Posts tagged ‘paperback’

Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling

Amber-Wake-Review-Quote-Header

Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling is about a man on many missions beginning in a London sailor’s pub in the year 1705. There are the obvious missions but also those internal ones and relationship ones I took care developing most.

Gabriel Wallace is a high born member of English society and captain in the Royal Navy who is also a member of the House of Lords, although that last part does not play an obvious role in the book, it does in explaining who Wallace is. I intended the external actions to outward displays of his upbringing. For the most part, this holds true throughout the book. There are some exceptions because all people do odd things out of character at times.

“That his first person voice is as confessional as it is kept me turning the pages.” 4 Star Review from Published Author

What I’ve been hearing from beta-readers and in reviews is the enjoyment of the character development and the success of Captain Wallace connecting to the reader. It is a first person story, told by Wallace. He reveals nothing that he does not know. Some books will reveal how another character reacts in a way that you would only know if you were inside the other person’s mind. I intentionally made the effort to have Wallace only think of things he would need to think of at that particular moment in time, only things that made sense.

You don’t get every detail of the story that Wallace knows, because Wallace has no reason to revisit those memories. You do get hints of things in how he thinks back to them, or references them in his mind.

This isn’t a romance, and you won’t find any included. However, Gabriel Wallace is known by another name by the end of the book, and is included in a series of Historical Romance Adventures by my co-author PS Bartlett. Our intent with Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling is to give a background to show how he becomes the man Ivory Shepard needs in her life at a certain time.

With good reviews and response, it looks to me as though PS Bartlett and I have a good story with good characters. It’s been called a “page turner”.

Excerpt

“Even in these waters, that’s typical of a cyclone that comes up from the south.” Carbonale continued slicing away at the thick red hair on the crown of my head and tending to my wound as he spoke. “The cold water from the bottom of the ocean comes up to the top from all the churning and that, my young man, makes for even bigger problems. Hot and cold do not mix…in weather or in love.”

Adam blushed and chuckled. “No worries about that last part with me, sir. Captain, if I may speak plainly, sir, I want you to know that if not for Mister Carbonale’s quick thinking, every one of us would have perished. Me, still being just a boy and all, I’m sure I’d have been the first to go.”

“What?” Blood flooded my head and I slumped forward as the pain spiked in my brain.

“Sit still, Captain,” Carbonale said. “And you, don’t excite him…nor exaggerate,” he chided Adam. “A boy would not have survived out there. I believe after this day, you’ve proven you’re not a boy anymore.”

“I wasn’t exaggerating, sir, and you know it. On my life, Captain, I was saved by a black snake.”

I turned my squinted eyes to Adam. I knew him not to be one to lie but being saved by a snake? “Adam, there is…”

“Had Mister Carbonale not tossed me the whip, I’d be facedown and floating out to sea right now. When the longboat capsized, I surfaced several yards away from the barrels as they bobbed in the waves. Then, I felt Mr. Carbonale’s whip slap across my head. I grabbed it without a second thought. When I looked at what I had clutched in my hands, I almost let go. At first glance, I thought it was a snake.” Adam finally took a breath.

“It was a great deal less exciting than he has expressed,” Carbonale mumbled from behind me, now wrapping my head. “The fact is, the boy saved us all. It was his suggestion to tie those barrels together. He said he’d read it in one of his books.”

“Adam, get out of those wet clothes and get some rest,” I said.

“But, sir, there’s still work to be done and you need…”

“You’ve done enough for one day. Now go and help yourself to a cup of that hot grog as well. We’ll not have you catching your death.” Adam turned with a flashing smile and exited the cabin. “How accurate was his account of what happened?” I asked Carbonale as the door closed.

“Gabriel, I’d prefer never to think on it again. If the truth be told, I knew if I returned without that lad…let’s just say I’d rather face the sharks than your wrath.”

I made no further inquiries. In my physical state, as well as my state of mind, I decided not to press him and we spent the remainder of our time together in silence as he tended to me. Although we did not exchange words, I spent those quiet moments wondering if he realized how much of himself he had revealed today. He had medical knowledge and knew the workings of tropical cyclones, all the while pretending to be a young man of leisure whose only concern was the quality of his wine and the polish of his appearance. I’d already known he was brave and capable but adding to that his rescue of Adam and the others, I now measured him higher than any other man I knew, living or dead.

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Bio

Ronovan Hester is a writer living near Athens, Ga, home of his alma mater, The University of Georgia, where he received a B.S.Ed. in History Education. Ronovan puts his love of history and his over 20 years of writing experience to use in his debut Historical Adventure set in 1705 England, American Colonies, and Caribbean co-authored with P.S. Bartlett.

Ronovan’s devotion to history and writing sometimes competes with his love of tacos and fresh fruit. At times, all his favorite things work hand in hand in mouth during long binge writing sessions that have been known to last nonstop for over 24 hours. Rather than see a sleep disorder as a hindrance, he uses the time for creative purposes, or watching old TV shows on online.

