TITLE: The Secret of Mount Pella
GENRE: YA Historical Fiction
Her mother’s words, laden with impending death, seared Satara’s heart but ignited her soul.
“This is a very important necklace, Satara.” With a shaky hand, Lucia placed it in her hand. “The key on this necklace opens the way to Mount Pella. There you will find the Secret Place.”
“What do you mean, Mother?”
“One day, you will have your own adventure, your own quest,” her raspy voice crackled. “You must make your way to Athenica, through the back gates of the palace, and up to the first summit.”
“The palace? How will I ever get there?”
“You will know when the time comes, my dear. It is your destiny.” Lucia clenched her eyes shut. Whether in pain or in recollection of something, Satara couldn’t tell.
Satara’s forehead tightened with concern. “Mother, you must rest.” Perhaps the fever was affecting her mother’s mind.
“Not yet. You must promise me to keep this necklace safe. You are special, my child. You will do great things, but you must promise me.”
“I promise, Mother.” She kissed her mother’s forehead and Lucia closed her eyes for the last time.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
Are You Hooked? #4
TITLE: Room Full of Killers
GENRE: Adult Fiction
A million and one fresh and exciting ideas were flooding his skull as he drove back to Willoby. This 2 day experience made Gianni recall his conscious awakening in life. His father used to tell him about strong men of the past and bare knuckle fighters when he was an adolescent and bed ridden in an oxygen tent with asthma. Those stories were an epiphany that created a desire within him. The seed was firmly planted. He started slowly, worked out religiously and eventually got rid of his illness with weight training and the deep breathing that it involved..
He regarded seeing Clay and Liston training as providential. He analyzed both their styles. He also thought a lot about the money they were getting for the fight, which was more than a million dollars each. In fact, he couldn’t stop thinking about the money. Cash incentives will make people do strange things. He always wanted his own health spa and, also, wanted to open an Italian restaurant called, “Gianni’s.” That’s his first name. His full name is Gianni Valentino Romasco.
After vacillating on the pros and cons of getting involved with boxing, he finally committed to giving it a shot. His best shot, of course. When he got back to Willowby he called his best friend, Tony DelVecchio, to share his decision with him as Tony would likely want to get involved too. They’re both 21 years old. Tony also has more balls than the Boston Red Sox.
GENRE: Adult Fiction
A million and one fresh and exciting ideas were flooding his skull as he drove back to Willoby. This 2 day experience made Gianni recall his conscious awakening in life. His father used to tell him about strong men of the past and bare knuckle fighters when he was an adolescent and bed ridden in an oxygen tent with asthma. Those stories were an epiphany that created a desire within him. The seed was firmly planted. He started slowly, worked out religiously and eventually got rid of his illness with weight training and the deep breathing that it involved..
He regarded seeing Clay and Liston training as providential. He analyzed both their styles. He also thought a lot about the money they were getting for the fight, which was more than a million dollars each. In fact, he couldn’t stop thinking about the money. Cash incentives will make people do strange things. He always wanted his own health spa and, also, wanted to open an Italian restaurant called, “Gianni’s.” That’s his first name. His full name is Gianni Valentino Romasco.
After vacillating on the pros and cons of getting involved with boxing, he finally committed to giving it a shot. His best shot, of course. When he got back to Willowby he called his best friend, Tony DelVecchio, to share his decision with him as Tony would likely want to get involved too. They’re both 21 years old. Tony also has more balls than the Boston Red Sox.
Are You Hooked? #3
TITLE: Island Shell Game
GENRE: Adult Literary Fiction
James couldn’t remember the last time he’d read a newspaper. Even now he wasn’t actually reading the Providence Journal—he was hiding behind it. Hiding from the sun’s glare off the harbor. Hiding from that empty dock where the ferry should be. And hiding from the chatter at the tables around him—the place sounded like a seagull feeding frenzy.
James should’ve delivered the island’s morning commuters to the Newport docks more than two hours ago. And right now, he shouldn’t be sitting here on the crowded outside deck of the Bean; he should be steaming south out of Narragansett Bay, carrying a few hardy spring tourists back to Brenton again. On a clear morning like this one, he’d cover the three and a half miles in sixteen minutes, aiming at the tall lighthouse until it was time to round tiny Piglet Island to starboard. Once he cleared the harbor breakwater, he’d idle across to the town pier and spin the forty-eight foot Homer S. Morgan in her own length to come in port side to. At exactly ten minutes past eleven, dock lines and a metal gangway would land on the Homer’s side deck.
When his passengers—two or twenty-two, it didn’t matter to James—smiled their goodbyes and headed up the wooden dock, their first stop was usually right here at the Bean. This shingled bungalow just beyond the ferry landing served as the island’s unofficial welcome center.
James would follow a few minutes later, barely nodding to the regulars at the big table before heading inside.
GENRE: Adult Literary Fiction
James couldn’t remember the last time he’d read a newspaper. Even now he wasn’t actually reading the Providence Journal—he was hiding behind it. Hiding from the sun’s glare off the harbor. Hiding from that empty dock where the ferry should be. And hiding from the chatter at the tables around him—the place sounded like a seagull feeding frenzy.
James should’ve delivered the island’s morning commuters to the Newport docks more than two hours ago. And right now, he shouldn’t be sitting here on the crowded outside deck of the Bean; he should be steaming south out of Narragansett Bay, carrying a few hardy spring tourists back to Brenton again. On a clear morning like this one, he’d cover the three and a half miles in sixteen minutes, aiming at the tall lighthouse until it was time to round tiny Piglet Island to starboard. Once he cleared the harbor breakwater, he’d idle across to the town pier and spin the forty-eight foot Homer S. Morgan in her own length to come in port side to. At exactly ten minutes past eleven, dock lines and a metal gangway would land on the Homer’s side deck.
