Blurb: This is a second edition with updates on the state of this historic church. In the original publication files were lost then resurfaced with content altered along with missing photos during transition from one publisher to another. Such is the fate of an Independent Author. This book evolved out of years of frustration at the total disregard and lack of respect for the contributions of Black Catholics in the city of Detroit. The author says, “We are not mentioned in the pages of history along with the other Catholic churches that sprung up during the World War II era, and that needed to be corrected.” The author did fulfill one dream since publication … that this church can now be found on the web even though it has merged with another church. It is now called Presentation-Our Lady of Victory Catholic Church.
I had the privilege of reading and reviewing this book!
I know nothing about the catholic church or religion and I learned a lot from reading the factual account of the establishment and demise of Our Lady of Victory, a black catholic church in Detroit, Michigan. While names and locations didn’t mean anything to me, the main focus of the book was the sense of community and the difficulties that came when there was forced blending. I admired the strength the author’s mother showed, struggling to provide for her children as a single mother and her determination to see that they received a good education and religious background. This is true preservation of a piece of history for future generations to learn from that might otherwise have been lost. It is relevant to today’s society as an example of how racial discrimination can destroy lives. My hat is off to this author for her detailed account of the birth and death of this church and the names, dates, and events she chronicled.
It is my great pleasure to welcome the #RRBC Spotlight Author for September to my blog! Susanne Leist is the author of The Dead Game Series, and today we’re featuring her third and newest book, “The Dead At Heart!”
Over to you, Susanne!
Thank you for having me at your blog stop today, Jan.
I want to share a poem that I composed as I watched the rain through my bedroom window.
WASH AWAY MY SORROW
Please wash away my sorrow and pain.
Let it flow down the streets with the rain.
Dissolved in torrents of despair and sadness,
Joining others on its way past the madness.
The ocean may take it far away
To places, we cannot even say.
Where no one recognizes its sting
Or knows the infliction it can bring.
Let the rain grow harder with its might,
Becoming hail on this fateful night.
I want to be free of all traces
Of unwanted feelings and faces.
My body grows cold from the rain.
It stands clean and free from the pain.
Shivers create a path along my spine
As I wait in the darkened woods of pine.
I hold my head high to the wet spray.
It becomes a mist of blue and grey.
The faucet has turned off for the night,
Leaving me feeling clean and so right.
I have always loved to read. Agatha Christie, Alistair Maclean, Robert Ludlum, and other authors filled my young imagination with intrigue and mystery. When I wasn’t reading late into the night, the TV shows such as Murder She Wrote and Columbo, entertained me with murder and suspense tales.
Over the years, my taste in TV expanded to include such shows as Supernatural and The Originals. I searched for paranormal, murder mysteries, but found few at the library or bookstore. So, I wrote one.
The Dead Game, Book One of The Dead Game series, brings fantasy and surrealism to the classic murder mystery with dead bodies, suspects, and clues. It offers vampires, vampire derivatives, and a touch of romance to spice the motley mix.
The story continues in Book Two, Prey for The Dead, as The Dead vampires use an exclusive club in Disney World to infiltrate the rich and famous. As The Dead grow in power, not even the bright sunshine of Florida can weaken them. Linda and her friends join forces with human vampires–known as hybrids–to defeat the evil threatening to control Oasis. A masquerade ball and a romp through the tunnels beneath the town lead to a showdown in southern Florida’s swamps.
The Dead At Heart is Shana’s love story. Will her love for William strengthen, or will Sam lead her on a different path? At Chateau Frontenac in Quebec, Shana and her fearless friends fight for Oasis and their lives.
A career in writing has been a giant leap for me. Accustomed to the number-crunching field of budgeting and the hectic commodity markets, I left my first career and M.B.A. in Finance behind to pursue my dream. I do not regret my foray into literature for one moment. Fellow authors helped me make my way through the competitive field. I write every day and even tried my hand at poetry. If someone tells you it’s too late in life to try something different, they are wrong. It is never too late to follow your heart.
William’s bite bonded Shana to him, but he didn’t ask her to mate with him for life. She isn’t ready for a lifetime commitment. Now, William excludes her from his vampire meetings. Shana understands he’s an original vampire with immense powers. For them to be a couple, he has to treat as an equal partner. If William doesn’t respect her, then what are their chances of finding happiness?
