I do not read every book/author I spotlight or book tour I host!
Readers, Please research and use wisdom before buying

Saturday, July 14, 2018

#SaturdaySpotlight is on Kenneth Gordon and Dark City

Good Morning!

Today I welcome another new-to-me author to the blog brought to you by Class Act Books....

Kenneth Gordon lives in Milford, NH. When he isn’t writing SciFi-infused horror novels, he plays PC games, electric and acoustic guitars, and drums. He also holds a brown belt in Kung Fu.

Ken has written five SciFi/Horror novels for Class Act Books: Dark City, Cadre of Vampires, Harmonic Convergence, In My Blood, and Dirus Sonus.

What does it mean to be human? How can we explain evil in the world? What if an AI confronts you about a flaw in your programming?

Join Jeremiah Xidorn as he is taken from the world he thinks he knows into a place of decision. Will he side with his captors; will he fight back? Delve into these and other questions…


“I’ve been promoted. I am now in my boss’ position.” Joe flailed his arms with glee.

“That’s great. Congratulations!” they all said in unison.

“Where’s Joe?”

“I don’t know. He just left. An appointment I guess,” Sarah responded.

“The ’droids are settin’ things up, so I’ll stay out of their hair for a bit.” Something was off, but he couldn’t pin it down. “I’ll find him,” he told himself and bolted for his new office.

The androids had done their work quicker than expected, and Jeremiah’s office was quiet when he got there. He had to use the scanner to get in. Immediately, he was taken aback. On his desk were pictures of his family that he didn’t put there. Setting that thought aside for the moment, he jacked into the phone system and sent the sequence to dial.

 He called Joe’s office. No answer. A moment later, he called the central office to see if Joe could be located.

The automated attendant replied, “We are sorry, that person is no longer employed at this company.”
A sense of panic raised the hair on the back of his neck. Immediately, he ran with every ounce of strength to his friend’s office. It was empty. No trace that Joe worked there or had ever worked there was found. It was swept clean.

“Maybe I went to the wrong place,” he thought. “All these offices look the same.”

To his own chagrin, he knew too well the location of his friend’s office. The paranoia built to a steady state when, upon finding his other compatriots, they had no knowledge

that Joe had ever been part of their group. Jeremiah’s heart sank. He even checked the payroll office and no trace of his friend could be found.

There was no mistake. Joe had been intentionally erased.

Uhhhh....OK...sounds intriguing! Dark City can be purchased from Class Act Books, Amazon (UK) and Smashwords!

Hope you enjoyed today's post and that you'll check back weekly to see what (if anything) is happening on Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlight!

Until next time take care and God bless.

Thursday, July 12, 2018

#ThursdayThoughts Guest post by Rebecca Wetzler

Good Morning Friends,

As always it is a great pleasure to introduce you to a new-to-me author and today's guest is no exception so please welcome Rebecca Wetzler to our blog.....

Rebecca Wetzler, originally a California girl, has lived in Alaska since she was eight years old.  The oldest of five children, she was often needed in the surrogate mother role; therefore, she matured quickly. From early in life she was an avid reader, and subsequently developed an interest in someday writing her own books. Her favorite school subject was English writing assignments. To support her two children, she completed an accounting degree, towing her interest in writing along by minoring in English. Her successful career included advancing from an accounts payable clerk to a financial analyst­—a far cry from the Christian author of her heartfelt dreams.    

She has been a believer from her earliest memories as a small child in Sunday School asking Jesus into her heart. As her life progressed, Rebecca has realized her faith gives her a steady spiritual regrounding to weather the drama of real life, and she wants to share the spiritual truths with others so they may also follow God’s light past the world’s darkness.  Bread Box for the Broken is her first book, and she has ideas for more devotionals, some Bible studies, maybe Christian romance fiction with mystery and suspense.  It is important for her to share that faith in Christ is her foundation for challenging and purposefully overcoming life-long struggles with loneliness, self-esteem, depression, chronic pain from migraines and a permanently injured neck, and finally unexplained heart failure. Forced to early retire, she really doesn’t know what the future holds, but she knows Who holds her future.

Rebecca J Wetzler
www.rebeccawetzler.net Holy Spirit Dove blog

So nice to meet you Rebecca! I'm anxious to hear your thoughts so please share.....

