Tag Archives: RRBC

Calling All Bookworms, Book Lovers, Book-Nerds & Bibliophiles!

25 Sep

Hello everyone! This year I told myself that I would make more time for reading, and I’ve been doing just that. Another thing I wanted to do was to expand the genres that I read. Today, I wanted to share some of the books that I’ve read lately. I’m picky about the books I read and review, and believe me these books are great. I highly recommend them. There’s something here for everyone.

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Our Justice

by John W. Howell

Our Justice is a suspense thriller that will have you reading on the edge of your seat.

BLURB

The terrorist leader and financier Matt Jacobs figured out a plan to eliminate the President. He is relying on John Cannon’s stature as a hero to help him carry it off. John finds himself walking the fine line of pretending to help Matt while trying to figure out a countermeasure to the plan.
The third book in the John J. Cannon Trilogy brings together two strong wills for a showdown. The question to be answered is who will feel the satisfaction that the achievement of justice delivers? John, Matt or neither?

You can read my Amazon review here.

 


The Heart’s Lullaby: A candid portrayal of love in all its splendor and pain.

by Natalie Ducey

The Heart’s Lullaby is a beautiful book of love poems.

Blurb

The Heart’s Lullaby is a candid portrayal of love in all its splendor and pain. Love, in its purest form, is tranquil and soothes the soul. But love, as is life, can sometimes be cruel and unjust with its paths of uncertainty and forced goodbyes. In essence, it is a journey of self-discovery. A continuous journey of becoming. Often, it becomes a delicate dance of holding on and letting go.

We linger in memories of ill-fated love; our minds can easily soil them, and our hearts can effortlessly polish them to perfection, altering their resemblance entirely. We can anchor ourselves to yesterday by zealous choice or solemn grief. So easily, we can become obsessed with what “might have been” and miss the beauty that lies before us. Our minds craft spectacular moments that will never be realized. Why? Is it self-indulgence, or are they necessary companions for our soul’s survival?

Love, its force so formidable, transcends time, distance, and even death. Eternal love is the epitome of its grandeur.

To feel the exquisite, majestic splendor of love is the greatest gift we can give or receive. To have another see the unique beauty in our imperfections, that will protect us and elevate us without greed or envy, a soul willing and proud to walk this journey of life with us and share in its joys and sorrows … this is love, a gift unmeasurable and unmatched by earthly possessions.

But two souls must be willing. Therein lies the intricate complexities of the heart. And in the end, we must never forget … love, as is life, is a continuous journey of becoming.

You can read my Amazon review here.


Lodestone: Witch-Hunt

by Wendy Scott

Lodestone: Witch-Hunt is a dark fantasy story with some romance, adventure and mystery mixed in.

 

Blurb

There’s a cauldron of trouble brewing in Valloaria…

Download Lodestone today and strap on your broomstick –you’re in for a hell of a ride: The Witch-Hunt Series.

Two tales entwine (excerpts below).
Sabrina and Lauren’s tales entwine – linked by blood and magic. Sabrina, a newly fledged healer, is thrust out of her sheltered life at Mistress Florisah’s healing school after the destruction of the witch-ancestor portraits. An anti-witchcraft militia is poised on Karthalon’s borders threatening full scale genocide, unless Sabrina, the last of Lauren’s bloodline, can destroy the Lodestone, and restore magic to Valloaria, but the Lodestone is buried deep within the heart of the Order’s headquarters. Sabrina struggles to accept this suicide mission, and is distracted by her inappropriate affection for Micah, a prospect monk. Lauren’s ghost haunts Sabrina’s dreams as her diary reveals the tragic events behind Lauren’s actions. With invasion imminent, Sabrina embarks on her quest armed only with a sliver of the Lodestone, and Lauren’s diary but how can a lone girl prevail against an army?

Excerpt – Lauren
They attacked me alone, in pairs and in mass with their witchy ways, but their magic fell short; I was immune. Blasts of power seared from their fingertips and stonework exploded above, below and next to me, but nothing penetrated the brilliant glow of the Lodestone and they fell back, shrieking in frustration. I glowered at those not fast enough to move out of me way and they vaporized in an orange flash, to black flakes that I trampled underfoot.


