Friday, May 15, 2020

BOOK: Charming Deception by Carol Ann Kauffman


Dear Gentle Readers,
Sometimes a single moment can suggest a storyline.  While on 
our second honeymoon in Clearwater Beach Sand Key, I woke 
up in the middle of the night disoriented in a strange bed with 
a loud snorer beside me. Jet lag. Eating out of the vending 
machine in the airport. Introduction to mint mojitos. 
Who knows?  But that single moment led to the book, 
Charming Deception. I wrote the first three chapters 
on my iPhone, because I promised my husband this wouldn't 
be a working vacation, so left my laptop at home.

The cover is a photo I took of the stairs from our hotel down 
to the beach at the the beautiful Sand Key Resort a little past 
sunset.

Book Description:
Samantha wakes up to a perfect life, with a handsome, attentive 
husband she doesn't remember. She has it all: a luxury vehicle, 
designer clothes, beautiful jewelry, and a condo on the beach. 
But this isn't the life she remembers. As time go by, Samantha 
discovers she is the object of an elaborate deception, one large 
enough to include, other worlds, body doubles, time travel, 
world-hopping, and a galaxy guardian as cold as ice. Is her 
charming husband in on this deception?

 Amazon Buy Link http://tinyurl.com/jhl4tnm

Reviews:


"This story is completely different from all the other books I 
have read by Carol Ann Kauffman. You get to see another side 
of her creative mind and I love it. She had me guessing all 
throught the book. She filled it with mystery, suspense, 
romance and paranormal. Her style is the same as her other 
work, maybe even better.Open door ways can be wonderful 
and yet confusing to some. But to go through a door way and 
wake up not knowing who you are or where you are can be 
unusal. Sam doesent remember parts of her life. Her husband 
is telling her that she hit her head and has memory loss. But she 
doesn't know who he is either. Jaxs is madly in love with his wife 
and would do anything for her, even switch places with Jackson 
Blake.
As the two of them resume their life together in Florida, Sam 
finds herself falling in love with her husband all over again. But 
is he really her husband? Then one day trouble happens and 
she is pulled into a cloud with hands all over her. She has no 
idea what is going on. But she ends up at a castle and remembers 
her father and everybody there, but how? Jackson ends up 
there too and wants to taker her home. The king is mean and 
loves to torture people. He goes after a tracker who found 
Samantha thinking that he killed his real daughter. So how many 
Samantha's are there? And is there more then one Jackson 
Blake?
As the story goes on, you find yourself trying to figure out why 
there are clones and who made them. Why would someone 
want more than one person that looks the same? Well the 
guardian has his reasons. Can this all be worked out? Or is 
someone going to die? Will all be disappointed in the end? 
You will have to read it to find out."
                                                                              -Val R.

"This is a wonderfully twisted soap opera for the brain.  Sam 
has me worried and Jakson, sweet as he appears to be, creeps 
me out.  Love the imagery.  I feel like I'm right there with these 
characters.  Them OMG... out of the blue, kidnapped, encoding, 
decoding.  Uh, just who is this Samantha Blake?  This was like 
driving carefree down a one-way street and suddenly making 
an abrupt left turn - where there is no road!  AWESOME!!!"        
                                                                     - Preston K.


"Samantha wakes up naked in a strange bed. It's dark outside and 
there's a man snoring beside her she has no recollection of. Not only 
does she not remember how she got there. She can't even remember 
her name.
The author takes you on a journey involving all the elements 
necessary to keep you glued to the pages until the very end. You 
walk beside Samantha as she unravels the truth in this romantic 
and suspenseful story.
I highly recommend this to anyone looking for a good mystery that 
you can lose yourself in." - Tammy T.

 https://www.nationalgalleries.org/art-and-artists/artists/frances-macdonald-macnair
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Thursday, May 14, 2020

ENTERTAINMENT: Deidre and Laney Rob a Train








Links:
Wikipedia
NETFLIX subscription information

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Wednesday, May 13, 2020

INTERVIEW: Young Adult Author J.S. Frankel





J.S. Frankel
Osaka, Japan
...but I was born in Toronto, Canada, a looong time ago. J


Good morning, J. S. Welcome to Vision and Verse, the site for art and authors. Can you tell us a little about what you've written? 
I’ve written over thirty novels, mostly in the Young Adult Genre. Some of my best known works are the Catnip serial, The Undernet (a mystery thriller) and its sequel, Ether, Outcasts, and novel, The Auctioneer.
 
The Smalls
The Associate
The Sindicate
The Keymasters of Telemma
Apocalyptia (at my publisher's...I'll give the link at the end).

