Llissa is a newer blogger so let’s help her out. Here’s how.
Please follow her blog.
After you follow her blog, comment on this post with your email and that you followed her blog. You can also use the contact page (if you don’t want share your email in the comments).
In return for the follow, I’ll send you a kindle gift of Follow the Snowflakes! That will happen, after I’ll receive the confirmation from Llissa that you followed her.
Okay, so I’m not a fan of thrillers and the only author I read that writes thrillers is Didi so yeah she gets 5 dragon paws from me.
This is a fast-paced, suspenseful book with multiple point of views (all of them are different and perfect). Didi can create really ‘sick’ characters like when I was in the mind of the killer, I wanted to strangle him myself. He was such an ass but very believable.
The main character is Markie and she’s in the middle of it all. What I liked about her was that she was different from other main characters in other books. She felt real, confused, and just totally lost in the events and yet she was strong. Her sister… have a hate and love relationship… speaking of…
I already asked Didi through twitter to send me a prologue to both of her books. I expect it soon! 😉
I highly recommend this thriller for 18 and over. It has some triggers like rape and crazy thoughts so not for everyone.
R&R Book Tours Proudly Presents: The Finest Supermarket in Kabul, a fascinating novella inspired by true events! This is a really important story inspired by true events. It’s not a long read and Shannon (who’s in charge of the tour) loved it. I just wish I had time to tackle reading this little gem. Maybe, in the future. One never knows.
I love the banner for this tour! It has a certain little something. ^_^
The Finest Supermarket in Kabul
Publication Date: Oct. 30th, 2017
Genre: Novella/ Terrorism/ Inspired by True Events
Author: Ele Pawelski
Kabul, Afghanistan January 28, 2011.
Merza, a freshly minted Parliamentarian receives ominous threats after he wins his seat. Alec, an American journalist, flies from Kandahar without his editor’s permission to chronicle daily life in the capital. Elyssa, a Canadian human rights lawyer in Kabul to train female magistrates, is distracted by unwanted attention from a male justice. On this grey, wintry Friday, all three are embroiled in a dramatic and savage bombing. Inspired by true events and places, The Finest Supermarket in Kabul follows Merza, Alec and Elyssa as their idealistic and visionary hopes for Afghanistan are deeply challenged in the aftermath.
Last September, I was elected to the Wolesi Jirga in Afghanistan’s National Assembly. My parents had protested my running, and they regularly spoke of their wayward son to neighbours and friends, sometimes even in my presence. By now, their attitude has subsided into a stinging disapproval and regret which pervades our house as if an undesirable visitor has settled in to stay. As for me, I’ve borne a lot to run for this seat and am pleased with my win. During the lead up to the election, I’d organized a few public events to encourage voters but then began to hear with sickening frequency about threats made to candidates, campaigners and election workers alike. Voters were told to stay away from polling stations. In small villages, the warnings were direct and ominous, communicated via written letters posted on mosque doors and other public buildings. In Kabul, the intimidation came over the radio, distant and impersonal. This, I decided, I could live with; I continued my campaign with no immediate repercussions.
So when the telephone call came three weeks ago, I was caught off guard. We warn you today, on behalf of Servants of Islam, to stop working for the infidel. If you continue, you will be regarded as the enemy of Islam and will be killed. The caller hung up before I could. I hadn’t said a word. My hands were shaking; my breath was short. My insides turned over more than once as I stood paralyzed beside the phone; my eyes glazed over, staring at the living room wall. Rattled and anxious, I didn’t tell anyone – not my sister, not my parents, not even my friends. My actions could not, should not, affect anyone else, I thought.
I flinch when the policeman knocks heavily on my window. He stands beside a large blue sign that proclaims Ring of Steel with Police below in white lettering. An AK-47 is casually resting along his right arm, an Afghan flag patch on his shoulder. The classy silver watch on his left wrist looks out of place. I put the driver’s window down and turn up the heat.
“Assalaam alaikum. Sir, I need to see your ID. Where are you going today?” The officer is polite but firm as he scrutinizes the back seat. The badge clipped to his left front pocket dangles by my face.
“Going to buy some firewood. I’ve just come from Zuhr prayers at the Id Gah Mosque,” I say, reasoning that if I mention prayers it will go quicker.
I hand over my ID, uncertain what I will do if he asks for money. Five years ago, there would not have been any concern about a potential bribe, as police officers were almost non-existent. When using government services, I will occasionally give small amounts of money if I can’t seen any other way to get ahead, a practice my father says is just “doing business.” But I truly resent the culture of corruption that policemen and other government officials have become a part of.
