you back in time, then you should give Jane Lark’s series a try. I signed up to review this book accidently but am glad I gave it my attention. This is a smooth read with the traditional milestones and payoffs you would expect. I haven’t had a chance to read the other stories in the series, but there are several and will keep you with summer reading material for quite a while!

This story unravels around Harry Marlow and his struggles between a stalwart but loving family who sees him as a bit of an outsider, and his chosen profession as a Captain, recently returned from the Crimean war. Harry meets a young woman, or rather, he is watched by a young woman and their introduction is quite unconventional. However, this woman is not all she appears to be, and regardless of recent revelations about the woman, Captain Marlow’s interest is not so easily squashed. The woman is full of secrets but has an obvious attraction and sense of security around the Captain, and his beloved dog, Ash. As the story unfolds truths are revealed, lives are broken apart, and those seeking redemption or a truer way of life struggle across the page. I detest when someone ruins plot points in a review, so I will leave it there and let you discover more for yourself.

If this sounds like your cup of tea, give this series a chance. If you do, please consider leaving the author a review, they value your opinions!

Humor
Date Published: 13 March 2017

A long time ago
in a faraway land
there lived a woman
who was allergic to dust.
Her name was Cinderella
Funny Fairytales are a twist on the old beloved Grimm and Disney Fairy Tales. They are fun short stories people can read in a couple of minutes when waiting for the bus or on a train ride. Work just like an app, with story plot changes, new adventurous characters, mysteries and danger.

Funny Fairy Tales 1 – Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
The new Snow White, with the vicious queen Anagrola, the confused and sarcastic mirror Shraga, and the most gifted seven men you’ve ever met.
The traditional tale, with a new development – snow white is not pretty, but smart, the mirror, Shraga has a hate-hate relationship with the jealous queen, and the dwarfs are each craft masters.

Funny Fairy Tales 2 – Cinderella
The new Cinderella, with the mysterious blue fairy godmother, the cunning step-sisters, and a woman, who for the life of her, just can’t stop cleaning!
The traditional tale, with a new development – a new young fairy godmother, Cinderella as a neat freak allergic to dust and with step-sisters who are good and desire to save her.

Funny Fairy Tales 3 – Red Riding Hood
The new Red Riding, with the hood that leads to fame and fortune, the mysterious wild wolf, and a grandmother so evil, she could rewrite the history of sin. Red’s not little anymore!
The traditional tale, with a new development – the grandmother is exceptionally vicious and the wolf very wise, red riding hood is a young curious and passionate woman exploring the life of fame, and the topic of false accusation is strong in the book.

About the Author

Reut Barak is a freelance journalist, previously published in National Geographic online. She has an MBA from the University of Oxford, and has worked and traveled internationally. This is her first book series.

Well, no not really… The true story is:
Reut was born in Camelot in the year 1201, following the famous explosion of the northern dragon tower.
She has a degree in fantasy and science fiction from the University of Atlantis and this record can be found in the central library, now twenty thousand leagues under the sea.
She likes phoenix riding, dragon fighting and painting the roses red.
More here:

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Snow White
Cinderella
 
Red Riding

Excerpt from Cinderella:

A long time ago

in a faraway land

there lived a woman

who was allergic to dust.

 

She was also allergic to cat hair, pollen, mould, nuts, soy, and latex.

She lived in the attic, which she kept sterile- clean.

She would rarely get out, because the house had a cat and she was allergic to cat hair.

She would keep the windows shut to avoid the pollen.

 

She tested her food to avoid nuts and soy.

She chased the microbes, and the dirt and the germs and the insects, and walked around with a small broom, ready to use.

In short, she was nuts.

Her name was Cinderella.

 

Excerpt from Red Riding Hood

When Red finally reached her grandmother’s cottage, it was noon and she had eaten a collection of mushrooms she had never seen before.

She was also seeing colors she had never seen before.

The cottage was quiet, and the door creaked when Red unlocked it.

“Granny?”

There was no answer.
Red walked in slowly. She was dizzy, but she managed to walk straight into her grandmother’s bedroom, and approach the bed.

“Granny?”

Her grandmother seemed somewhat different.

For starters, she had very big eyes.

