[Nfb-krafters-korner] FW: Here's the newest from S. R. Mallery

Tue Dec 19 22:27:00 UTC 2017

Some books from our Favorite Author, who shared her book and visited our Monday Night Chats for a year.

Joyce

From: S. R. Mallery, Author [mailto:MalleryBooks23 at gmail.com] 
Sent: Tuesday, December 19, 2017 10:16 AM
To: blindhands at aol.com
Subject: Here's the newest from S. R. Mallery

S. R. Mallery's first newsletter...

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Dear Followers,

      First of all, thank you for your interest in my books. I hope you will enjoy this new endeavor of mine. As for my newsletter contents? Let’s just say I’m inviting you along for the ride––a journey involving any new book announcement, current book sale(s) going on, miscellaneous excerpts and thoughts, features that include Indie authors I really like and THEIR book deals. In addition, there will be various giveaways.

      As for current sales, you can see from the below images, that I have four books that are currently 99c on AMAZON, as well as the boxed set that includes my GENTEEL SECRETS. If you buy them, thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy.

Just Click on the BUY Buttons at the bottom of this newsletter for my own books.

ALSO CHECK OUT book sales from many fine authors on EFFROSYNI MOUSHOUDI blog below

TROUBLE IN GLAMOUR TOWN

A 1926 murder mystery/Romance in Old Hollywood:

BLURB:

Hollywood, 1926. Where actors’ and actresses’ dreams can come true. But do they? While silent screen movie stars reign supreme, a film producer is gunned down in cold blood. Enter Rosie, a pretty bit-player, Eddie, her current beau, and Beatrice, her bitter stage-mother. As real celebrities of the time, such as Clara Bow, Lon Chaney, Gloria Swanson, and Rudolph Valentino float in and out, a chase to find the killer exposes the true underbelly of Los Angeles––with all its corruption.

 A Taste…

PROLOGUE

January 4, 1926, 1:15 p.m. 

“It will take a bit of effort…a bit of sweat and perhaps…

a bit of blood.” ––From the 1922 movie, Nosferatu

     IT WAS ANOTHER glorious day in Los Angeles. Sparkling like actress Theda Bara’s bejeweled robe in the 1917 movie, Cleopatra, the Hollywood hills behind the man and his rifle glistened in the midday sun, as each ray glanced off the small, jagged rocks. With his 1903 Springfield bolt-action sharpshooter locked tight against his shoulder, the assassin slowly rolled the scope ring around to set the precise distance. He knew from experience that with the wind factor leveled near zero, his chances were good for a clean hit. 

     For the third time, he peered through the lens. Fifty yards directly south of his position on the low-lying rooftop was Medford Studio’s back lot. There, on the outdoor set, where a Bell & Howell 35mm camera had been set up on a wooden tri-pod, an agitated film director was busy barking orders through his giant megaphone, while all the actors remained frozen in their assigned positions.

     Yet to the killer, none of that scenario was important. All he cared about was how his target stood off to one side, in perfect alignment with his scope view.

     “Here we go, here we go,” he muttered. He steadied himself against the roof edge and made sure the bolt was in the forward down position. With one eye pressed against the scope, he curled his index finger around the trigger, and squeezed.

     On the set, the director was still hollering his directions to the actors and crew when the shot rang out.

     “Man down,” the shooter said as human screams from below echoed up to him.

     With a quick ‘that’s done’ sigh of relief, the killer, still clutching his rifle, wiggled backward on his belly before he stood up out of sight of the ensuing chaos. A glance down at his shoes assured him the cloth swabs covering them were still in place. Then, his bag tucked under his arm, he hurried over to the outside ladder on the roof’s back edge. From there, he deftly descended, grateful he had practiced this procedure at least once beforehand.

            “Oh my God! Mr. Harris has been shot!” shrieked a nearby actress.

            “Somebody get help!” screamed several others.

            In a flash, a small crowd had surrounded the victim, who was wearing a leather WWI bombardier jacket, expensive trousers, and lying face down in his own blood. Underneath his balding head, bright red liquid fanned outward as two men attempted to turn him over to check his pulse.

            Stunned murmurs fused with one or two muffled sobs. Someone sprinted into the main building, yelling over his shoulder that he would phone the police. Soon, the faint sound of sirens could be heard, growing louder and louder by the second until finally, the blare was so deafening outside Medford’s front gate, people plugged their fingers in their ears.