I live at the top of the world in the largest state in the union – Alaska.  With short seasons except for winter, summer is a very busy time for several industries including commercial and sport fishing, which are both dominant factors in Alaska’s economy. Thirty-five years ago I worked for the North Pacific Fishery Management Council, the federal agency tasked with managing fisheries within the 200 miles off the coast of Alaska.  While working there I learned first-hand about the local, national and international importance of our fishery resources. And besides family fishing outings, one of my brothers-in-law has operated a charter boat out of Seward, Alaska for years. Originally just for fishing, he has expanded to sightseeing, hunting, and surfing – uh, no, not me!  I have not surfed in warm water, let alone the frigid arctic waters of Resurrection Bay. But apparently there are plenty of people who do, much to my surprise, and my brother-in-law was one of the first out there in the North Gulf Coast.   Since I will not try arctic water surfing, it’s no surprise I much prefer summer to winter, though I know there is value in both. What I like most… its warmer! I have never gotten into Alaska’s winter activities such as skiing, snowboarding, snowmobiling, or ice fishing – I do not like being cold. Now that I think about it, though, I am not active in Alaska’s summer activities either, such as camping, fishing, hunting nor hiking. When I was young my family went camping and fishing, but I did not learn enough to attempt it on my own in these later years. I have neither the skills nor the funds to go on outdoor adventures, despite occasionally wishing I could experience it again.  I wish I wasn’t quite SO clueless about it; maybe it is time I purposefully look around for outdoor educational opportunities. 

However, for as long as I can remember, I have purposefully striven NOT to be clueless about our Creator, who spoke our unique Alaska great outdoors into being. Staying with the topic of fishing, just as it is important to Alaskans, it was also important to the people in Jesus’ time. Matthew 4:18-22 tells the story of Jesus walking along the Sea of Galilee where he called his first disciples, brothers Simon Peter and Andrew and the brothers James and John, all who were fishermen. He commissioned them by saying, “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” And the Bible records two separate instances where the Lord miraculously fed thousands of people with just a few loaves of bread and some small fish, because the people did not want him to stop teaching long enough for them to go into nearby villages for food. 

Reading these biblical accounts, it gives me pause to think, have I ever been so deep into His teaching I would not put down my Bible long enough to eat? Rather shamefully I say rarely if ever; rather once I realize I am hungry, my concentration is broken, and I am rummaging around in the kitchen. I thought it humbling to note that Jesus did not forget the people needed physical sustenance even as he fed them spiritually. The Lord cares about our healthy well-being – spiritually, physically, mentally and emotionally.   As you escape in to summer with camping, fishing, hunting or hiking, look at the outdoor beauty around you with the spiritual lens that it is God’s Creation, entrusted to us because he cares about our well-being. While entertaining yourself with the bounty our country is blessed with, thank Him for His provision and generosity. With the prophet Hosea (6:3), “Let us acknowledge the LORD; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth.”

Wow! I'll be visiting my brother in AK next month, Rebecca...on Willow Lake...not sure how far that is from you but I'd love to connect and perhaps visit. Email me and we'll see if it'll work out. Thanks for sharing your thoughts with us.

Hope you enjoyed the post friends and that you'll check back weekly. 

Meanwhile, Rebecca's book, Breadbox for the Broken can be purchased at her website in print and Ebook as well as Amazon for Kindle and in print also!

Until next time, take care and God Bless.

Saturday, July 7, 2018

#SaturdaySpotlight is on Linda Yezak & Ride to the Altar!

Good Morning!

It's been a while since out guest today has visited. Years in fact so please welcome Linda back with her brand new release, Ride to the Altar, book 3 in her Circle Bar Ranch series!

Overwhelming hurdles block the path in Patricia and Talon’s ride to wedlock. A past love, murdered years ago and now only a file in an unsolved case, returns to haunt Talon. A long-held grudge demands release, yet Patricia has no idea how very deep it runs until she confronts her mother. An attack against the Circle Bar itself, leaving cattle dead and one of its hands injured.

Different from all the other novels in this series, Ride to the Altar forces the two characters to face their past individually before they can face the future together.

