Review of Silent Heroes, by Patricia Furstenberg

The Blurb:

How far would you go to save strangers in need? And who really are Marines’ most trusted allies?
Military Dogs would risk their lives for their humans in a heartbeat, but can soldiers do the same when personal struggles and global affairs defy humanity?

My Thoughts:

Patricia has certainly done her homework when it comes to research. Silent Heroes sheds light on the plight of the Afghan people, far better than any newscast. This ‘in your face’ tale may be fictional, but the vicarious journey into the depths of earthly hell cannot be underestimated. I was schooled on the true collateral damage, and that is the personal trauma of all who are dragged into war.

The desperation of a father who seeks his lost children, the terror of a village constantly under threat, and the bond between canine and soldier, are skillfully portrayed. The fact that Silent Heroes broached the subject of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was a refreshing change from the usual, ‘good guy shoots bad guy and remains unaffected.’

What impressed me the most was Patricia’s attention to detail in her explanation of Afghanistan’s history and how the Taliban rose to power. I’d been completely unaware of these facts, despite years of watching news footage. I finished the book better educated and with a greater sympathy for all involved.

There were some areas where past and present tense were used interchangeably, and character perspectives changed suddenly, more clarity could have been given.

Silent Heroes is an intense and action-packed read that anyone with an interest in culture, foreign affairs, and the personal cost of war would find appealing.

Four Stars for Silent Heroes.

silentheroes

Meet Patricia:

Patsmall

Patricia Furstenberg is a skilled, multi-genre author, poetess and mother, known for her uplifting, thought-provoking themes and her appealing characters. With a medical degree behind her, Patricia is passionate about mind, brain and education and the psychology behind it. Her writing echoes the realities of life and is accented by ‘creativity and vivid imagery.’ She knows how to ‘capture the reader’s imagination.’ Her prolific writing is described as: positive, diverse, crisp, joyful and uplifting. As a winner of the Write Your Own Christie Competition, the Judges ‘were impressed by her thorough investigation and admired the strength of her narrative; they were impressed by her style’. The judges thought Patricia’s writing style is ‘well structured, with a great sense of tension and suspense’, ‘confident and intriguing’. The Judges were Mathew Prichard, David Brawn from Harper Collins UK and Daniel Mallory from Harper Collins US. She lives happily with her husband, children and dogs in sunny South Africa.

Connect with Patricia and purchase a book: 

Amazon.com

Website

Twitter

Facebook

Pintrest

Email

LinkedIn

Blog

 

 

 

 

Review of Tiger House, by Wendy Scott

The Blurb:

Betrayed. Kidnapped.
Mistaken for a warrior; Jairus must survive the Emperor’s Games.
Disposed. Ostracized.
Tekagi seeks vengeance and power.
Farm boy versus sorceress.
An empire hinges on the outcome.

Thousands compete for the dragon banner, but in the end there can only be one winner.

The adjudicator thumped the scepter into the ground three times. “By the fates, the war dragons will not return until a new emperor wins the dragon scepter.”
The crowd parted as Tekagi threaded her way toward the funeral cart waiting by the main gate. Tiger pelts adorned the two caskets. Only emperors earned the right to be entombed within the Dragon Palace. The sons were relegated to less hallowed ground.
A few of her most treasured belongings were also piled on the cart. No longer an emperor’s daughter she was being cast out of the palace. A limp tiger tail trailed over the side of the cart. She ran the tips of her obsidian finger stalls along its striped length before tucking it beneath a tapestry.
She tapped her fan against the cart’s side and the driver flicked the horses’ reins into a funeral march. Head bowed, she followed a few paces behind, flanked by her two bodyguards. As she exited through the palace gates and headed to Tiger House she patted the snake bracelet on her forearm, and vowed, “I will reclaim my birthright. Let the Emperor Games begin.”

Tiger House: The First Chronicle of Jairus Tanner (The Chronicles of Jairus Tanner Book 1) by [Wendy Scott]

My Thoughts:

A well-constructed plot that has more twists and turns than a theme park waterslide. Tiger House serves up plenty of action. Imagery is this novel’s forte. Wendy Scott has a wide and colorful pallet of descriptions that say more than the average photo.