            Within minutes, the set swarmed with police––pushing, shoving, and steering people away from the man with a hole in his forehead: Chester Harris, the film’s producer.

            A detective grabbed the megaphone from the director and bellowed, “Folks, nobody leaves the set!” He paused for several seconds. “Everybody needs to stay put so we can get your information.”

        When two men sporting “coroner” labels overturned the corpse, the detective approached them, side-stepping a pool of blood.

            “Yep. He’s a gonner, Detective Lozano,” one of coroners said.

UNEXPECTED GIFTS

BLURB

Readers' Favorite 2017 GOLD Medal Winner (Fiction-Historical-Personage)

A TRUE AMERICAN FAMILY SAGA: Can we learn from our ancestors? Do our relatives' behaviors help shape our own?

In UNEXPECTED GIFTS, that is precisely what happens to Sonia, a confused college student, heading for addictions and forever choosing the wrong man. Searching for answers, she begins to read her family's diaries and journals from America's past: the Vietnam War, Woodstock, and Timothy Leary era; Tupperware parties, McCarthyism, and Black Power; the Great Depression, dance marathons, and Eleanor Roosevelt; the immigrant experience and the Suffragists. Back and forth the book journeys, linking yesteryear with modern life until finally, by understanding her ancestors' hardships and faults, she gains enough clarity to make some right choices.

 A Taste …

SONIA’S paraplegic Father 

CHAPTER 2: Sam––Living With Fear 

“First thing I killed was no kind of thing at all. It was an enemy

soldier, which was a hell of a lot easier to say than the first thing I ever killed was a man.”

--Steve Mason 

     “...Nearing the village, we passed women in their beige tunics, black pants, and Sampan hats, shouldering thick bamboo rods weighted down by buckets of water. Most kept their heads lowered as they walked, but the few who didn’t, stared up at us with dead, black-brown eyes and pressed lips. The afternoon was drawing to a close by the time we reached a village compound that reeked of nuoc maum rotten fish sauce and animal dung. An old, leathery woman, squatting by her hooch was our welcoming committee, but once she saw us shuffle by, she scurried back into her hut, clacking loudly in Vietnamese as chickens pecked at rice granules, bobbing their heads up and down in 2/4 time.

         Carbini cut to the chase. “First, pull every one of those gooks outta their hooches, then line them up here,” he barked.

        I watched my troop comb each thatched home, rounding up families of all ages and herding them out into the open like a cattle drive in Oklahoma. I, too, started the mission and stooping into one of the huts, saw a young woman sitting on a straw mat, eating some rice in a black bowl, a young child at her side.

        She was exquisite—the best possible combination of French and Chinese ancestry, with such delicate features, she made my heart ache. My immediate instincts were to protect her and her son from Carbini and this horrendous war, but she just gazed up at me, emotionless.  

         I could hear Carbini yelling orders to get a move-on, and I signaled this girl, this treasure, to follow me. She shook her head vehemently, and curled her legs around her son. I motioned again, but still, she refused. I froze, unable to think, but when Carbini popped his head in the doorway and snarled, “Weylan!” she got the message and followed me out.

       Whimpering slightly, she joined her fellow villagers, gripping her child’s hand and wiping off a tear that had slid halfway down her cheek. I suddenly pictured slave owners in pre-Civil War days and felt my lunch rise up in my throat.

        “Now, get your Zippos ready, men.” We were getting ready to Rock ‘n Roll.

          Carbini was first. He marched over to a hooch, flipped on his Zippo, and carefully lit the underbelly of its thatched roof. It smoldered for a few seconds, a thin, rising wisp of smoke twisting in the tropical air. From that, a flame grew, nibbling at the straw with a low, blue heat before suddenly bursting into a torch, arcing up towards the sky in a yellow-hot blaze.

       Carbini turned to us and nodded, his eyes glazed. This was our cue, yet I spun around to search for the girl, who was at the back of the pack, crying softly as she hugged her son. I glanced over at some of the other men, their hands jammed deep into their pockets, and decided to follow their lead. The fire was raging full force on each hooch now, the thatch and bamboo crackling like a 4th of July fireworks display, leaving its reflections in the villagers’ eyes and turning the sky dark with thick, bulbous smoke.

Sonia’s mother Rose:

Chapter 8: According to Rose, Sadie, and Bimmy

“Never has a whole people spent so much money on so many expensive things in such an easy way 

as Americans are doing today.” - Fortune magazine 1953

Rose’s Journal:

         … Then Mrs. Smithen arrived with boxes upon boxes of Tupperware products.