Shana speaks to Linda, her best friend, of her fears.
“Paradise is an illusion.” Shana’s face grows heated as her frustration mounts. “Oasis is a haven for vampires. I’m tired of their battles. The Watchers get rid of an evil group of vamps, and another group arrives and attacks. It’s a vicious cycle. Vampires are trouble.”
“We will have a happy ending.” Linda lifts her head. “Don’t lose faith. The Watchers will protect us, and Gregg has an elite force of original vampires.” She touches Shana’s arm. “William loves you; he won’t let something happen to you.”
“The vampires keep secrets from us.” Shana swallows the lump in her throat. “I don’t want to live with vamps anymore, and I need time to decide on my relationship with William. One minute, I’m suffocating, and then the next, I’m lost without him.”
As a new enemy descends on Oasis, Florida, Shana turns to Sheriff Sam, who broke her heart. Can she trust the human-vampire?
This begins Shana’s journey to fight vampires and werewolves with Sam at her side.
An explosion at Chateau Frontenac in Quebec doesn’t stop Shana and her friends from saving their town, and maybe even the world.
I don’t remember when I started liking poetry. Probably I was born with it or was fascinated by the lyrics of Mother Nature.
When I walk down my memory lane, one image looms large and that is how much effort one of our English professors put into explaining the poetry of Tennyson and Wordsworth. While the latter was relatively easier to understand, the former much more complex and obviously we didn’t like the one who was more challenging.
Real challenges came my way when ‘Paradise Lost,’ an epic poem by John Milton was not taught in the class (or if it was, I must be mentally absent) and even when it was discussed, it didn’t evoke any interest!
While prose can be an effortless reading unless it is stream of consciousness writing, poetry can become quite boring if we are not familiar with its techniques and tones. Despite the tests and trails, I continued to like poetry and slowly discovered that it is a genre par excellence. It can say a lot through literary techniques, which only an admirer of Literature can understand. I still struggle to understand some subtle messages conveyed through poetry.
My mind hurtles back once again; my interactions with teenagers get refreshed, all their expressions, yawns and glances stand before me, bringing those lovely memories of hate-love relationship we had with poetry; when we would try to convince each other why poetry is good or bad and how we could understand it better.
I am not an expert but I have figured out a few ways to understand poetry:
All readers have their own approach and interpretation but how imagery is used defines a poem. Can you read between those special words to fathom their depth?
It is better to read slowly. Stop and ponder over at the word that seems simple but abstruse.
Be curious. Inquisitiveness and interest are two important elements that lead to our understanding of a poem.
Poetry can’t be scanned and understood like prose as the former demands concentration, attention and gentle reading.
If you read a poem in a hurry, you would miss the real meaning. Many times words are used as metaphors.
You have to be familiar with most common literary techniques like simile, metaphor, hyperbole, personification, alliteration and assonance.
Imaginative flights of poets can’t be predicted, we have to fly with them to figure out their proficiencies.
Critical analysis of a poem reveals the nuances of its theme, undertones and other signals, which remain hidden to a scanner.
Some poems are ambiguous. Probably they relate to the poet’s past or buried memory, which he wouldn’t like to reveal but gives a vent to his emotions through writing.
Ambiguous ideas in a poem provide a food for thought and chisel your creative skills.
Who has the time and the inclination to read and re-read a poem in this fast-paced world? Only poetry lovers do!
Thank you so much for dropping by to support Balroop! We hope that you will take your support even further by picking up a copy of her book. We ask that you also please ‘LIKE’ this page, leave a comment and share it on social media before leaving. To follow along with the rest of her tour, please drop by the RRBC “SPOTLIGHT” Author forum. Would you like this kind of support? Join Us at RRBC!
I am thrilled to be the first host of the first #RRBC SPOTLIGHT AUTHOR Blog tour of 2020! Congratulations to Forrest Stepnowski for landing in this hot seat!
Take it away, Forrest!
When did you start writing and what inspired you to write?
Answer: I began writing when I was twelve-years-old after experiencing one of the most depressing times of my life. The summer of 1987, I attempted toend my life. I struggled with a great many things, such as identity and traumatic stress caused by events that occurred during my earlier childhood. Events I do not talk about very often, but one day I will put them pen to paper, as they say. Anyways, during the fall of 1987 I was lucky to have an incredible English Teacher by the name of Mrs. Carr. Now our school was not the prettiest or fanciest, but we were lucky to have passionate instructors who truly loved teaching.