It was easy to connect with the characters emotionally, to cheer on the protagonists and to despise those evil Xjiangsuans.

The conclusion sets the stage for a second book and creates the anticipation of another exciting round of adventure.

The book would have earned a Five Star, but I found the first competition to be unoriginal, and for that it will be designated a Four Star.

I recommend Tiger House for those who enjoy High Fantasy and who look to the skies and wonder, “What If?”

About Wendy:

Wendy Scott

Wendy Scott has a New Zealand Certificate in Science (Chemistry), which allows her to dabble with fuming potions and strange substances, satisfying her inner witch.

Wendy writes fantasy and children’s novels, and short stories.

One of the creeds she lives by is to always – Live a life less ordinary!

Pen Names: Fantasy ~ Wendy Scott, Children’s ~ WJ Scott, (Romance/Paranormal) ~ Wendy Jayne

Connect with Wendy and purchase her works.

Blue Treat Award: RRBC KCT International Literary Book Awards 2017 & 2018.

Twitter:  @WendyJayneScott

Blog

RWISA

Amazon page

You can find Wendy’s books listed under the following categories in the RRBC Catalog:

Children’s Books

Education & Teaching

Paranormal, Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Short Story

Teen & Young Adult

Wendy is a member of Rave Reviews Book Club, check out her Author Page!

 

 

Review of Eventide, (A Hode’s Hill Novel Book 3), by Mae Clair

The Blurb:

The darkness is coming . . .

The old house near Hode’s Hill, Pennsylvania is a place for Madison Hewitt to start over—to put the trauma of her husband’s murder, and her subsequent breakdown, behind her. She isn’t bothered by a burial plot on the property, or the mysterious, sealed cistern in the basement. Not at first. Even the presence of cold spots and strange odors could be fabrications of her still troubled mind. But how to explain her slashed tires, or the ominous messages that grow ever more threatening?

Convinced the answer lies in the past, Madison delves into the history of the home’s original owners, only to discover the origin of a powerful evil. An entity that may be connected to a series of gruesome attacks that have left police baffled. No matter where she turns—past or present—terror lingers just a step away, spurred on by a twisted obsession that can only be satisfied through death…

eventidecover

My Thoughts:

I must confess to not reading the first two books in this series, namely Cusp of Night (Book 1), and End of Day (Book 2). However, my experience with Eventide has left me wanting more!

Mae is a master at creating imagery and the book is peppered with unique descriptive language.

The plot runs in dual timelines that flow together and coincide to unravel the mystery, not only of the old Stewart House, but also the tumultuous personal life of Madison Hewitt.

This is a story for those who enjoy supernatural thrillers, historical fiction, and a hint of romance.

It gets a ‘highly recommended’ Five Stars from me.

About Mae Clair:

 

Maeclair

Purchase Your Copy of Eventide, or another of her works:

Amazon.com

Maeclair.com    (website)

Twitter

Blog

 

Avoid Cooper Ridge Road!

Okay, so part of the good-ole fitness program is to walk/run down the stagecoach trails that pass for roads in my neck of the woods (literally). Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE where I hang my Daniel Boone hat and wouldn’t trade the daisies for streetlamps, not even for a Klondike bar.

Over the sixteen years I’ve lived out here, I’ve crossed paths with deer, wild turkeys, coyotes, a fisher, and even once had a too-close encounter with a bear. It was a good thing that not all of the stuffing between my ears has been blown away, by those nasty nor’easter’s we get up here in the attic of North America. There was enough sense tumbling about in there, to stave off the temptation to high tail it. The nearest bruin-proof structure was over a mile, that’s approximately 1.60934 kilometers for us metric folks.

Anywho, that’s quite enough claptrap about (or aboot) that, if you wish to subscribe to the stereotypical Canuck (Canadian) accent. None of these adventures with our furry and feathered co-habitants of this big, blue marble, can compare with the trippy experience, of the bovine kind, that sent me spiraling down a worm hole, questioning my sanity. I’ve always believed that it was at least held intact by the same string used to package meat, but it’s become apparently evident that my perception was just a tad bit off. Here is proof that it’s being hung by a thread soaked overnight, in the corrosive beverage that supposedly eats roofing nails.