Excerpt – Sabrina
A shirtless youth, with his back to her, hummed as he brushed a dark horse. The horse was standing perfectly still as if the boy’s song had lulled him to sleep. Sabrina silently observed the prospect as he worked. He was tall with a slender build, but she could see the muscles in his tanned back and arms ripple with each stroke. His brown hair was caught up in an intricate knot threaded by two long feathers; one red, the other purple. She’d never met anyone like him before.
She shuffled forward to get a better view, but her brush whacked into the wooden partition. He whirled around and she found herself staring into the brownest eyes, framed by the longest lashes she’d ever seen. They gawked at each other for a moment before Sabrina rediscovered her tongue. “I … I was sent to care for your horses.”
He pointed with his brush, to the horses behind him and said, “I’ve finished the others. Only Alloni, the brown and white, needs attention.”
Sabrina scurried to the indicated stall. Where was his shirt? As if reading her thoughts, he casually reached down and grabbed a white shirt. Slowly, he pulled it over his damp shoulders and Sabrina hastily focused on the horse. Her strokes were a bit shorter and harder than she normally applied and the horse shifted beneath the brush. Before she could correct herself, strong fingers, radiating warmth, slipped over hers and a voice laced with musk, breathed into her ear. “Not so firm. Alloni likes long, languid strokes – like this.”
Heat blazed into spots on her cheeks as she followed his movements. After several strokes he said, “That’s it, you’ve got the knack of it now.”
He released her hand and stepped away. Sabrina felt as awkward as a newborn foal so she kept her eyes averted and silently busied herself with the horse. From outside, a muffled yell filtered through the stable and the boy said, “Deakon wants me. Will you be all right finishing up?”
She didn’t trust herself to speak. “Ah-ha.”

You can read my Amazon review here.


Empty Chairs: Much more than a story about child abuse

by Stacey Danson

Empty Chairs is a heart-wrenching memoir about the nightmarish young life of author Stacey Danson. This book will make you cry, but it will also teach you many lessons.

Blurb

Stacey Danson, lived through and beyond horrific child abuse. This book tells of her brutal beginnings, the streets of Sydney at the age of eleven were preferable to the hell she endured at home. She ran, and those streets became her home for five years. She was alone, ill, and afraid. Stacey also had an unshakeable belief that she would do more than just survive her life. She would not allow her future to be determined by the horrors of her childhood. She reached out for something different; there had to be more to life; if she could only find it. She had a dream of a life where pain and humiliation had no place. She was determined to find that life. Empty Chairs is the beginning of the journey. Now she is living the dream.

You can read my Amazon review here.

You can preview any of these books for free. I hope you are intrigued by at least one of them. Have a great week!

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Haiku Friday – Touch & Miss

22 Sep

Hello friends! A warm welcome to my blog!

 

Today would have been my father’s birthday. He’s no longer with me, but he lives in my heart. I’m going to try to make this day about remembering all the happy times we shared. All the deep conversations, laughs, and meaningful moments. I declare September 22nd a holiday –– in my house and within my family. There’s a heaviness in my chest, because I miss him. I’ll try to take solace in the truth that he’ll never be forgotten and he’ll always be with me.

“You will always be in my heart . . . because in there you’re still alive.”

~Jamie Cirello

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Father

You taught me so much

But there’s one thing you did not

I never learned how

to exist in your absence

I never learned to miss you

You were always there.

The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-Vashti Quiroz vega-Haiku-haiku_Friday-Poetry-Rave Reviews Book Club-RRBC-pay it forward

Touch and Miss are this week’s prompt words chosen by Ronovan Hester of Ronovan Writes.

Ron hosts a challenge that anyone could participate in called Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge every Monday, and you have until Sunday to create a post featuring your haiku poem. He is an author and poet and also does author interviews and much more on his blog. Be sure to check it out. Read Ron’s Haiku Prompt Challenge Guidelines for more information.