Mrs. Carr commented on my writing style during a 1:1 session. She asked me if I ever thought of becoming a writer when I grew up and I fell off my chair laughing at her. She had a great sense of humor generally, however, she made it clear she was being quite sincere. She said she saw great potential in my writing style and with everything I had gone through in my life, she felt it would be quite therapeutic for me. In an effort to appease her, I said I would think about. I will admit I was quite resistant to writing, as we were in an impoverished East San Diego region called “El Barrio Logan.” The school was in the middle of the barrio where is was riddled with drugs and gangs. Anything artistic was not considered exactly “normal” in this part of town.
The day after Mrs. Carr and I had our conversation, she decided to spring on the class what she called a “pop writers challenge.” Even though it was not much of a contest, she would present these “challenges” with passion and great hype. The challenge that day was to write a poem about our past summer vacation. She implored us to make it lyrical. I remember her words to this day, “I want you to tell me a story through your poem… I want to laugh with you if it was a funny event… I want to cry with you and feel your pain if it was a sad event.” She liked playing music during these challenges and for that day’s challenge she played “Moonlight Sonata”. To be honest, the first couple of minutes of the challenge I froze. My summer was filled with a rollercoaster of emotions as I stated earlier. I let the music take me into my emotions and that day I wrote my first poem titled “Freeze”.
My teacher liked to showcase our work to the class, so the following day Mrs. Carr did her usual impassioned speech on how impressed she was with each and everyone one of us but stated a few of the authors from yesterday’s challenged that stood out. The poetic works that were shared were ranged from romantic, well as romantic as a 12-year-old could be, to the extremely humorous. The last poetic works she shared was “Freeze” however she did not disclose the author to the class. She said, “after I read this poem, I will leave it up to the author whether or not they want to share their identity.” She tearfully read my poem, as if she was in my soul and was feeling the pain I endured. My peers were in awe, making comments like “I want to give them a hug whoever they are” and “That poem should be published.” After the tears shed from my peers and continued statements I slowly stood up. This is how this author was born.
Excerpts from “Journey to the Rainbow’s End” by Forrest Robert Stepnowski
You are the warmth of my embrace, and the endless rhythm of my heart,
The whisper of the wind and the song of endless dreams realized,
How fortunate am I, when I’ve always thought I was one of those unfortunate souls?
You are the angel I have always dreamed of, but always thought never existed,
The sparkle of the heavens and the dance of a falling star,
When did I become the lucky one, to be captured by your light and love?
You are my life, my love, and my laughter during the endless darkness that tries to consume me,
The shield of the knight in shining armor when the dragons and demons appear to be on the attack,
How you make me feel just by your glance and the caress of your touch?
You are the beauty that I never could imagine in my deepest fantasies,
The mystery discovered and the joy of the sunshine upon
the cascading waterfall and the rainbows end,
How incredible I feel when I look at you and know that I am home?
You are the warmth of my embrace, and the endless rhythm of my heart,
The whisper of the wind and the song of endless dreams realized
How fortunate am I, when I’ve always thought I was one of those unfortunate souls?
Unfortunate soul, I am no more.
Freeze (written in 1987)
Feeling sorry for myself,
Seeing death as a way out,
Showing scars in memory,
Feeling sharp steel against my flesh,
Drops of red coloration fall upon the ground,
Life is flying past thy eyes,
Horrible memories come into mind,
Life is healing,
Loved ones are near,
Good memories appear,
Love is in my mind,
Drops of red fade away,
I am alive,
The ice has melted…
Journey to the Rainbow’s End: A Drag Queen’s Odyssey (Available on Kindle and Paperback)
About Forrest Robert Stepnowski
Forrest Robert Stepnowski is an advocate, writer, social worker, and performance artist in the Pacific Northwest. He has been writing poetic works and prose for most of his life. He realized how important it would be to share his work with others, who may have tread similar paths of self-hate, self-deprecation, and self-loathing, in the hopes that they find they weren’t alone. Helping others who have been deemed as “different” because of varying sexual orientations or identities to realize that they are not deviants nor are the “against human nature” has always been of grave importance to him. He wants this group of beautiful people to know they are part of a collective, on an island where being different is embraced and accepted.