Okay, alright, I’ll shut my bone box. Sorry, just slinging a bit of Victorian slang your way. Now, I’m just nutters about those picture books, and especially them pop-up storybooks. Actually, kinda creeped out by them, ’cause, you can’t surprise them . . . just you try sneaking up on Rikki-Tikki-Tavi at three am. I’ll just let these photos and captions spill the beans about what went down on that horse trail named Cooper Ridge Road.

“Hey, hooman! Yup, I’m talkin’ to you, ya bipedal walking stick.”

Me: “Eh?”

 

“Wanna come stand by this tree?”

Me: “Uh, nope.”

 

“Psyche! You can’t, ’cause yur not one of us. See, we got this here tree blocked, just try and lean against it. Dare ya’!”

Me: “Why would I even wan–”

 

“You smell kinda funny. What is that stink?”

Me: “Uh, soap and deodorant.”

 

“Kin’ ya do this?”

Me: “Hmmm . . . nope. I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous.”

“Shorty tongue! Shorty tongue . . . hooman is a shorty tongue! Mooohaha!”

 

“Melvin doesn’t like ya.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

“Wanna hear what happened to Bob? Awfully good tale, true story.”

Me: “Sure, why not? Can you tell it in a picture?”

 

 

 

Me: “Nope! I call bullsh**! Not willing to suspend my disbelief on that one!

So, that my friends, is why I no longer haul myself down Cooper Ridge Road.

 

Review Of Macabre Sanctuary

The Blurb:

Thrills. Chills. Shadows and superstitions. Things that go bump in the night. Macabre Sanctuary boasts suspenseful fiction designed to elicit goosebumps and raise heartrates.

Learn the lore of a haunted island

Grapple with the undead while robbing graves Halloween night.

Endure a hazing ritual unlike any other.

Deal with a demon at an All Souls’ Day celebration.

See what happens when you court death in the wild.

Battle zombies and cannibals in a quest to stay alive.

Travel back in time to witness the birth of true evil.

Fear prophetic nightmares made manifest.

Come to terms with new ethereal realities.

Befriend a feline to extend earthly life.

This collection from ten talented authors offers ghosts and demons, spirits and zombies, cannibals and killers… even a ferocious animal. Historical and contemporary tales of violence and fright keep readers on the edges of their seats. There’s something for everyone who loves spine-tingling, bone-chilling, blood-curdling stories.

My Thoughts:

A good mixture of thriller and supernatural quick reads. Whether the reader is into earthly maleficence or ghostly shenanigans, Macabre Sanctuary, is a grab bag of different thrills for those who enjoy them.

As is generally the case when presented with multiple choices, I preferred some of the tales over others. However, that does not mean one is better than another, your tastes will undoubtedly differ than mine. What I can tell you, is that I enjoy a story that keeps me guessing until the end.

Overall, the book was a good one and worth a look.

Due to the number of authors that have contributed to this novel, I’m going to refrain from putting their complete bios and social media/ purchase links here. Below, you will find a photo and a link to their Amazon author page.

 

BoyackC.S. Boyack

 

Mae Clair    Mae Clair

 

MicheleJonesMichele Jones

 

PamelaFoster   Pamela Foster

 

K.E. Lane  K.E. Lane

 

HarmonyKentHarmony Kent

 

 

 

Stacyclaflin    Stacy Claflin

 

Stacitroilo Staci Troilo

 

JoanhallJoan Hall

 

 

“Animals can talk all year long!” Scientist declares.

Disclaimer: This study was conducted in the wee hours of a dark winter day under the influence of a caffeine high. The findings may be inconclusive. However, this reasearcher stands by his theory that animals can, and do, talk throughout the year, not just on Christmas Eve. An application has been filed for government funding, to further this investigation.

horsechewingfence

“Kin oo git me a faw ‘r fomethin? Tis is hurtin’ mi teeth an’ I wanna git out!”

 

charliearoundfishtank

“I’ve been circling this thing for hours, and there’s no way to get at those floating creatures! The ‘multi-verse’ theory is true! Mind blown! Wait a minute, is there something watching me?”