 Catnip series
Master Fantastic

The Titans of Ardana
What is your favorite genre to write?
I love writing in the Young Adult genre. It has a freshness and an immediacy to it that other genres don’t have as much, IMO. 

Favorite food.
Anything Italian, preferably pizza, although I love fresh sushi.

Tea or coffee? 
Do I have to choose? Okay…coffee!


Pizza or ice cream? 
PIZZA!


Wine or beer or soda? 
Soda is fine. I don’t drink, anymore.


You and me both, brother. Where would you like to visit?
I’d love to go back to Spain with my family. I went to Spain on my honeymoon, and loved it.


Favorite musical artist.  Do you listen to music when you write? 
I don’t have a favorite now, although I’ve always loved Petula Clark. (I guess that dates me a little). As for when I write, no music. I need silence.


What makes you laugh?
A cleverly written comedy, either in book or film form. 


Favorite work of art or sculpture. 
Art…wow. Of all the artists out there, I favor the Renaissance painters. Sculpture: The Kiss.


I like The Kiss, too, but my favorite is The Thinker, because I've spent more time thinking. How old were you when you started writing? 
I didn’t start writing until I was forty-eight. I’ll be fifty-seven very soon.


Do you plan out your book with outlines and notecards? Or just write? 
I do a basic plan on paper of what will happen in each chapter, and then let my mind go wild.


Describe your perfect evening. 
Seriously, spending it with my family. I’m not a party person and never was.




 Where do you get your inspiration? 
From everywhere, really. The Internet, movies, cartoons, throwaway lines people say…everywhere.

What do you do when you get a writer's block? 
I’ve never had it. I have, though, had times when I simply couldn’t think, and that’s a sign of a tired mind. If I’m too tired, I take a day off and recharge. Otherwise, I write!


Who is your favorite author? 
Robert McCammon.


Best book you ever read. 
Many, but I’ll go with Gone South, by McCammon.


Last book you read. 
The Forest, by Julia Blake. It’s excellent.


What would you do for a living if you weren’t a writer? 
Teach ESL (English as a Second Language). In fact, that IS my living! J


Who is the one person who has influenced your personal life the most and why? 
My wife. She has supported me in whatever I’ve done.



If you could sit down and have a conversation with ONE person, living or dead, real or fictional, who would it be and why? 
Good question! Outside of my parents, I’d have to say Genghis Khan. Not so much that I admired him, but he rose from nothing to rule a huge part of the world at that time in history. I’d like to know what drove him to do what he did.

What advice would you give someone who aspired to be a writer? 

The same advice that someone older and far wiser gave to me when I first started. It’s this. Love what you do, and do it for love, not for money. Write that which inspires you, elates you, deflates you. Create characters that live and breathe, and when they can get up and walk off the page, then that’s good writing.




Do you some links for us to follow you?




   
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Tuesday, May 12, 2020

BOOK: New Release by Abby Collette! A Deadly Inside Scoop










Here is an excerpt from Abby Collete's brand new mystery, A Deadly Inside Scoop! Available today!