Today is the Rave Reviews Book ClubPay It Forward‘ Day. I was supposed to choose one person from the club and dedicate this day to that member, but there are so many talented, creative and kind people I couldn’t choose just one. Instead I chose the wonderful club itself and will tweet, google, tumble, stumble, pin and share as many members as possible, as well as the club. Remember readers and writers are all welcome to join this fantastic family. If you’re a writer or an avid reader or both, please join us.

Have a great day, everyone!

 

 

 

Watch WRISA Write – Author Spotlight: John Howell

10 Aug

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Welcome to the 10th day of the Watch WRISA Write Showcase Tour an event organized by the Rave Reviews Book Club (RRBC). Today, the spotlight shines on one of my favorite authors, John W. Howell.

He has a great blog, Fiction Favorites where you can read some of his work, see all his books and learn more about him, so be sure to check it out.

John W. Howell-Watch WRISA Write-RRBC-Rave Reviews Book Club-spotlight-author-blog_tour-Vashti Quiroz Vega-Vashti Q-The Writer Next Door

 

*I recently read John’s thriller, Our Justice and enjoyed it very much. Here’s the review I left on Amazon. 

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Book Review

If Our Justice by John W. Howell was a roller coaster ride, it would be one that begins high on the track right before the free fall, twists and loops––what a ride!
The Protagonist, John Canon is an authentic, likable guy whose not afraid to show fear or allow a woman to take charge, which is endearing to me. He’s a genuinely good guy with great morals. You’ll love to hate his nemesis, Matt Jacobs, a very rich and powerful, kind of charming lunatic bent on destroying him. And I loved Stephanie, a strong, intelligent, beauty. All-around well-developed and memorable characters.
Aside from the nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat thrills and chills action, it’s obvious that a lot of research went into this story. Sometimes I wondered while reading if the author had been a navy seal or scientist, because the descriptions and scenarios were so on point and believable.
This story was written in first person, present tense and I felt like I was tagging along on all the adventures. This is the last book in the John Canon trilogy but it stands alone.
If you enjoy a fast paced, harrowing, thrilling story with a very satisfying ending then this book is for you.

John W. Howell is sharing a story he has written for this tour and it’s wonderful. Here it is. Enjoy! 

 

Last Night

by John W. Howell © 2017

 

So, with nothing better to do, I figure I’ll stop at Jerry’s place and grab a couple of drinks and a burger. Usually, I don’t go there on Saturday night since there’s a crapload of amateurs taking up what would be considered prime space. I figure since this is a Friday and close to Saturday, it may be packed, but not as crazy as Saturday. It’s the kind of place where everyone minds their business. They’re there for a good time and will likely not notice me. Even so, I go through the door, stop, and have a look around, trying not to make eye contact. I hope that the ball cap and large coat will keep me from getting noticed. The bar holds a weekday crowd, hanging on each other like they never had a date before. I tighten my eyelids against the smoke and make out four guys near the pool table, and what looks like a couple of girls fetching drinks. I search for a seat beyond the table in the back, but it seems like they’re all taken.

A guy bumps into me as I stand here. I say excuse me, and he looks me in the face. “Hey, don’t I know you?” he says.

“I don’t think so.” I make to turn away.

“Yeah, you’re the sports hero who lost all his money. I saw you on TV.”

“Naw, people always say stuff like that. I’m not him, buddy; trust me.”

He gives me a puzzled look but doesn’t want to push it, in case he has it wrong. I turn away and continue to look for a seat.

Straight ahead lies the bar, and it has a place right in the middle. I move in the direction of the empty place and look over to the other side of the room. The tables look full of happy drunks. Buckets of empties line the bar top, and the barmaid’s trying to sell more. She doesn’t have much luck since most of these people just spent their last five bucks on this outing. Upon making it to the stool, I hoist myself up and lean on the bar.

“Hey, Greg,” Jerry says. “Whadda you have?”