Ronovan enjoys putting elements of history, if only as nods to the past, in all of his book projects. He currently instills that love of history and learning in his son daily as he helps him through his college prep courses, meaning hours of homework every night, even while not yet a teenager—his son, not Ronovan. Now if he could find a very good mute for that trumpet his son just began learning.

Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling is available on Amazon in Paperback and for Kindle. It is also Free with Kindle Unlimited.

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His Revenge Launch

Announcing His Revenge by John W. Howell is now available in paper and ebook on Amazon and KDP Select

His Revenge front final

The sequel to My GRL titled His Revenge is available and a new story continues where My GRL left off.

His Revenge is available in the US in Paper and Kindle editions

In Canada in Paper and Kindle editions

In the UK in Paper and Kindle editions

Here is the blurb:

America loves John Cannon, its newest hero, and the President wants to present him with the highest civilian medal for bravery for saving the Annapolis midshipman from a terrorist plot to destroy them. While in Washington for the award ceremony, John unwillingly becomes an accomplice in another plan by the same group to attack the credibility of the US President and the stability of the worldwide oil market. There is no way out as John either becomes a traitor to America or causes thousands of innocent people to die if he refuses.

The second John J Cannon Thriller moves from a barrier Island off the coast of Texas to Washington DC, then to Northern California, and finally to Ecuador. John is on the receiving end of an offer he cannot, refuse. His avowed enemy Matt Jacobs now wants John to help him shake the reputation of the US in the world political arena and disrupt confidence in the government at home. If John refuses, Matt plans to murder innocent Americans including John’s latest relationship. John’s only way out is to pretend to go along with the plan and hope for a miracle.

Excerpt from Chapter one

The water rushes over my head. I’m sinking and don’t know why. With my breath held, I have trouble stopping the air from escaping since the pressure drives the air up and out. I try to keep my mouth closed, but the water pressure pushes the air out more and more. Will I pass out? In the distance, the light is dim. To rise to the surface in time might not be possible─I need to breathe right now. Toward ending the pain in my chest, my rambling mind rationalizes taking a deep breath—even knowing it will end my life. In conflict with the irrational thought of ending it, my body won’t let me suck in the water, as it fights to retain the little bit of oxygen left to fuel my brain.

The despair is nearly overwhelming, and my mind considers other ways to battle the feeling. What more could I have done with my life? The pressure becomes more intense, and I’m about to lose it all, and I decide I’ve lived the way I wanted and have no regrets. I close my eyes and hear only the roar of the sea. I’m so tired. Exhausted. Sleep will fix everything, and I want to give in

About the author

John Howell Photo by Tim Burdick

John’s main interests are reading and writing. He turned to writing as a full-time occupation after an extensive career in business. John writes fictional short stories and novels as well as a blog at http://www.johnwhowell.com. John lives on a barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico off the coast of south Texas with his wife and spoiled rescue pets. He can be reached at his e-mail johnhowell.wave@gmail.com, Facebook https://www.facebook.com/john.howell.98229241or Twitter at @HowellWave

My GRL_johnwhowell

His first novel, My GRL, is available on Amazon and wherever e-books are sold.

Rembrandt’s Light

Rembrandt’s Light

We’re crossing Depression Era bridges

and she is becoming more beautiful,

driving with both hands on the wheel

as we head inland: away from saltwater eddies

where every few months an empty row boat

falls victim to the current, recirculates

against the rocky shore for weeks

before splintering its wooden hull

on the land’s dull and uncompromising teeth.

Rembrandt’s light always came from the left.

He painted and hoped the canvas would keep

his shadows, the eye drawn to where the flesh

was softest and the most tired: just beneath

the eyes where we keep our hurt and our joy,

where we seldom touch for how easily

the thin skin can bruise. Evergreens

invite us to agree on beauty. The fenced-off pier

begs for passengers. She says the light

is bleeding from the clouds. The pavement,

the undersides of leaves: every darkness shining.

— Luke Johnson, more After The Ark

T. S. Poetry

After the Ark, Luke Johnson’s remarkable first collection of poetry, chronicles the author’s upbringing as the son of two ministers. A seasonal triptych, the poems root themselves in the landscapes they inhabit: from the boulder fields of the Blue Ridge Mountains to the endless dusk of Clam Gulch, Alaska, to a half-frozen lake in Upstate New York. These poems ask the reader to move inward, to look hard at loss and see it stark and sure. The narrative, often deceptively formal poems, show us the affects domestic tragedies can have on a family’s faith in each other, how absence can color their collective memory. Ultimately, they are poems of hope, artifacts or rescues of some kind. Each one is a small proof that no matter the magnitude of the flood, through remembering there can always be salvage. These poems ask the reader to believe there is something left worth saving.

Kindle

http://www.amazon.com/After-Ark-Luke-Johnson-ebook/dp/B00IZ1QJCE/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=

Paperback

http://www.amazon.com/After-Ark-Luke-Johnson/dp/1935520393/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

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Selecting a Reader

Selecting a Reader

First, I would have her be beautiful,
and walking carefully up on my poetry
at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,
her hair still damp at the neck
from washing it. She should be wearing
a raincoat, an old one, dirty
from not having money enough for the cleaners.
She will take out her glasses, and there
in the bookstore, she will thumb
over my poems, then put the book back
up on its shelf. She will say to herself,
“For that kind of money, I can get
my raincoat cleaned.” And she will.