Lostturkeys

“We’re lost again, aren’t we? Why didn’t you just ask that chipmunk for directions? Stop ignoring me, Tom!”

Duckclass

“Well done, you three! Daffy and Donald! Pay attention! Can’t you two stop thinking about eating for even a moment?”

horsewantsfree

“Okay . . . now just put down that camera and use those opposable thumbs for something useful, like opening this door! Yes, just right here, you see where I’m pointing with my head?”

 

Welcome To The WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! Day Three.

Watch Write Showcase Tour

AM Manay

Welcome to day three of this wonderful blog tour! Today I have the privilege of hosting Author A. M. Manay. If you like what you see written here, please visit her RWISA page to find out more about her work.

“Mirror, Mirror”

by A.M. Manay

Set in the world of The Hexborn Chronicles

Shiloh stood in her teacher’s doorway, pulling anxiously on the end of a pink braid that had snuck out of her hood. Brother Edmun was in high dudgeon, ranting about insults and ingrates. A wooden crate sat upon the table, straw peeking through the slats. She could feel magic pouring out of it like waves of heat; it wasn’t dark magic, but it didn’t feel like good magic, either.

“Master?” she ventured. “Would you like me to make your breakfast?” She didn’t bother to ask about the box. He’d tell her if he wanted her to know – and, in his own good time, not before.

Edmun looked at her as though she’d appeared out of thin air. He waved her off. “Don’t bother, poppet. I couldn’t eat.”

Shiloh’s eyes strayed to the crate, but she said nothing.

“Go finish your essay from yesterday,” Edmun barked.

Taking her seat at her little desk with her back to the table, Shiloh could hear Brother Edmun unpacking the mysterious arrival. It was all she could do to resist the urge to peek when she heard the sound of a hammer. Under his breath, Edmun muttered a constant patter of unintelligible complaints. At last, she heard him pull out a chair and collapse into it. Carefully scanning the page once more for any mistakes, she stood to present her work to her master.

He looked down at the offering in her little hand, her words marching neatly across the page. Pen in one hand and her paper in the other, the glower slowly disappeared from his face as he read, leaving behind a hint of satisfaction. At last, he nodded, resting his unused pen. Shiloh exhaled in relief.

“Well done. A princess at the Academy could not have done better at twice your age.”

“Thank you, master!” Her smile lit up her eyes, which then strayed over Edmun’s shoulder to a mirror with gilded leaves and lacquered flowers hanging on the wall. The ornate frame looked out of place in the rustic mountain cabin.

“Don’t look in it more than you can help it,” Edmun ordered, calling attention back to her teacher’s face.

“Yes, master,” she replied. “May I know why not?”

Edmun hesitated.

“I can feel that it’s magic, master,” Shiloh continued.

He snorted. “I’m sure you can.” She waited for more, but knowing well enough not to press him.

Edmun heaved a sigh. “A man can give you a gift out of love, to please you. Or, he can send it as an insult, to remind you of errors and to caution you against repeating them. This mirror is the latter.”

“What does it do?” she asked.

“That is none of your concern,” he replied. “And that is all I will tell you. Go get a wand from the cabinet.”

Excitement sheathed Shiloh’s face. “We’re using wands today?”

Edmun glanced down at her from beneath his eyebrows. “Is there another reason I’d ask you to get one? Now, do it quickly, before I think better of it.”

 


 

The following evening, Shiloh picked up a clean rag and set about the dusting. Edmun was busy in the temple, preparing for the upcoming Feast of the Father. As soon as she was done in the house, she was to join him there. As usual, the red cabinet took most of her attention. The many books, wands, and magical curiosities inside had to be carefully wiped and returned to their accustomed positions. It was tedious work, but she was pleased that Edmun trusted her with the task.

Her work on the cabinet finally completed, she turned to dust the mirror and gasped. The silver surface had turned to black. A face appeared, and not her own. Shiloh took a step backward.

A man cocked his head to the side, a slow smile spreading across his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Shiloh did not wait to hear the words. She ran, her head scarf flying behind her all the way to the temple doors. She threw them open.