“Evening, Jerry. I’ll have a Gin on the rocks with a water back.”

“Comin’ up.”

I like Jerry’s no-nonsense way of handling things. He doesn’t like small talk and gets right to business. My eyes smart from the smoke, and I wonder how Jerry gets away with letting people kill themselves, when clearly, it’s not supposed to be allowed in this kind of establishment.

“Here you go. Want me to run a tab?”

“Yeah, I would appreciate that. I intend to have another drink and then a burger.”

The guy who thinks he knows me grabs my shoulder from behind. I almost fall off the stool.

“You’re Greg Petros, the big fund manager. I knew I’d seen you on TV. You took a beautiful career in football and ran it into the ground.”

Jerry leans over the bar and lays his hand on the guy’s shoulder. “Move on, my friend. You made a mistake. This guy is nobody. Go sit down and let me buy you a drink.”

“You sure? You called him Greg.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Go get a table, and I’ll send someone over.”

The guy looks at me one more time but does as Jerry suggests. He believes Jerry’s wrong, but the idea of a free drink lets him get away without losing face.

“Thanks. I didn’t mean for you to have to jump in.”

“No problem. Gimme the high sign when you’re ready for another drink.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“For you buddy, anything.”

I should mention that Jerry and I go back aways. When I fell on hard times, he became the only one that seemed to give a shit. I take a sip of my drink and wait for the burn in my throat, which signals the good stuff. Here it comes. I take a swig of the water and almost believe life is good. The Gin needs to get to the brain before making any honest judgment.

While I wait for the warmth to go from my stomach to my head, I check out the folks seated on either side of me. They both have their backs turned to me and sit engrossed in some discussion with their neighbor. I figure it’s just as well since I don’t want to go through that old “don’t I know you?” bullshit again. Also, I don’t figure on staying the night, so no use in getting into any long discussions about life.

I look down at my drink and wonder what will happen tomorrow. My daughter Constance wants to come and visit. She lives in New York, and before all hell broke loose, we didn’t see each other often. I missed her so much, and it seemed I had to beg her even to talk on the phone. Now, it’s like she wants to be here every weekend. It’s only an hour’s flight by the shuttle or three by train, so she can come when she wants. I just can’t figure out why she got so clingy. I have my troubles, but it doesn’t have anything to do with her. No use in asking her husband, either. Though a nice enough guy, I always wonder if he has someplace important to go when I visit. He never sits still, and stays busy on the phone or at the computer. He makes a good living, but it seems a person could take an hour to sit and talk. I’d looked forward to some kind of relationship when he and Constance got married. It’ll never happen with him.

When I take another pull at my drink, I notice the burn feels less. It happens every time. First sip initiation, I call it. It’s like the first puff of a cigarette, hits hard then, after, nothing. I decide to let Constance pretty much have the agenda tomorrow. She and I have not had a chance to talk about anything deep for a while. It could just be that she blames me for her mother running off with that guy with the house on the Hudson. He has a title, and the old gal couldn’t resist, but, I think the daughter always felt I should have done something. Her mother’s sleeping with another guy and what the hell can I do about that?

I’ll just go with the flow. If she wants to go out, we will. If she wants to stay in, we can do that, too. I better think about getting some food in the house. Of course, we can always order take out. I need to move on to my drink and let this go. Tomorrow will be what it is. I remember the day she was born. I looked down at her in my arms and promised I would do anything for her. I love her more than life itself, and I hope we can somehow get to the root of whatever’s wrong. She sounded strange on the phone this morning, and I feel helpless to do anything about it. I hope she opens up when she gets here.

For some reason, I feel tired. Perhaps I’ll go ahead and finish my drink. Maybe I’ll just go home and forget the burger. First, though, I’ll just shut my eyes for a minute. My hands feel good when I put my head down.

“Hey, Greg,” Jerry says. I barely hear him. “What’s the matter? You taking a nap? Greg?” I can feel him shake me, but I have no interest in waking up. His voice gets further away, and I think he says, “Oh my God, Sophie, call 911, quick.” Now the room goes silent.