I broke my foot on Friday the 13th,
tripping over our black cat.
I dislike mushrooms.
Take a journey with D.L. Finn as she blends her love of
nature with her deepest emotions. Sit with her on the forest floor observing
its tranquil beauty, or stroll along the ocean’s shore admiring the vastness of
its horizon. Here in these peaceful moments
you’ll be able to experience her thoughts and feelings in the light—and in the darkness. This is a thought-provoking collection of poetry that invites the
reader into all the seasons of a soul.
Excerpt from Just Her Poetry: NATURE
Fall and Winter
D.L. Finn is an independent California local who encourages
everyone to embrace their inner child. She was born and raised in the foggy Bay
Area, but in 1990 relocated with her husband, kids, dogs, and cats to the
Sierra foothills in Nevada City, CA. She immersed herself in reading all types
of books, but especially loved romance, horror, and fantasy. She always
treasured creating her own reality on paper. Finally, being surrounded by
towering pines, oaks, and cedars, her creativity was nurtured until it bloomed.
Her creations vary from children’s books, young adult fantasy, and adult
paranormal romance to an autobiography with poetry. She continues on her
adventures with an open invitation for her readers to join her.
Hello, and welcome to the next stop on the RRBC Spotlight Author Blog Tour for the amazing author, John Fioravanti!
It is an honor to introduce you to John and his work!
The REFLECTIONS Blog Tour
I’m grateful to my host of this fifth post of the REFLECTIONS TOUR, and to Nonnie Jules
and the #RRBC Team who arranged it all!
Reflection 26 – Love Yourself – You’re Worth It!
“You can search throughout the
entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection
than yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as
much as anybody in the entire universe deserve your love and affection.”
Buddhism is based upon the teachings of Gautama Buddha who
taught in eastern India over twenty-five centuries ago. His philosophy
sought a middle way between unbridled sensuality and a-self discipline that denied
any sensual pleasure. His teachings were handed down by oral tradition until
put into writing four centuries later.
I read this quote twice to make sure I got it right the first
time. My immediate reaction was, Really? On reading his words a
third time, there came a glimmer of understanding. As I began to see his
meaning, I realized that it is my own life experience that allowed me not only
to understand, but to admire his wisdom. I’m afraid that as a young man, this
lesson would have completely escaped me.
We are social beings, and we search for love because it is
one of our basic needs. Yet most, if not all of us, look outside of ourselves
to find those worthy of our love. At this point, I’m not differentiating
between familial, platonic, or romantic love relationships, because I don’t
think this teaching is about any one of them. In my mind, this statement is
about all of them. We look outside of ourselves for our best friends and our
intimate romantic partners. What we don’t do is look within first.
Buddha is not only teaching us that we must love ourselves
first, but he goes further by saying that no one is more worthy of
our love than ourselves. That means that I am at least as worthy of my
love as any other person I might choose. Embracing his meaning, my mind
reeled… I wasn’t used to thinking along these lines!
I was raised in a culture that taught self-denial to make me
worthy of God’s love. I equated self-love with selfishness – another negative
characteristic that one would do well to eliminate. Christianity taught me to
focus my love and good deeds outside of myself… do
unto others… look after the needs of others first… are just a couple
of lessons that come to mind from my early religious instruction.
How many of us grew to adulthood with a jaded view of ourselves?
I was taught to control my urges – all of them – lest they lead me into sin.
I’m sure this is why Buddha’s words seemed so alien to me at first; it was
culture shock. When I take the time to digest this idea, it is enlightening… charity
or caritas begins at home.
I’m sure we’ve all met people who suffer from self-loathing. They
are not happy and they do not love others. How can they? It stands to
reason that if I do not believe myself worthy of my own love, then how could I
see myself as worthy of love from another; how could I trust another to be
worthy of my love? On the other hand, if I accept myself, not as a perfect
being, but as a worthy being, I can love myself. In loving
myself, I can make choices that are good for me. I’m not talking about being
self-indulgent, constantly seeking to satisfy every desire, with no
consideration of the consequences. I mean that I must look after my own best
interests by doing the hard work that is necessary to make me into the kind of
person I wish to become! But I can’t do that unless I start by recognizing
my own worthiness.