“What?” Edmun demanded, looking up from the altar.

“The mirror,” she panted. “It turned black, and then there was a man…”

Edmun crossed the floor and took her by the shoulders. “What did he see? What did you say?”

“Nothing! I ran as soon as I saw him. I was only finishing up the dusting. Who was he?”

Edmun ran a hand over his mouth and chin and took a deep breath. “The most dangerous man in the kingdom. Silas Hatch.”

“The Hatchet?” Shiloh shivered. “The king’s spymaster? Why would he appear in your mirror?”

“Who do you think sent it? Hatch likely meant to speak with me, to threaten me. The king hates and fears me for reasons you well know.” His brows drew inward. “He gave you a right scare, didn’t he, poppet?”

Shiloh nodded. Edmun knelt to look her in the eye. “Now, if I were a kind man, I’d tell you that you need not fear him. But I’m not, so I’ll tell you the truth. You should be terrified of him. If you ever give him reason to believe you are disloyal to the crown, he will slit your throat with his own hands.”

“Why would I ever be disloyal to the crown?”

Edmun placed a hand on her head. “Good girl. Now, put that man out of your mind and help me ready the temple for tomorrow.”

Shiloh nodded, yet the ice of fear in her stomach remained; as did the look of worry on her beloved teacher’s face.

 


 

Shiloh sat on her bed in the loft above her father’s smithy. Upon her blanket lay an array of charms she’d just made for protection against all manner of hexes or ill-wishing.

The look upon the mirror man’s face had chilled her to the bone—something about the smile. It had been predatory. Proprietary. Wary. It had given her the distinct impression that the man’s interest lay not only in her master but in herself, as well. I will not leave my teacher unprotected.

She pinned one charm on the linen beneath her tunic. The others she gathered into an old handkerchief. She tied it tight and placed the bundle in her pocket along with a jar of paste.

She knew Edmun would already be in the temple performing his ablutions for the feast day. She let herself into his house and crossed warily to the mirror. She exhaled with relief to find it clad in its ordinary silver.

Carefully, she lifted the mirror off its nail and turned it face down upon the table. She held the pot of glue in the crook of her elbow and pried it open, then affixed seven charms to the back of the Hatchet’s “gift” to her master, one for each of the Lords of Heaven. She returned the mirror to its proper place and hurried to the temple before Edmun could scold her for tardiness.

 


 

At dusk, Edmun sat his tired bones into his favorite chair and looked balefully at the mirror. Given the visitation to Shiloh the night before, Edmun expected to see Silas Hatch’s face, yet as the pink light of sunset faded, the man did not appear.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Edmun murmured. “I had hoped to get it over with.” He looked up at the mirror and realized that it was just slightly askew. Standing, he removed it from the wall. Turning it over, he found Shiloh’s handiwork.

Edmun smiled and shook his head. “My sweet, clever poppet. Too clever by half.” Sighing, he plucked the charms from the backing and set the mirror on the table, leaning against a water pitcher. Silas appeared in moments.

“Master Edmun, I feared you had forgotten the terms of our arrangement. There was to be no meddling with the mirror.”

Edmun swallowed heavily. “It was a momentary lapse,” he lied. “I thought better of it.”

Silas grinned. “You don’t have lapses. It was the girl, wasn’t it?”

Edmun said nothing.

Silas laughed. “It was. Ha! And what is she, only eight years old?”

Still, Edmun said nothing.

“She must love you as much as I did,” Hatch mused.

“What do you want?”

“Are you really teaching her mirror magic this young?” Hatch asked, brow raised.

Edmun closed his eyes and sighed. “Of course not. Evidently, I didn’t teach you your own well enough, as she defeated you with a handful of charms and some paste.”

The young man’s ears flushed. “Well, then,” he managed, “I shall have to redouble my efforts.”

“You do that. And Silas?”

“Yes?”

Edmun leaned in. “The next time you frighten that girl, it had best be after I’m cold in the ground.”

Thank you for supporting this member, along with the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, 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 also ask that you check out their books in the RWISA and RRBC catalogs. Thanks again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member during this amazing tour of talent! Please click on the link below to learn more about this author.

A. M. Manay