 

END

John W. Howell-Watch WRISA Write-RRBC-Rave Reviews Book Club-spotlight-author-blog_tour-Vashti Quiroz Vega-Vashti Q-The Writer Next Door

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH RWISAWRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

John W. Howell RWISA Author Page

 

Watch RWISA Write – Author Spotlight: Gwen Plano

6 Aug

Hello and a warm welcome to my blog! Today is the 5th day of the Watch WRISA Write showcase tour and The Rave Reviews Book Club members are featuring the talented and sweet, Gwendolyn (Gwen) Plano. She will be sharing a lovely story called, Love at First Sight. Enjoy! 

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Love at First Sight

By Gwendolyn M Plano

 

“It doesn’t seem real. It just doesn’t seem real.” Mom muttered as she ran her hand over the curves of dad’s headstone. Sighing deeply, she stared blankly into the horizon.

After a few minutes, she turned and faced me. “I tell myself that it must be real.” She seemed to want my approval. “The stone says we were married 70 years. It must have happened; I must have been married. But, but…why can’t I remember?” She searched my face for answers.

Stooped from the burden of years now elusive and sometimes vacant, mom held my arm while she walked to either side of the monument.

“I saw him in a dream. Did I tell you that?”

“No, mom, I don’t think you did.”

“He was young, like when we first met.”

“Really? Could you tell me about how you met?”

“How?” Mom’s eyes darted to and fro as she struggled to answer. Then, as though the curtains lifted, she responded.

“Yes…yes, I can tell you how we met.”

“Let’s sit here, mom.” I led her to a cement bench under a tall oak tree near dad’s grave. “Now tell me how the two of you met.”

Mom took a deep breath and began. “It was during the war. I remember it now. It was 1944. There were posters in our high school which asked us to sign up to work at the Consolidated Aircraft factory in San Diego. They needed help building B-24 bombers. We called the bombers the Liberators. My sister and I and several of our girlfriends decided we wanted to help our country. Most of the boys in our class were enlisting in the army or navy. We wanted to do our part too.”

“Like Rosie the Riveter?”

“Oh, yes! We all wanted to be Rosie. Your grandparents didn’t much like the idea, but they knew the families of the other girls, and since we’d be living together and would watch out for one another, they finally agreed. After all, it was the patriotic thing to do.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of mom being Rosie and asked where she lived.

“We lived with Aunt Lena on India Street in San Diego. She put in bunk beds for us. At night, we’d wash out our clothes and tie the pieces to the bedsprings so that they could dry overnight.”

“When we arrived at Consolidated, they gave each of us a uniform – blue pants and jacket. And, we had classes for a week or two. Most of us were assigned the job of riveting. It’s hard to believe, but there were about 20,000 women working at the factory. The assembly line was a mile long, and believe it or not, we built about nine bombers a day. Isn’t that amazing?”

“That is amazing, mom.” Pride glowed from mom’s face, and I couldn’t help but feel proud of her as well.

“I was assigned to the wings. I hate heights, but I’d climb on top of those wings and pretend I was sitting on the hood of a car. I didn’t get afraid that way. One day, when I was sitting up there, holding a riveting gun, your dad came by.”

“Hey,” he said. “What’s your name?” I thought I might be in trouble, but he smiled, so I smiled back.

“It’s Lauretta.”

“Well, Lauretta, you’re doing a great job. If you need anything, let me know. My name’s Jim, and I’m the foreman for this area.”

I put my arm around mom’s shoulder. “My goodness, mom, you were on the wing of a bomber when you met dad?”

“Sounds funny, doesn’t it? But, yes, that’s the first time we talked. I didn’t pay much attention to him, but my sister would whisper to me, “There he is again. I think he likes you. He keeps looking this way.”

Mom lowered her eyes and giggled. “Of course, I didn’t believe her.”

After pausing a bit, she continued. “Your dad started walking home with us in the evening. He lived further up the hill from us, so it wasn’t out of his way. Mind you, I was wearing the company uniform and had my hair in a bandana, so I was hardly a beauty.”