In recognizing my own worthiness to be loved by myself, I am
not denying that I am a flawed being. This does not negate the fact that I get
impatient easily, or that I lose my temper and hurt those around me. But I am
sure that by being wise enough to love myself, I will find it easier to deal
with my shortcomings more successfully. A friend has been trying to teach me
this lesson for quite some time, and now, I think I understand.
In loving myself in this way, I am eminently qualified to take a lover and cherish that person in a way that testifies to their worthiness to be loved. In the same way, I am free to love another person as my best friend. Because I acknowledge my own worthiness to be loved, I can extend that caring to my best friend who will be inclined to reciprocate in kind. You reap what you sow.Because of this teaching, taken to heart and internalized, I am more open to the lessons of love – no matter what their origin.
Fioravanti is a retired secondary school educator who completed his thirty-five
year career in the classroom in June, 2008.
his career, John focused on developing research, analysis, and essay writing
skills in his History classroom. This led to the publication of his first
non-fiction work for student use, Getting
It Right in History Class. A
Personal Journey to the Heart of Teaching is his second non-fiction work;
it attempts to crystallize the struggles, accomplishments, and setbacks
experienced in more than three decades of effort to achieve excellence in his
first work of fiction is Passion &
Struggle, Book One of
The Genesis Saga, and is set within
Kenneth Tam’s Equations universe (Iceberg Publishing). He claims that, after
two non-fiction books, he’s having the time of his life bringing new stories
and characters to life! Book Two is Treachery
At present, John lives in Waterloo, Ontario with Anne, his bride of forty-six years. They have three children and three grandchildren. In December of 2013, John and Anne founded Fiora Books for the express purpose of publishing John’s books.
I am happy to showcase the RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB’S July 2019 Spotlight Author, Karl Morgan!
Carl Prescott and the Demon Queen
Excerpt from Chapter 20
stood on a beach where gentle waves rolled up toward their feet. Both wore
shorts and pullover shirts. Sylvia led Carl off the beach toward a small house
that sat behind a picket fence. They went up onto the porch and stopped. Sylvia
stared at the door. “This was a bad idea. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
don’t have to stay,” Carl replied. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
turned, put her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. “Now, that’s the Carl
that I know. Don’t ever change, okay?” He nodded. She released him and walked
over to the rail at the edge of the porch. “This place reminds you of
something, doesn’t it?”
joined her at the railing and looked around the area. “This is a lot like my
nodded. “I figure when we were on the Rope Bridge, you must have seen this
place in my memories.” She put her hand on his upper arm. “And that’s why your
island is similar to mine.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You
put a piece of me into your place, just like I did.”
will. I’m okay now, and I really want you to come inside.” She walked over to
the door, took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
walked inside and gasped. The main room was identical to his island home, even
down to the placement of identical furniture and the doilies on the back of the
couch. “This is amazing.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “We must have an
sighed, walked over to a closed door, and turned to face him. After a few deep
breaths, she said, “My bedroom is behind this door. Whenever I’m feeling the
most vulnerable, I come here to cry myself to sleep.” She turned and ran her
hand over the door. “If you come inside, you’ll know everything. I’m terrified
that you will be shocked, horrified, or hate me forever.”
don’t have to go in there. This is your choice.”
turned back to him and wiped tears from her face. “Is it?” She turned to the door
and pushed the door slightly ajar. “I think you deserve to know everything
about me, Carl Sandberg Prescott.” She sighed, pushed open the door, and
could hear her crying, so he followed her into the room. Sylvia was sitting on
the bed with her hands over her face. Tears dripped down her arms and fell onto
the coverlet. Carl looked around the room. There were dozens of portraits of
men filling most of the open wall space. Carl’s picture hung near the bed. He
walked over and sat next to her. “Are you okay? I really like that picture of
dropped her hands and chuckled. “Which one?”
pointed. “This is the only one, Sylvia.”
groaned, stood up, and faced him. “Carl, these are the pictures of every man
I’ve ever loved. All of them are you! Don’t you get it?”
don’t know what to say.”
every one of these lives, I have lived like a normal person, yet we always
ended up together. I didn’t even realize all had the same soul until you were
about to step off the Rope Bridge. In that instant, I saw all of these men in
you. When you left me behind, I thought I’d lost you forever.” She began to cry
stood and held her. At first, she resisted, but eventually held him back. “I am
so happy to have had so many lives with you, Sylvia. I had no idea.”
moved back and wiped her eyes. “Neither did I until the Rope Bridge. Now, I
look around at these pictures and don’t know what to think. You said before
there is a chance we could be together in this life, right?”
smiled. “Yes, that is true, but as you’ve said, I’m still a teenager, and like
everyone will have different relationships before I’m ready for marriage or
do you want me to do, Carl?”