A handshake is the initial measure of a man. The grip provides the best and the worst first impressions. Impossible through Skype, so Talon Carlson determined to use the alternative: steady, eye-to-eye contact.
He scrubbed his hands down his jean-clad thighs. Funny how he could propose to Patricia Talbert in an arena of seventy-five thousand avid bull-riding fans, yet he shook like a wobble-kneed colt in front of the blank computer screen. But he was just old fashioned enough to want to do this the right way.
He poked a button, Skype connected, and Patricia's father, Dale McAllister, appeared on the monitor. At six o'clock in the morning eastern time, the U.S. Senator from New York wore a suit and tie and looked ready for his Monday commute to DC. The somber attire complemented his authoritarian expression. Gunmetal-gray hair held silver wisps at the temples, and dark eyes bore an intensity matching his profession—or matching a father who was meeting his only daughter's fiancé for the first time. Didn't matter that the daughter was over thirty and the new owner of a two-thousand-acre ranch in Texas.
"It's nice to finally meet you, sir," Talon said. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Believe me, I've heard a lot about you too." Mr. McAllister's voice sounded deep, gruff. Intimidating.
"Yes, sir. I'm sure you have." He gulped. "Sorry that we have to meet like this. We intended to fly to New York—"
"Yes, Patty told me. No need to apologize. I understand you have a responsibility to your church, and performing funeral ceremonies is part of it." The senator offered a sympathetic nod. "Sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." The funeral had been for one of the most beloved women in the county, Beth Griffith. Her husband, Griff, had asked Talon personally to perform the eulogy. As a bullfighter, Griff  had saved Talon's hide more than once, so there had been no question that Talon would say yes, even if it meant missing their flight to New York.
Mr. McAllister leaned back, though the distance between his face and the monitor didn't lessen the effect of his scrutiny. "I understand you have something to ask me."
"Yes, sir," Talon squeaked, then cleared his throat. He tried again, clasping his hands between his knees to stop their shaking. "Mr. McAllister, I love your daughter, and she loves me. I'd like your permission to marry her. Your permission and your blessing."
Pat's father tapped his fingers together. "You know  she's been married before."
"Yes, sir. I know."
"You know she was hurt."
"Pretty badly, yes."
"I never did like that boy."
Nothing Talon could say to that. Since the older man's gaze seemed distant, best to just wait him out. He would never hurt Pat the way Kent Talbert had, but proof accompanies action. Mr. McAllister would know the kind of stuff Talon was made of as time went on. His saying so now wouldn't be convincing.
"Sometimes I think if he hadn't died, heaven help me, I would've killed him myself." The senator focused on him again. "You know what was wrong with him?"
Besides the fact he was a no-good, opportunistic, cheatin' womanizer, no. "Got my thoughts. What do you think?"
"He was a city boy. City folks—especially rich city folks—have different ideas from those of us raised on farms and ranches. Different priorities."
This seemed strange from a man who divided his time between DC and New York, but Talon nodded. "Yes, sir." After all, Mr. McAllister had been raised on a ranch, and it was his brother, Jake, who'd willed this one to Pat.
"I want a man for Patty who would make her happiness his top priority."
"As it should be."
"Are you that man?"
He straightened in his seat. "Mr. McAllister, I don't fall in love easily. Only once before in my life, and she died before we could get married. I love your daughter. I have a lot of respect for her. She's a good woman, and I'm honored she agreed to be my wife. I'll do everything in my power to assure her happiness and well-being."
The senator rubbed his jaw, pensively eyeing Talon through the monitor. "Patty told me about your first fiancée. What was her name?"
"Janet Parsons."
"Losing her was pretty rough on you."
"Yes, sir." About killed him. Took him years to get over her death, an experience made worse because he'd been a suspect in her murder. "Not something I care to repeat."
"I don't imagine. But if you loved that deeply once, you can do it again. You've been given a second chance, son. That doesn't happen often."
"No sir, it doesn't. I've been mighty blessed."
"I want you to continue to consider Patty a blessing in your life. That's what she is, and she deserves to be honored as such."
Talon didn't need to be told.
"She's old enough to make up her own mind about who she'll marry, but I appreciate your asking me. That means something." He sat quietly a moment, his face inscrutable, then he nodded. "I'm going to trust you with my little girl, young man. Don't let me down."
Talon released his breath. "I won't, sir."
"Call me Dale."
The grin started in Talon's heart, then burst forth on his lips. "I won't let you down ... Dale."
"Good. Welcome to the family. We'll let the women handle all the details." He shifted in his seat, making the leather squeak. "Is Patty around? I'd like to talk to her."
"I'm sure she's close by. I'll get her."
As Talon rose from his chair, the senator said, "Nice speaking with you, son."
"And with you, sir—Dale."
As he strode to the door to find Pat, he allowed himself a full-fledged grin. That hadn't been too bad. The hard part had been reading the man. Her father bore two expressions— stern and not so stern. Probably a requirement for being a senator. But then, he'd called Talon son and said to call him Dale. Good start.
When he opened the door, Pat stumbled through it. She caught her balance with a hand against the doorframe. Standing in the hallway with a crimson blush accentuating her sheepish expression, she looked adorable.
He chuckled. "Were you able to hear good enough?"
She scowled and swatted his arm. "Did it go all right? What did he say?"
"He said he wanted to talk to you."
"Okay, but what did he say about your proposal?"
"He said—"
"Talon!" One of the ranch hands, Chance Davis, burst through the front door and caught sight of them in the hall. "We've got more cows down."
"Ours or Griff's? How many this time?" Talon reached for his coat and hat on the rack by the door and headed out with Chance. They couldn't afford to keep losing cattle. They'd already stretched themselves too thin.