“Anyway, one day he asked if I’d like to come up to his place. And, I was stupid and said okay. That’s when I learned about the facts of life. You know, sex.”

“You didn’t know before then, mom?”

“No, but he taught me that night.” Mom giggled and put her hand on her face. “He wanted to get married right then. But, I told him no, he had to talk to my parents. We needed to do it right. Besides, I hardly knew him. There were a lot of shot-gun marriages those days. We all thought the end of the world was coming, and well, young lovers didn’t hold back.”

“So, you and dad became lovers?”

“You know the answer to that, don’t you? When I didn’t have my cycle, I knew I was pregnant. Your dad was elated and didn’t hesitate to talk to your grandparents. Of course, I was ashamed. But, I want you to understand something. You might have been the reason we married, but you were not the reason we stayed together for 70 years.”

“Did you love him, mom?” The question came out before I could filter it.

“I did, I just didn’t know I did. Your dad would tell anyone who would listen, ‘When I saw Lauretta on the wing of a B-24 bomber, I knew that she was the one for me.’ He’d say it all the time, ‘She’s the one for me!’” Mom giggled as she thought about this story. “Your dad always said it was love at first sight. But it wasn’t that way for me.”

“What do you mean by that, mom?”

“Well, love is a strange word, isn’t it? Your dad seemed to know from the first time he saw me that he wanted to marry me. I didn’t feel that way. I think my focus was romance or dreams. And, your dad wasn’t the wooing type.”

“I believe I fell in love with him after you were born. He thought you were the most beautiful baby in the whole world. In fact, I think he was happiest when he was holding you. He’d sing to you and rock you to sleep every night.”

She dropped her head, and tears rolled down her cheeks. My tears fell as well.

“He was a good man, a faithful man. Did I tell you his promise?”

I shook my head, and said, “no.”

“You know that he grew up hungry, right? During the Dust Bowl, his family barely survived. In fact, two of his sisters died. Well, your dad promised me that his children would never go hungry. He would make sure of it. And, he did. He worked two jobs most of our marriage, and you kids were never hungry.” She paused and looked into my eyes.

“Your dad kept his promises.”

Mom grew silent. Her face turned from animated to expressionless, and I did not know what to think. She whispered something that I had to ask her to repeat. She sighed and looked at me again.

“It just doesn’t seem real.”

Gwen plano-author spotlight-RRBC-RWISA-Rave Reviews Book Club-Vashti Quiroz Vega-Vashti Q-watch WRISA write-blog_tour-The Writer Next Door

If you enjoyed Gwen’s story check out her book, Letting Go into Perfect Love on Amazon.

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Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Gwendolyn (Gwen) Plano RWISA Author Page

 

Watch RWISA Write Showcase Tour – Author Karen Ingalls

2 Aug

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Hello and welcome to the 2nd day of the Watch RWISA Write Showcase Tour!

Today I have the privilege of introducing award-winning author, Karen Ingalls.

Karen is sharing with us her delightful short story, A Fishy Day. Enjoy!

Karen Ingalls-RRBC-showcase-author-spotlight-RWISA-Vashti Q-The Writer Next Door

A FISHY DAY

 

It was one of those wonderful August days when the sun was high and warm in the sky. The big cumulus clouds slowly drifted by, creating designs that filled Jim’s imagination, who at nine years could see all kinds of amazing sights. He had been playing with his model airplane in his aunt and uncle’s yard, where he spent the summers on their ranch in San Diego, California. Staying with Uncle Leon and Aunt Helen was always a special time of adventure, fun and farm work.

“Jim, do you want to go to the pasture with me? We’ll check the water trough for the cattle,” Uncle Leon asked, at the same time he took his handkerchief and wiped some perspiration from his tan brow.

“Oh, yes,” Jim responded with great excitement. He ran to the front porch and put his treasured airplane on the table next to where Aunt Helen sat in her rocking chair.