      We hung on her every movement as she carefully set up her array of Tupperware on top of my dining room table. Containers of every shape and size with their coordinated tops. Her voice was clear, confident, as she explained how these tubs were made out of polyethylene, by the DuPont Company.

      “Remember, ladies,” she beamed, “the DuPont Company’s motto is: Better Things for Better Living… through Chemistry…”

        Naturally, we all applauded, but when she held up her index finger, you could hear a pin drop in the room. Her timing was impeccable. Just the right number of beats passed before she slowly, dramatically, locked down the lid of a round tub so that it made a small squoooosh sound, “to lock in flavor and lock out air.” And when the crowd echoed a collective ooooooh, she held up her finger again. Yes, she was a master show woman, well worth all the effort it had taken to get her to come to my home.

THE DOLAN GIRLS

BLURB:

Set in Nebraska during the 1800s, whorehouse madams, ladies of the night, a schoolmarm, a Pinkerton detective, a Shakespeare-quoting old coot, brutal outlaws, and a horse-wrangler fill out the cast of characters. Adult themes are added to the mix, along with colorful descriptions of an 1856 land rush, Buffalo Bill and his Wild West Show, Annie Oakley, bank/train robberies, small town local politics, and of course, romance. Two, in fact!

A taste…

    Without warning, an Irish bodrán drum started thumping. Whoops and hollers were unleashed, and all attention swiveled toward the front of the room where the fiddler had started an Irish jig.

     Minnie clapped her hands. “Come, girls, it’s the Dolans turn to shine!”

     Grabbing Cora with one hand, Ellie with the other, she forced them out onto the middle of the floor, and using authentic Irish steps, her hands on her hips, she began dancing. Ellie laughed and chimed in. Cora stayed still, until her sister and daughter were dancing in true Irish style—legs executing intricate patterns, their upper bodies straight as laundry pegs holding steady on a clothes line.

      Thinking of her ma, Cora shrugged and joined in, as the dance steps got more complicated and the entire room watched, egging them on with rhythmic applause.

     It was as if she were back in that encampment so many years before, dancing in front of strangers in a new land. Only this time, it was in front of her friends, her neighbors, and Thomas. She let herself go.

     The music and drumbeats swelling, soon it was over as abruptly as it had begun. People walked by the threesome, slapping them on their shoulders and nodding graciously, as conversation returned to normal and a lilting waltz infiltrated the room.

     Thomas turned to Cora, taking in her sparkling eyes, her fly-away hair, her collar opened one button down, and asked in a low voice, “May I have this next dance?”

     He held out his large hand.

     Exhausted, taken aback, she reacted without thinking. “Sorry, Thomas. I’m quite tired.”

     Instantly, she regretted her words. When she saw his eyebrows raise, and one of his cheek muscles twitch, she opened up her mouth to explain, to try to soften her remark, but it was too late.

     Clearing his throat and straightening his cravat, he turned succinct.

     “Excuse me, then. I intend on dancing,” he said coldly, and without a backwards glance, walked across the room and stopped in front of a school committee member’s oldest daughter, Merribelle. Within seconds, they were twirling around on the dance floor––he talking continuously, she gazing up at him with enamored eyes, hanging onto every word.

     “You had your chance, Cora,” Minnie snorted, after watching them dance for a while. “He’s a handsome devil and if you don’t…”

     “Just don’t, Minnie,” she flared. “I’m tired, I don’t feel like dancing, and I don’t need your meddling. Just leave me be!” Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off of Thomas’ arm around Merribelle’s waist.

     “Folks, the next dance is Ladies’ Choice, so grab the man of your dreams and keep those dancin’ shoes goin’!” He hardly got the last words out when the room broke out in a cheer.

     Shot full of adrenaline, Cora didn’t even hesitate. Charging over to Thomas and Merribelle, on their way to a second dance, all she could concentrate on was his arm, and how it should be around her waist, not someone else’s.

     “No you don’t! Now it’s my turn, Miss Merribelle,” Cora said firmly, gripping Thomas’ arm from Merribelle’s slim waist and yanking him over to her.

     With a slight shrug to the disappointed debutant, Thomas positioned his arm firmly around Cora’s waist and brought her onto the dance floor.

      “‘Bout time!” Minnie called out, then watched them glide effortlessly, with Thomas’ Cheshire cat grin growing as large as all of Nebraska.

      Pete steadied himself against her and gave out a large burp.