"“Was there anyone else out tonight?” he asked. “Anyone that may have seen you or the gentleman you found?”
My mind and my eyes wandered back to Ms. Devereaux and her store. He got what he deserved . . . She had to know who he was, otherwise how would she know that he’d merited his fate?
The store was set directly in front of Bell Street.
Maybe she had seen something. But when I brought my eyes back to meet with the detective’s, I saw that scarf.
The multi-colored one.
It was wrapped around the neck of a young boy. Probably the young boy I’d spotted under the streetlight as he’d scrambled back up the hill coming up from the falls. A woman stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders.
“He may know something,” I said, and led him in the direction of the boy with my eyes.
Detective Beverly looked over his shoulder, following my gaze, then turned back to me. “Who?” he asked.
“That little boy,” I said. “I saw him down by the falls.”
“You saw him?”
“I think I did,” I said, and focused my gaze on him. “I saw his scarf.”
“Hold on.” He turned to the officer and asked him to go and get the boy.
I heard the detective say something to me, but my attention was on the boy and the woman. Through the sea of faces and movement, it seemed that briefly her eyes had locked with mine. It was as if she knew, somehow, that I had spoken about her—or the child—and she started to edge away.
The officer must have radioed his intent because before he got to her, another officer came up behind her. He leaned in and spoke to her. I saw her acknowledge the officer as he headed over.
“Bronwyn.” Snap! Snap! Fingers were in front of my face making the noise. “Bronwyn!”
“Yes,” I said, diverting my thoughts and refocusing my eyes on the detective.
“You got lost there for a minute,” he said. “You alright?”
“Yeah. I am,” I said. “Just cold and tired.”
“Do you need another blanket?” He tugged on the one I still had wrapped around me.
“Mm-mm.” I shook my head. “This one is fine.”
“Detective Beverly.” It was the officer speaking. He had escorted the woman and boy over. She didn’t seem too happy about it. “Here’s the woman you wanted to speak with.”
Her red lipstick was faded and dull. The mascara laid thick on her eyelashes had begun to run due to the dampness in the air. The curls in her blond hair—dyed, as evidenced by her dark brown roots—had flopped. She held her head up, her grip on the boy tight.
“What do you want?” she said. Her voice was gravelly, like she’d been smoking ten packs of cigarettes a day for the past forty years. She didn’t look that old, though. “I have to get my son home. Out of the cold.”
“Ms. Crewse here,"the detective pointed to me, "said she saw you down by the falls.”
“Not her,” I corrected. “Her son.” I flapped an arm in his direction.
“He wasn’t there,” she said, not even taking the time to consider my claim.
The detective looked at me.
“I saw that scarf around someone’s neck. A child’s neck,” I said. “That’s how I found the body. Chasing after it. Him. Then I saw the scarf again lying on the ground when I came back up to get help.”
“She must’ve seen another scarf,” the woman said dryly.
“Exactly like that one?” I asked, sarcasm threaded through my words.
She shrugged. “It wasn’t my son’s. He wasn’t anywhere near the falls tonight. Or anytime today.”
“Then why are you over here?” I asked, and before she gave an answer, I suggested one for her. “You come looking for that scarf?”
She blew out a snort. “No. I came to see what was going on, just like everyone else.” She looked at the detective.
“Where were you coming from?” I asked. “Did you go to the movies tonight?” I remembered the voices I’d heard earlier. I had heard a woman calling out something . . .

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Is she working for you?” She directed her question to the detective.
“No.” He chortled at the woman’s words, his green eyes lighting up. “But do you have any more questions, Bronwyn?”
I wasn’t amused. “It was his scarf,” I said. “And it was him.”
“Is this why you asked me to come over here?” she said, slowly taking her eyes from mine and looking at the detective. “So she could accuse me—or my son—of something? I don’t know what this is about, but I can’t help you. And neither can he.”
“What’s your name?” the detective asked the boy, but the woman spoke up.
“Why?” she asked indignantly.
“Because I’m an officer of the law and you have to tell me if I ask,” Detective Beverly said, his voice calm but steady.
“I don’t think that’s true,” she said.
“We can take you in. Talk about whether it’s true or not down at the station,” he said. “That way your boy can stay warm.”
She didn’t like that remark. “His name is—”
“Jasper,” I said, suddenly remembering the earlier incident while sitting sulking on the bench. I remembered how she had called out the name as he ran from her.
“Jasper,” she said at the same time I did.
“Do you know him?” Detective Beverly asked me.
“No,” I said. “I don’t know him. I heard her call him that.”

“When?” the detective asked.
“Not long before I found the body.
“And, Mom, what’s your name?”
“Glynis Vale,” she said. “And my son, Jasper. Vale. Who is only ten years old.” She put her hand on top of his head. “He wouldn’t be out wandering off by himself.”
“He was tonight,” I said.
“He didn’t see anything,” she countered, seemingly daring me to contradict her again.
“Is that true?” the detective asked the boy. “You didn’t see anything?”
Jasper strained his neck to look up at his mother standing over him.
“Of course it’s true,” Glynis said.
“I’m asking him,” the detective said.
Glynis Vale smacked her lips. “Answer him,” she told the boy.
“I didn’t see anybody.”
“Any body?” the detective asked, separating the word. “You didn’t see anyone or you didn’t see a body?”
Jasper looked up at his mother again. She nodded. “Both,” he said. “I didn’t see no one, and I didn’t see no body.”
“See,” she said, looking at me as she spoke. “There wouldn’t be anything to talk about if you took me in.”
“How about this?” the detective said. “You give your information to this officer. Address. Phone number. How to contact you—if we need to—and you can be on your way.”
“Can my daughter be on her way, too?” my mother asked.
Detective Beverly looked at her and then at me. “You have anything else to tell me?”
“Nope,” I said. “Not here. Not even at your station.”
I saw a grin curl up one side of his lips. “Okay. Then, yes. You can be on your way, too.” He pointed to our store. “I can find you there?”
“Every day. Eleven to eleven.”



Abby L. Vandiver
also writing as Abby Collette
USA Today & Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author
Find me here:
Amazon: bit.ly/myamzpg



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