Uncle Leon walked over to the Allis-Chalmers tractor and stretched his long, thin legs up and over onto the metal seat. “All right, Jim, you can come on up now.” Jim awkwardly managed to climb up and grab hold of his uncle’s hand, who swung him onto his lap. With the turn of the key the tractor began to vibrate and the engine roared. Shifting the gears into forward, Leon yelled, “Here we go!”

The pasture was a favorite place for Jim with its rolling hills, oak trees, and green grass. It was always a peaceful place where a boy could run until he was out of breath, and then fall onto the grass and let the wind gently blow over his panting body. Many were the times that Jim would spend his days, just climbing in the oak trees pretending he was hiding from some enemy, or shooting squirrels with his imaginary rifle.

He and his uncle drove through the pasture until they came to a large trough sitting by a water pump on the top of a knoll. The cattle were grazing some distance away, but their occasional moos could be heard.

Uncle Leon helped Jim off the tractor and then sauntered up to the trough. “Not much water left so we best get this filled up.”

Jim was leaning over the trough where the top of it just reached his chest. “What can I do? I want to help.”

“Well, now, how about you pump the water in once I get it primed,” replied Uncle Leon with his usual smiling face. He was happy that Jim wanted to help, but he also knew that pumping water would be a big job for such a young lad. Once he had the water flowing with each downward motion of the pump handle, he instructed, “Okay, young feller, it is your turn now.”

Jim eagerly grabbed the handle and standing on his tiptoes, pushed it down, smiling happily when the water gushed into the trough. He repeated the pumping for as long as he could, but all too quickly his arms and shoulders began to ache. Jim did not want to admit that he was getting tired, but his uncle knew and said, “How about if I do it for a while?”

Once the water neared the top, Jim leaned over cupping some water into his hands. “This is the best tasting water I’ve ever had,” Jim thought to himself. He slurped several handfuls into his dry mouth.

Looking over at his nephew, Leon asked with a twinkle in his eye, “Did you see that fish drop into the water from this here pump?”

“What fish?”

“Why, that fish that came right out of the pump into the trough. I thought sure you would have seen him while you were drinking the water.”

“No, sir. I didn’t see any fish.” Jim wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and earnestly looked in the water.

“Well, he must still be in there.” Uncle Leon leaned over the trough looking for the mysterious fish. “Now isn’t that something. I can’t see him anywhere.” He peeked a look at his nephew, who now had eyes as big as saucers. “I wonder if you accidentally swallowed that poor little fish while you were drinking all that water.”

Jim stepped back from the trough and began to rub his stomach. “I don’t think so, sir.” The minutes passed and Uncle Leon continued to wonder out loud what happened to the fish. Jim began to imagine that the fish was swimming in his stomach. “I don’t feel so good,” Jim said as he stretched down on the cool grass.

Seeing that his nephew was fearful and feeling sick, Uncle Leon laid down next to him and pointed up towards the clouds. “Jim, look at that cloud up there. See the little one next to the big puffy cloud?”

He waited until Jim nodded his head and said, “I think so.”

“It kind of looks like a fish, doesn’t it? I wonder if that is the fish that was in the trough.”

Jim looked at his uncle, then up at the clouds, and then back at his uncle who was smiling from ear to ear. Uncle Leon laughed and began to tickle Jim’s stomach. “Or, is that fish still here? Where is that fish?”

Jim laughed and joked right back while he patted his uncle’s stomach. “No, I think that fish is right here!”

Soon they both stopped laughing and just looked at one another. “I hope I don’t tease you too much,” Uncle Leon said.

“Oh no, Sir.” Jim looked at his uncle and went on to say, “I like to tease my younger brothers. Mother is always telling me not to do it too much. She doesn’t want them to cry.”

“Well, I would never want to make you cry.” Uncle Leon put his big hand on Jim’s head. “Do you know why?” Jim slowly shook his head back and forth not wanting his uncle to remove his hand. “I love you too much to ever make you cry for any reason.”