— Ted Kooser, author of Sure Signs

T. S. Poetry

Named U.S. Poet Laureate for 2004-2006, Ted Kooser is one of America’s masters of the short metaphorical poem. Dana Gioia has remarked that Kooser has written more perfect poems than any poet of his generation. Long admired and praised by other poets, Kooser is also accesible to the reader not familiar with contemporary poetry.
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Answering Fear as if It Were a Question

Answering Fear as if It Were a Question

In a unit of time, in a violence of sleep,
I first saw all the tiny murders in rain,
all the wartime verses: rain leading children
into the classroom of looking, into
the being afraid. Rain chipping its way
into the apple trees, into the mouths of rivers.
Stop, says the hypnosis. I cannot stop.
I’ve been thinking slivers of loneliness into
a handsewn shroud, thinking my toy heart
to ticking. Lying in bed at night, rain’s
lonely sopranos open in the palm like swimmers,
a mere lisp of dried flowers in the wind.
All the verbs are ceaseless dioramas
of its wounds. Last night, the raindrops
opened where I felt my mouth, into
flesh-electric briars that said, breathe in.
This dark bulb being born is your sight.
Let it trample you beyond all recognition.
Last night, I dreamed for the first time since.
I dreamed in concrete. I dreamed in wool.
I must have slept for years.

— Jennifer Militello, author of Flinch of Song

T. S. Poetry

Poetry. Winner of the Tupelo Press First Book Award, Jennifer Militello’s poems are lyrical, deeply thoughtful, and laced with associative leaps so surprising that a reader will be exhilarated by the imagination at work (and play) in each poem. The poems grapple with the everyday dramas of family and of love and do so with an avidity of intelligence as bracing as lines from Lorca or Rimbaud.

Paperback

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1932195769/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1932195769&linkCode=as2&tag=tweetpoetr-20&linkId=TLZUNO7KHRF6XG6H

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Poem about Heartbreak That Go On and On

Poem about Heartbreak That Go On and On

bad love last like a big
ugly lizard crawl around the house
forever
never die
and never change itself

into a butterfly

— June Jordan, author of Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan

T. S. Poetry

“Directed by Desire . . . is a powerful addition to the entire canon of American poetry.”—Booklist

Now in paperback, Directed by Desire is the definitive overview of June Jordan’s -poetry. Collecting the finest work from Jordan’s ten volumes, as well as dozens of “last poems” that were never published in Jordan’s lifetime, these more than six hundred pages overflow with intimate lyricism, elegance, fury, meditative solos, and dazzling vernacular riffs.

As Adrienne Rich writes in her introduction, June Jordan “wanted her readers, listeners, students, to feel their own latent power—of the word, the deed, of their own beauty and intrinsic value.”

Kindle

http://www.amazon.com/Directed-Desire-Collected-Poems-Jordan-ebook/dp/B00APD9UJY/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Paperback

http://www.amazon.com/Directed-Desire-Collected-Poems-Jordan/dp/1556592345/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Hardcover

http://www.amazon.com/Directed-Desire-Collected-Poems-Jordan/dp/1556592280/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

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Rope

Rope

The girl’s father laughs a little too hard
when I say: She knows what’s important in life
as his daughter whips the dime store jump rope
over her head for the twelve thousandth time—
laughs as if I’m joking, when really, she has it down—
sparkly pink handles grimy with effort,
her face obscured by her hair, shins thin and bruised,
socks down at the ankles. Abandoned
by the rest of the crowd, the concrete square
an archipelago, an alignment with rigor the others
cannot fathom, she moves with fierce persistence
into afternoon, the heft of the handles, smack of the
rope—
no Double Dutch, limbo, no communal game,
but this resolute definition of rhythm,
slatted bench shadows lengthening into space,
the other kids simply forgetting she’s there,
her solitary corner of the playground darkening
as the dinner hour approaches, while pigeons pause
on their branches, squirrels come down the trunk and
stop,
with rush hour beyond the fence, cars idling,
and the rope’s metronome, forgotten as breath,
weaving all the disparate energies of girl—
elation, fury, eagerness, song—
into one singular strand.

— Rynn Williams, author of Adonis Garage

This poem is offered as part of our October theme: Games

T. S. Poetry

Winner of the Prairie Schooner Book Prize in Poetry, Adonis Garage introduces a talent exquisitely keyed to the register of New York City’s pulse and to the heartbeat of the day. Raw and graphic, with a brash and beautiful voice, Rynn Williams’s poetry immerses us in disillusionment and desire and bears witness to the meaning of survival.
Judith Ortiz Cofer called Adonis Garage “a book of life written by someone who has lived honestly and passionately, and whose art has been mastered in order to bear witness and find meaning in each day.” Rynn Williams’s poems are “brutally frank, brutally beautiful, and sexy,” said writer and critic Jonathan Holden.
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