Linda W. Yezak lives with her husband and their funky feline, PB, in a forest in deep East Texas, where tall tales abound and exaggeration is an art form. She has a deep and abiding love for her Lord, her family, and salted caramel. And coffee—with a caramel creamer. Author of award-winning books and short stories, she didn't begin writing professionally until she turned fifty. Taking on a new career every half century is a good thing.

Facebook: Author Page
Twitter: @LindaYezak
Goodreads: Linda W Yezak

Ride to the Altar can be purchased at Amazon and for a limited time is only 99 cents so if you love Christian cowboy romances check out this series!

Hope you enjoyed today's spotlight and that you'll check back weekly for Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlight.

Until next time take care and God bless.

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

#TuesdayTreasures with Alice Duncan!

Hello and Welcome!

Today's guest is new to our blog so please give her a huge WELCOME!

We each probably have a place that’s near and dear to our heart. For me, that place is Pasadena, California—not as it is now, but as it was when I was a kid. I’m including Altadena, the unincorporated community just north of Pasadena, in my love affair.

My Daisy Gumm Majesty cozy historical mystery novels are set in Pasadena and Altadena in the 1920s. That’s many, many years (oh, all right, so it’s not all that many) years before I was born, but the charm was there then—in fact, it probably had more charm then than it had when I came along.

In the 1920s Pasadena was a haven for wealthy folks who wanted to get away from the frigid weather in New England, or for moving-picture people who wanted an escape from the crowds and clamor of the big city (Los Angeles). The folks in my novels fit into this fabulously wealthy community by being their worker bees and minions. In fact Daisy, my heroine, is a phony spiritualist-medium. There’s not a rich woman in Altadena or Pasadena who doesn’t use her services from time to time. Working-class folks like Daisy and her family don’t have time for nonsense like spiritualism, but Daisy is extremely happy to earn money pretending to talk to the dead relations of the wealthy. She’s not as cynical as that sounds.