Red never noticed that before.

Her grandmother also had fur.

Red stopped, confused.

There was something funny going on.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

She thought she might as well say something.

 

“What big eyes you have.”

Really? thought the wolf, who was lying in her grandmother’s bed. “Well… the better to see you with.”

“What big ears you have.”

“Well… the better to hear you with.”

“What a big nose you have.”

“The better to smell you with.”

“What big…”

“I can tell where this is going, and I’m not interested. No offense.”

 

Reading Addiction Blog Tours

About the Book

Title: The Hooligans of Kandahar

Author: Joseph Kassabian

Genre: Nonfiction / War Memoir

During the peak years of the Afghanistan War, a group of soldiers is dropped by helicopter into the remote mountains outside of Kandahar City. Mismanaged and overlooked by command, how they survive is largely up to them. In the birthplace of the Taliban, some men lose their sanity, others their humanity. They are The Hooligans.

Written in the months and years following his deployment, Joseph Kassabian recounts his time in the isolated and dangerous country of Afghanistan. Pulling no punches, The Hooligans of Kandahar is a sobering, saddening, and often sarcastic first-hand account of America’s War on Terror.

 

Buy Links

Buy it on Amazon in ebook

Buy it on Amazon in Paperback


Book Excerpts

Excerpt #1.

Generally, when our squad went on patrol for hours at a time, we would set up Observation Points, or OPs. OPs were areas that were slightly defensible and allowed us to watch a large area while remaining concealed from sight. That’s what the manual says about OPs, anyway.

    What we really used them for was to duck away in the night for a few hours and take turns napping. A few soldiers stood watch while the others removed their overbearing gear and lay down in the dirt to catch a few minutes of much-needed sleep.

    The official mission was to watch over a Taliban “rat line,” or trail used for smuggling weapons into the area. We had watched the ratline and raided various houses in the last few months and found nothing. We were all pretty sure that the ratline didn’t actually exist anywhere outside of Scream’s head.

Since Scream was adamant that something was going to happen in that village, he kept ordering us to sit in the darkness and stare at nothing.

    We established a primary OP on an elevated ridge that overlooked the trail that Scream was certain was a pathway for whatever nefarious deeds the Taliban did at night. During our first ten-hour watch of the area, Walrus—who was one of the laziest people I’ve ever met—found a couch in one of the cornfields. He dragged the furniture up the ridge and into the OP, giving the position its name.

   It was at that OP that some of us older soldiers had to teach the other guys the art of soldiering in the pitch darkness. Smoking without being seen became a skill. You could easily see a cigarette’s lit cherry over a mile away. If you weren’t careful, you could give away your position while feeding your terrible vice.

  You could stick your cigarette and lighter into your ration bag to light it. Then cup your hand around your mouth and cigarette when you need a hit to conceal yourself from whoever wants to blow your face off in the middle of the night. A few of us switched from smoking to chewing tobacco for night patrols. The first few times I tried it I puked on myself.

There was only one guy in our squad who didn’t smoke or dip—Slim, but he made up for it in the states with a drinking habit that would make Hemmingway suggest rehab.

 

Excerpt #2.

We had to teach our soldiers real skills to survive at night as well. You would be surprised how much noise a soldier can make shambling through the darkness with all the gear we carry. We had to duct tape down anything that would rattle or clang off another piece of equipment and spray paint any little piece of metal that would catch the moonlight.

I knew a few guys who went above and beyond by not cleaning themselves for weeks in order to smell like the natives. Like the Taliban were out in the mountains trying to sniff us out of our hiding spots or something.

 

Excerpt #3.

At some point during the night, all hell broke loose. Guns started cracking to life. Machine guns and rockets started ripping through the air all over. Tracer rounds started tearing through the night from all sides about one hundred yards in front of them. They had no idea what was going on and no one was actually shooting at them. No one seemed to know that they were there. It was like they stumbled upon some random turf war in the middle of nowhere. The various militant groups that operated in our area—a strange mix of Islamic insurgents, smugglers, and gangs—routinely tried to kill each other. The Afghan security forces would shoot at anything that went bump in the night. It could have easily been two different Afghan Police patrols shooting at each other.