With tears in his eyes, Jim whispered, “I love you, too.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the sun, the warm breeze, and just being next to one another in the grass, watching the clouds drift by. It was a special day that Jim always remembered with a smile.

I hope you enjoyed Karen’s sweet, heartwarming short story, as much as I did. Check out Karen Ingalls’ Amazon Profile Page where you will learn more about her and find all her books.

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Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

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Pay It Forward – Author Diane Munier

22 Jun

Happy Friday everyone and a warm welcome to my blog!

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I joined a wonderful book club called Rave Reviews Book Club (RBBC). The RRBC is a virtual book club made up of many authors and readers. One of the club’s main objectives is to Profile, Promote and Propel their members. They do this many different ways and Pay It Forward day is one of those ways. So instead of doing my usual Haiku Friday post today I’m paying it forward.

What is Pay It Forward day?

On this day, members agree to give up ALL self-promotion and instead, promote one fellow member/author on their blog and social media forums. It is agreed that the MAJORITY of promotional tweets, Facebook shares and blog posts, etc., will be for the member/authors who has been assigned to the “promoting” member.

My assigned author for Pay It Forward is Diane Munier. As a new member of the Raves Review Book Club I’m just getting to know Diane and the other members of the club. I spent a good while looking through her blog and social media platforms yesterday and I liked what I saw. So here it goes.

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“There is no greater honor than to hear someone’s story. If you feel that way about the tales I tell, I would love to hear from you to keep you informed about upcoming work. Thanks for reading!”

~ Diane Munier

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“I write love!”

~ Diane Munier

Diane Munier broke into writing as a feature writer for a local newspaper. She spent the majority of her working life as a marriage and family counselor. These pursuits have done much to fuel her imagination and her passion/obsession for writing fiction. She grew up in a four-family-flat in the city of St. Louis but has lived rurally for most of her adult life with her husband on their beloved flat land in a small, fascinating farming community. This locale and a large, active family fuel her writing.

Diane Munier has written many books and you can see all her available work on her Amazon Profile Page.

Her latest novel, Running With Monkeys is now available on Amazon.

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BLURB:

1946. The boys are home from the war. Jules is looking for a way into polite society, but it seems like the moogs that didn’t go overseas have moved so far ahead he’ll never catch up. His luck seems to change when he goes to the movies with his buddies Bobby and Audie, the other two monkeys. They had marched across Europe together, and now they were picking up dames, drinking too much, and generally letting off steam, which translates into trouble. Jules meets Isbe at the movies. Close dancing in a smoky club leads to love. The same night, Jules hooks up with the Irish mob. Love is thawing his hard heart, the one needed for survival in his new and violent world. Isbe vows to stand by, but Jules likes it on the edge. That’s a good thing, because Isbe’s father is chief of police and it’s a tangled gray web he’s soon caught up in.

Review Excerpts:

~ Few people can tell a story like Diane. The way she describes people, places, dialogue, and events, is nothing short of transcendent.
~ Diane Munier is one of the most gifted writers I have ever encountered. Her first-person narratives are fascinating…
~ This author’s writing is so very rich. Lots of details that really demonstrate a level of research that is often not present in love stories.
~ Again I am mesmerized by this author and another awesome story. Great twists and turns…

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In her words . . .

Living comfortably in the heart of America with the people I love. I live an extroverted life, but I’m a genuine introvert. An urban kid, I spent much of my youth running in various neighborhood establishments. There I met many colorful characters and I learned to love them and be fascinated by them. My love of story comes from them. I learned to sit on a bar stool or a kitchen chair or in a pew and hear story. Hear the voices telling story. See the mouths move and the hands clutching glasses or cigarettes. See and hear the laughter. There is no greater honor than to hear someone’s story. If you feel that way about the tales I tell…what more could I ask.

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Be sure to check Diane’s blog, Diane Munier Author

 

Connect with her on Social Media

Facebook

Goodreads

Twitter

Amazon

I hope you enjoyed this Author Spotlight. I will be back next week Friday with Haiku Friday! Have a great weekend!