When his passengers—two or twenty-two, it didn’t matter to James—smiled their goodbyes and headed up the wooden dock, their first stop was usually right here at the Bean. This shingled bungalow just beyond the ferry landing served as the island’s unofficial welcome center.
James would follow a few minutes later, barely nodding to the regulars at the big table before heading inside.
Are You Hooked? #2
TITLE: Unbecoming Bea
GENRE: YA Contemporary
Six months ago, when Momma turned her kitchen into a no-fry zone, a little piece of me died. But then I asked myself, WWED, what would Emeril do? And BAM! I found a job as a fry cook thirty miles away in Macon. One thing led to another and soon enough I worked my way up to head chef, even though it’s only on the weekends. But Momma wouldn’t approve, so for now, cooking is my secret love affair. Except if I get this big catering job, all that will change. Taking one last peek inside my backpack, I reassure myself for the umpteenth time I packed my knife-roll. Satisfied, I open the kitchen window.
“Momma?”
The tops of a row of yellow rose bushes bend down and back up like performers taking a bow. Not something the wind could do so I know she’s in the garden.
“Momma!” I yell louder.
“Sugar.” Her boiled-peanut-cotton-candy hair appears above the top of the roses as she stands up.
“I’m going over to Zander’s. To study. We have a calc test.”
She tugs on the ends of her hair, a sign something’s bothering her. Probably one of her roses sprouted a weed or attracted the wrong insect. She worries over those roses more than Daddy and me combined. “Again? You’ve been spendin’ every weekend there for goodness knows how many months now.”
When she’s quiet for much longer than normal, a familiar flutter bubbles inside me. Don’t ask me more questions.
GENRE: YA Contemporary
Six months ago, when Momma turned her kitchen into a no-fry zone, a little piece of me died. But then I asked myself, WWED, what would Emeril do? And BAM! I found a job as a fry cook thirty miles away in Macon. One thing led to another and soon enough I worked my way up to head chef, even though it’s only on the weekends. But Momma wouldn’t approve, so for now, cooking is my secret love affair. Except if I get this big catering job, all that will change. Taking one last peek inside my backpack, I reassure myself for the umpteenth time I packed my knife-roll. Satisfied, I open the kitchen window.
“Momma?”
The tops of a row of yellow rose bushes bend down and back up like performers taking a bow. Not something the wind could do so I know she’s in the garden.
“Momma!” I yell louder.
“Sugar.” Her boiled-peanut-cotton-candy hair appears above the top of the roses as she stands up.
“I’m going over to Zander’s. To study. We have a calc test.”
She tugs on the ends of her hair, a sign something’s bothering her. Probably one of her roses sprouted a weed or attracted the wrong insect. She worries over those roses more than Daddy and me combined. “Again? You’ve been spendin’ every weekend there for goodness knows how many months now.”
When she’s quiet for much longer than normal, a familiar flutter bubbles inside me. Don’t ask me more questions.
Are You Hooked? #1
TITLE: Defender of the Kingdom
GENRE: MG Fantasy/Adventure
She was the ugliest woman I had ever seen. Until her daughters followed her out of the coach. She was swathed in green velvet, brocade, and satin and underarm rings stained the tight bodice. About eighty ells of bobbin lace, which caught on the coach door handle as she strode forward, engulfed her gown. If the coachman had not caught her, she would have sprawled on the cobblestones of the lane surrounding our village green. I noted that the grass was the exact color of her gown as I tried to hide a smirk. The largest peacock feather ever adorned her velvet cap and it dipped over her face, ending at the large wart on her chin. Her eyes were daggers as they glanced my way. I tried not to tremble as I turned toward the daughters.
The girls were near my own age of fourteen – one maybe a bit younger, the other a year or two older. They both wore satin. The shorter one was in pink and the tall one in blue. The pink gown was covered in almost as much lace as the mother’s, but the blue gown was simple. Compared to the other two. The girls both fanned themselves furiously with lace covered fans, but the eyes that glanced over the fans looked friendlier. Slightly. Well, that was something.
I looked down at my own linen kirtle that matched the embroidered coif on my head and at my father’s simple doublet and breeches.
GENRE: MG Fantasy/Adventure
She was the ugliest woman I had ever seen. Until her daughters followed her out of the coach. She was swathed in green velvet, brocade, and satin and underarm rings stained the tight bodice. About eighty ells of bobbin lace, which caught on the coach door handle as she strode forward, engulfed her gown. If the coachman had not caught her, she would have sprawled on the cobblestones of the lane surrounding our village green. I noted that the grass was the exact color of her gown as I tried to hide a smirk. The largest peacock feather ever adorned her velvet cap and it dipped over her face, ending at the large wart on her chin. Her eyes were daggers as they glanced my way. I tried not to tremble as I turned toward the daughters.
The girls were near my own age of fourteen – one maybe a bit younger, the other a year or two older. They both wore satin. The shorter one was in pink and the tall one in blue. The pink gown was covered in almost as much lace as the mother’s, but the blue gown was simple. Compared to the other two. The girls both fanned themselves furiously with lace covered fans, but the eyes that glanced over the fans looked friendlier. Slightly. Well, that was something.
I looked down at my own linen kirtle that matched the embroidered coif on my head and at my father’s simple doublet and breeches.
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