In the historical era encompassing the 1920s, it seemed to folks that life was spinning out of control. Many (too many, according to some) young people no longer wanted to emulate their parents. They didn’t want to work on the family farm. They wanted make money. They wanted to work in a big city, where excitement lay (they thought). They wanted to be stars! Or they went out, unsupervised) in automobiles, went to the flickers, or actually wore short skirts, rolled their stockings down, rouged their knees and frequented speakeasies. Parents despaired of their children, and children despaired of pretty much everything. Nothing seemed worthwhile to them. Nothing made any sense anymore (to the parents or their kids). The world had just been through a horrific world war, the likes of which no one had ever seen before. Hot on the heels of the Great War came the Spanish Influenza pandemic (which began in Kansas, but I didn’t name it) that killed nearly a quarter of the world’s population in 1918 and 1919. Both of those things left thousands, if not millions, of people mourning deceased loved ones.
Daisy, who is a kindhearted young women even if she is a fraud, attempts in every way she can to comfort rich people who are reeling from the loss of husbands, children, fathers, cousins, friends, etc. She does this with her Ouija board through her spirit control, a Scottish chap named Rolly; reading palms; and with her tarot cards and crystal ball. Daisy doesn’t mess with ectoplasm which, to her mind, is merely icky. She began her spiritualistic biz when she was ten years old, and she was shocked to her core when people took her seriously. When the series starts, she’s a star in the spiritualist-medium-ing world of Pasadena.

In her day, solidly middle-class women like Daisy and her female kin were supposed to stay home and take care of the house while their men-folk were out earning a living for the family. Neither Daisy’s husband, Billy Majesty, nor her father, Joe Gumm, are able to work, however. Billy was shot and gassed during the war, and Daisy’s father has a bum ticker. Therefore, the women in the family bring home the bacon 

Daisy’s aunt, Viola, cooks the bacon for the family. This is a Very Good Thing for the Gumms and Majestys, since neither Daisy nor her mother can cook a lick. Daisy has managed to burn water in the past and, although Daisy’s mother did manage to make a raisin pie once, it was a traumatic experience for her. It didn’t help that neither Daisy nor her mother could figure out what the capital T in the recipe stood for. Fortunately, they decided the T was short for tablespoon, and things worked out. Although I didn’t say so in the book, I’m pretty sure Vi made the crust for that pie, since making pie crusts is a skill beyond either Daisy or her mom. According to Daisy (and pretty much everyone else in the Pasadena-Altadena area), her Aunt Vi is the best cook in the known universe. Vi has to work away from home, too, as cook for the ultra-wealthy Mrs. Pinkerton, Daisy’s most lucrative client. Mrs. Pinkerton lives on Orange Grove Boulevard, which in those days was nicknamed “Millionaire’s Row.” Daisy and her family live in a tidy little bungalow on South Marengo Avenue. In those days, Marengo was lined on each side with pepper trees that formed a kind of canopy over the street.

Because Vi is such a great cook, I’ve considered putting together a cookbook featuring some of her recipes. Unlike Daisy, I love to cook. Unlike Vi, I don’t cook fancy stuff, which requires more patience than I personally possess. I have the patience of a gnat on meth. However, in Daisy’s latest adventure, SPIRITS UNEARTHED, one of Vi’s recipes appears. It’s a recipe for Swedish-style smothered chicken and, in order to make it, you first have to haul out your Scotch kettle. Don’t know what a Scotch kettle is? Neither did I. So I did some research. Turns out, it’s a Dutch oven!
I have acquired quite a few vintage cookbooks over the years, and the main thing I’ve noticed as I’ve looked through them is that, way back then, folks cooked with milk, cream and butter without giving a thought to their waistlines. That’s probably because milk, cream and butter were believed to be good for a person. My mother’s mother owned a Jersey cow because Jerseys gave the richest milk with the highest cream content! Go figure. AND (this is a big and) there were no fast-food restaurants on every street corner back then, so it was more difficult for a person to get fat. Daisy’s Aunt Vi also makes her own bread (which Daisy can never cut straight. Her slices are always uneven—fat on one end and skinny on the other). Daisy gets teased a lot about her cooking catastrophes, and she considers herself a terrible failure in the kitchen. That’s because she is one, but don’t tell her that, please.
Anyway, if you’d like to read more about Daisy and the gang, please visit this page ( https://ebookdiscovery.lpages.co/aliceduncandaisygummbook12excerpt/ ), where you can read an excerpt from SPIRITS UNEARTHED and learn more about my Daisy books. If you’d like to visit my web page, here’s the link: http://aliceduncan.net/ . And if you’d like to be Facebook friends, please go here: https://www.facebook.com/alice.duncan.925

Thank you!

THANK You, Alice! What a cute and informative post!

Hope you enjoyed Alice's post as much as I did friends and that you check back weekly for Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlight.

Until next time take care and God Bless.