I don’t want you to join with the others. It won’t work, and countless lives
could be lost, including yours.”
nodded. “I’ll think about it, okay?” He smiled. “Now, take my hand.”
reappeared outside of Death’s bungalow, which was now surrounded by hundreds of
thousands of supplicants headed to pledge allegiance to the demon queen. Carl
walked up on the porch and sat on a rocking chair. “I can’t believe this is all
stepped out of the door and offered a mug of coffee. “Busy day, huh?”
took the mug and sipped his drink. “This isn’t regular coffee, Mort.”
know what you witnessed, Carl. I thought a little fortified drink might help
you cope with what you saw. Full disclosure, I have been to that place before.”
I really the only man she’s ever loved?”
sat on the other rocking chair. “Yes, but that isn’t the point.”
sighed and looked at his feet. “I am so confused right now and why isn’t that
are a mortal human, and she is an immortal demon. What Sylvia did is not
unusual. Many immortals choose to live regular lives in order to experience the
unimaginable power of life, love, and desire. The only thing they are incapable
of knowing that it always ends too soon. That is what makes life so perfect. It
is temporary, and every moment could be the last, which makes every experience,
emotion, and feeling real and important.”
never thought of it that way, Mort.”
“Of course, you didn’t. As a human, life is a journey. It is impossible for you to imagine eternity, even though the spirit within you is eternal. Sylvia is different and more like me. In my job, I experience death constantly, not my own, but those of my children. Even I do not comprehend their emotional state and those they have left behind.” He sighed. “Oh, how I wish I could sometimes.”
Author Bio: Karl Morgan has a lifelong fascination with stories in the science fiction and fantasy genres, whether it was the Tom Swift novels by Victor Appleton he read as a young boy, or television like Lost in Space and Star Trek, and especially films like Star Wars, Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. All of those tales put the protagonist in terrible situations where the odds are against them and, yet, somehow they prevail. The reader/viewer is always left with a sense that something greater than ourselves is watching over us. In his new Carl Prescott young adult fantasy series, the journey continues as our hero faces terrible danger and odds to help his friends and family. At the end, he will learn new things that will change his perspective on life. Karl lives in the San Diego area with his best, four-legged friend, his toy poodle Chachis. Follow Karl online: Twitter Facebook Website
Please follow along on Karl’s tour as he shares writing advice as well as excerpts from his new book!
If The Truth Will Set You Free is made into a film, who would I like
to play the lead?
Normally, the casting is in the producers’ hands. I do not have a say in who should play me. If I’m given a choice, I would recommend a young Korean actor/singer by the name of Teaceyon. He looks like me when I was a teenager.
…After a series of invigorating dances with the party twins, I was ready to call it a night, but under Dorothy’s insistence, I stayed. Nobody at the party knew of my sexual inclinations except me. During a slow dance, Dorothy leaned her head against my chest. Although this intimate way of dancing was not new to me, I had no intention of leading my friend on. I tried to keep a polite distance. Dot thought me shy and continued her aggressive approach. I had little choice but to go with the flow since she held me tight with no intention of letting me leave anytime soon. The moment arrived when her lips almost touched mine. She looked into my “eyes wide shut,” and expected romance to sparkle between us. I did not back away, even though I did not feel the same as Dot. Since it was Valentine’s Day, I did not wish to upset her. I play-acted, as much as I could. In my mind, it was the correct thing to do. After all, I will be back to London in a week and would not be seeing my Malaysian friends for another year. To me, this was merely a moment in time to make my female friend feel good about herself.
Author Bio: Young alias Bernard Foong is, first and foremost, a sensitivist. He finds nuance in everything. To experience the world he inhabits is an adventure which is mystical, childlike and refreshing. He has a rare ability to create beauty in a unique fashion. His palettes have been material, paint, words and human experiences.