     The waltz was extra slow and melodious and to further enhance the romantic setting, Mr. Corrigan had come up with a brilliant plan. Walking around the room, he blew out alternating lamps as the room dimmed in increments, the aaah’s grew serious, and the men’s arms tightened around their partners’ waists.

     Ignoring the usual waltz ‘space protocol’ between partners, Cora’s and Thomas’ bodies moved together as a single entity as they rotated and swayed, wordless. Pressed up against him like old times, her body tingled. But there was something else. The stirrings she was feeling as his lower body hardened against her, were a sudden reminder of things she had not thought about for years, not since that night on Madam Ana's porch so long ago. At one point, he leaned back slightly and carefully placed several wispy strands behind her ear, and when he stroked her neck with his fingers, she felt it down to her toes.

     “Oh Cora,” he half groaned, as Cora felt the gooseflesh ripple over her arms. Still waltzing, still floating, they continued on, wordless, as Corrigan kept blowing out more and more lights.

     Without realizing it, they had drifted out toward the back door, out where the air felt cool and fresh, and for the first time since forever, she wasn’t aware of her brain, only her senses.

     “The moon’s almost full tonight,” she murmured. Biting her lip, she gazed up at him.

     “Yes it is,” he murmured back, and pulling her close, lifted her face up toward his so they could kiss, for the first time in their lives as grown adults––slowly, deeply.

     Sensations sparked through her like lightning bolts, sensations that made her kiss him back just as fully, as she ran her fingers through his hair. Transported, the screams of laughter and feet stomping inside had become a dim haze, as he stroked her back with his hands, and she melted even further into him.

     “Lord!” Minnie exclaimed, coming outside where they stood.

     Like two fighting cats being doused with water, the couple jumped apart. Minnie laughed.

     “It’s about time…”

     “Stop it, Minnie!” Cora flared, her chest still heaving unevenly. She glanced at Thomas and said, “I better go in now.” Minnie shook her head, while Thomas looked grim.

     “Cora, please?” he pleaded.

     “No, I need to go. After all, I’m not a young girl anymore. I’m a businesswoman,” she answered, fidgeting with her hair before she went back inside.

     Thomas turned to Minnie. “I don’t understand her, Minnie. I truly don’t.”

     “Thomas, honey, I guess she’s lived with a world of hurt, and frankly, she just doesn’t want to get hurt again, if you get my meaning,” she said, and headed inside.

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THE DOLAN GIRLS

is on Audible!

Narrated by 

Nancy Peterson

GENTEEL SECRETS

BLURB:

      What do a well-bred Southern Belle and a Northern working class Pinkerton detective have in common? Espionage . . . and romance. At the start of the U.S. Civil War, while young men begin dying on American battlefields and slavery is headed toward its end, behind the scenes, female undercover work and Pinkerton intelligence are alive and well. But in the end, can this unlikely Romeo and Juliet couple’s love survive, or will they be just another casualty of war?

 A Taste …

CHAPTER ONE

“The best portion of a good man’s life: his little nameless unremembered

acts of kindness and love” ––William Wordsworth

     …Soon, he became aware of another’s presence nearby and frowned. How dare someone invade his privacy at this park on this day, in his hour of need? He opened his eyes to spy on this person, this interloper. What he saw was a lovely girl sitting on the bench directly across from him. Absorbed in a book, she was obviously in her own world of words.

     He could feel his heartbeat changing pace. No longer steady and slow, it was erratic and gathering speed at an alarming rate. When she casually lifted up her face to look at him, the rapid throbbing in his chest was threatening to take over his breathing. Her outfit spoke of generations of good breeding and money, yet her intelligent eyes hinted at something deeper, more original than the girls to whom he had been exposed.

     He was riveted…

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“If you claim you heard it and weren’t scared, 
that means you never heard it.”

––A soldier’s comment regarding the Rebel Yell

…Pushing toward the ridge, the Union leader McAdams and his troops could see Jackson’s line of defense mounting an attack. This is it. He ran and gathered the most bravura he could muster.

     Then they all heard it. Its sound sliced through them like one of the bayonets they were holding. Half Indian whoop, half white man’s scream, it was unlike anything they had ever heard, and in an instant, it shattered their resolve into tiny pieces.

     The shots rained down from the southern hold on the ridge in earnest now, flying every which way, dissecting Federalists’ hands, splitting apart legs, gouging out eyes, and mowing down men in a matter of seconds. No longer under cover of woods, the Union troops advanced more slowly, tempered by the onset of the southern batteries and the chilling effect of the Confederates’ unique Rebel yells.

     McAdam and his troops had been told to oversee an orderly retreat, but when an officer galloped by, crying, “The enemy is upon us,” all the men around him dropped their guns and sprinted across the field, forgetting about their determination and their grit. They were too busy running for their lives.

LOVE IN TIMES OF WAR

Sail into danger, explore passion and intrigue in these love stories about the heart of men called to serve in dangerous locales and the valiance of women who long for them to come home. You will find yourself inspired by this collection, written by multi award-winning, USA Today and International bestselling authors. If you like Historical Romance, Contemporary Romance, Inspirational Romance, Holiday Romance, Military Romance, Wounded Warrior Romance, or Romantic Suspense, there is a sure to be a story you will love in this amazing boxed set.

Dancing with Air by Uvi Poznansky
In WWII London, Lenny is involved in a covert intelligence ploy. His task must remain confidential, even at the risk of Natasha becoming suspicious of him. Will their love survive the test of war?

Two Hearts Unspoken by Tamara Ferguson
Beth Bowen is a single mom of an autistic son. Zach Logan is a wounded warrior searching for a life after Iraq. Can two lonely people discover that love is that something unspoken, missing from their lives?

The Rebel's Redemption by Jacquie Biggar
When an old enemy follows him from Iraq and causes mayhem in Tidal Falls, can Jared overcome the odds to protect the woman he's always loved?

Broken Wings by D.G. Torrens
Joshua, a bomb disposal expert in Afghanistan. Angelina, an editor of a local newspaper. Both avoiding love at all costs, until they are unexpectedly thrown together. Tested beyond belief... Can their love survive?

A Soldier’s Promise by Angelica Kate
Ryker is most comfortable in the regulated world of the military. When he is sent to Darby’s doorstep to keep a promise to one of his fallen team members, every rule he holds will be challenged!

Returning Home by the Sea by Traci Hall
Brayden and Zoe wed before he went to Iraq. Once united in passion, a lot has changed in the six years he's been away. Will their love survive his homecoming?

Mademoiselle by Suzanne Jenkins
To Philipa, working at Mademoiselle Magazine is more important than anything, even love. Her friend, Walter, hopes for a change, but not until his trip to the Persian Gulf does she begin to listen to her heart.

Genteel Secrets by S.R. Mallery
In 1861 America, can the love between a Confederate female spy and the Pinkerton detective hired to shadow her survive, or will their story become just another casualty of war?

When Sailors Play by Susan Jean Ricci

Michael Burke has two passions: his high-school sweetheart and baseball. When someone dear to him perishes in Vietnam, will the shock alter his future goals? Will it isolate him from Ellie or deepen their love?

 <http://click.ml.mailersend.com/link/c/YT03ODU0MjMxMDk3NDEwODk4MDEmYz1rNmYyJmU9MzMyJmI9MTQ0ODI3NTc0JmQ9azF0NmczaQ==.qZt301nPfcMXYtRYbd1_VKCmF3c_uQjcLGVo8ZycFs4>  <http://click.ml.mailersend.com/link/c/YT03ODU0MjMxMDk3NDEwODk4MDEmYz1rNmYyJmU9MzMyJmI9MTQ0ODI3NTc0JmQ9azF0NmczaQ==.qZt301nPfcMXYtRYbd1_VKCmF3c_uQjcLGVo8ZycFs4>  <http://click.ml.mailersend.com/link/c/YT03ODU0MjMxMDk3NDEwODk4MDEmYz1rNmYyJmU9MzMyJmI9MTQ0ODI3NTc0JmQ9azF0NmczaQ==.qZt301nPfcMXYtRYbd1_VKCmF3c_uQjcLGVo8ZycFs4> 

Check out these fabulous authors and their books on sale. 

Where? On Effrosyni Moushoudi's blog!

 <http://click.ml.mailersend.com/link/c/YT03ODU0MjMxMDk3NDEwODk4MDEmYz1rNmYyJmU9MzMyJmI9MTQ0ODI3NTc2JmQ9ZTBkNHg1aQ==.qLb1iD4EYSBNe-siH1iZ5eVP9pQfxEd8gEok6gJQcwU> CLICK HERE TO GO TO HER BLOG

Sarah (S.R.) Mallery Author 

 <mailto:MalleryBooks23 at gmail.com> MalleryBooks23 at gmail.com 

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S. R. Mallery's AND HISTORY FOR ALL

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