By Christine Maynard (screenwriter and novelist).
Foong just published A Harem Boy’s Saga – V – Metanoia; a memoir by Young – the final volume of his autobiographic five-book series of Mr. Foong’s young life:
A Harem Boy’s Saga: A Memoir by Young.
This provocative story spanning
4 decades and 3 continents is about a boy who was sent to a very exclusive
English boarding school in the 1960s where he was initiated into a clandestine
sexual society and then spirited away to serve in wealthy and elite Middle
Eastern harems .”
Ranked Internationally Best-Selling Author on amazon.com
Boy’s Saga – Book I – Initiation (a memoir by Young)
Boy’s Saga – Book II – Unbridled (sequel)
Boy’s Saga – Book III – Debauchery (3rd volume in the series))
Boy’s Saga – Book IV – Turpitude (4th volume in the series)
A Harem Boy’s Saga series is published by Solstice Publishing and
is available in print and E-books internationally.
A Harem Boy’s Saga (series) – Film Option Agreement signed with a
U.K. Film Production Company.
Book I – Initiation is currently in film production.
It is my privilege and pleasure to help shine the spotlight on an incredibly supportive RRBC and RWISA author, Mary Adler. Today, she shares her thoughts on telling stories about real characters who lived and died. I’ll let her explain.
TELLING THEIR STORIES
When I am bogged down writing, when I can’t
think of any words, let alone the right words—whatever they may be—I persist no
matter how much I would like to quit. The driving force that propels me to sit
in the chair day after day, to hit the keys even when I know I will scrap the
hard-won scenes, is my need to bring to life the reality of forgotten people.
Don’t get me wrong. My first purpose when writing a mystery is to
entertain, to surprise, to take the reader on a trip to another time and place
and community. But the reason I write
the Oliver Wright series is because I want my readers to know what it was
really like to live in America during World War II, to hear the stories of the
people who lived then.
When I was full of doubt while writing my first
Oliver Wright and Harley mystery, my friend Steve, who is psychic, encouraged
me. For more than one good and
sufficient reason I believe he truly does communicate with the other side. (But that is a story for another
time.) He told me that they wanted
me to tell their story.
I assumed my relatives, Italians who had been
discriminated during World War II, were clamoring to have their story told, but
I was wrong.
Steve told me he saw a group of soldiers
holding rifles, some standing, some kneeling. It was the soldiers who wanted me to tell
their story, to try to make people understand what it was like to surrounded by
death, to watch their friends die day after day after day, and not have time to
Steve’s vision prompted me to write this passage
in In the Shadow of Lies.
Oliver, a homicide detective on medical leave
from the Marines, is back home and remembering what happened on Guam.
I was back in Pt. Richmond, but Guam was only as far away as the
next night’s sleep. It wasn’t the memory of fighting, of being wounded, that
tortured me. It was the memory of walking away from the endless graves, from
the rifles stuck bayonet-down in freshly turned dirt. My men had buried too
many friends, friends who had died beside them, sometimes quickly, sometimes so
slowly they had begged their buddies to finish them off.
Then the living
had moved on—on to more killing. The war allowed no time to mourn, to
grieve, to honor the death of a man they might have loved as deeply as they
would ever love anyone. They moved on, they fought, they buried more men, they
moved on — and no one could see they were drowning in unshed tears.
I had hidden my
face when the hospital plane taxied down the runway on Guam. The medics
expected me to be grateful that I was leaving the fighting, but grief filled my
heart. I was leaving behind friends willing to sacrifice their own lives for
each other and for their dogs. It was why they fought. Forget the pretty
speeches about preserving democracy and freedom—they died for each other,
killing and being killed to end the endless killing.
I can’t know if I have honored the soldiers in
my friend’s vision in the way they wanted, but I believe they sent Oliver’s
thoughts to me to share with my readers. I did my best.
Mary Adler was an
attorney and dean at CWRU School of Medicine. She escaped the ivory tower for
the much gentler world of World War II and the adventures of homicide detective
Oliver Wright and his German shepherd, Harley. She lives with her family in
Sebastopol, California, where she creates garden habitats for birds and bees
and butterflies. She is active in dog rescue and does canine scent work with
her brilliant dogs — the brains of the team — and loves all things Italian.