He stares at the photo, at me, and then back at the photo. A sense of familiarity creeps in but my anxiousness doesn’t let me focus on it. He turns my ID over in a slow, pensive movement, the card in his palm, picture side down.
“For your information, I’m a parliamentarian. I was elected to the Wolesi Jirga last year. We’re aiming to decrease corruption,” I say defiantly, trying to cut off all ideas of a bribe.
Suddenly, he shifts the AK-47 into his hand and points it at the rear of my car. “I need to see the trunk.” I glimpse his index finger on the trigger.
Ele Pawelski has lived in Afghanistan, South Sudan, Bosnia, Kenya, Uzbekistan and Kosovo. She has climbed in the Himalayas, walked the Camino and hiked in Newfoundland. Now living in urban Toronto with her husband, she’s always planning for her next travel adventure. Her stories have appeared in magazines, journals and newspapers. The Finest Supermarket in Kabul is her first novella.
How cool is this cover?! I’m thrilled to host this reveal today, and tell you all about Theresa Braun’s first full-length novel, Fountain Dead! Theresa is also giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card, so be sure to enter at the bottom! Soooo creeepy!!!
Fountain Dead
Expected Publication: Mid-November
Genre: Mature YA Horror/ Paranormal
Mark is uprooted from his home and high school in the Twin Cities and forced to move with his family into a Victorian in Nowhere-ville. Busy with the relocation and fitting in, Mark’s parents don’t see what’s unfolding around them—the way rooms and left behind objects seem alive with a haunted past.
Of course, Mark keeps his ghostly encounters to himself, all the while sinking deeper into the house’s dark, alluring, and ultimately terrifying history. As romantic entanglements intensify, the paranormal activity escalates. Past and present come together. Everything is connected—from the bricks in the walls to the hearts beating in their chests, all the secrets of Fountain Dead are finally unearthed.
Coming Soon!
Excerpt
The vapor wafting from the stagnant pool smelled like the rancid rot from inside a carcass. Mark felt he breathed in fire. The gooey surface boiled and foamed as if a prehistoric substance. His heart stopped as something emerged. A goopy and gnarled dome became a sickly face. The eyelids still closed, the rest of the form rose, covered in green.
A tattered dress clung to the feminine curves. The cloth slipped from the shoulders, drawing his attention to her skin. The texture made him gag.
A sour taste of bile filled his mouth. His skin contracted as he contemplated her spongy flesh. Her black eyes sprang open like a demonic doll’s. Her inhuman gaze stabbed his very core, and he knew he was facing a soul-less being. The eyes burned like hot stove burners.
A decomposing hand extended toward his throat.
Mark woke, wet with perspiration. His pillowcase and sheets were damp, as if he’d taken a swim in the fountain. That idea made him unable to breathe. His heartbeat sped along at a rate close to heart attack status as he tried not to blow a gasket about the evil that lie in wait. He whipped his pillow from behind his head and squashed it to his chest. No one would grasp what he’d been feeling—or what he’d been seeing.
His lip trembled.
Something—a fiend, a spirit, the fountain—wanted to hurt him.
Mark’s chest compressed.
The devil on his shoulder advised him that his mother had to be right. All of the metal music, the cartoons, the swearing, had been an invitation for demons and darkness. Forget the fact that none of his friends had ever mentioned opening some gateway to hell. These dark forces had chosen him.
He lied back, exhaustion sinking him deeper into the mattress. After pulling the blood warm sheets up to his chin, he shunned the moonlight streaming into the room. The crooked claws of the branches squealed against the half-open windowpane. Summer’s hot breath puffed into the house. Mark didn’t have to strain to hear its griping—the sighs of the woodwork and the building’s various joints.
The door to the servants’ quarters was open again. However, that bothered him less and less. A perfume of fragrant flowers sent him to sleep.
About the Author
Hmmm. What’s this? Looks like Ms. Braun left her computer on and her Goodreads bio open.
This should be fun.
What can we say about Theresa? I mean other than the fact that she’s weirdly obsessed with smiley faces :-). Like, seriously obsessed >:-*. It’s kinda scary :-O.
I think she thinks she’s from Renaissance England or Venice or something. I never could figure out which one it was. (She’s really bad at doing accents.)
She likes romance novels and crime TV, which are pretty much the same thing when you think about it. Ha! Am I right?
She has a hell of a singing voice. Seriously. It’s, like, seventh circle of hell bad.
She likes editing. A lot. Just wait till she get’s a load a this.
Cats. Shoes. Chips and salsa. In that order.
Yeah, that last part didn’t make sense to me either.
I am so happy to share this really cool book with you and reveal its amazing trailer! If you like the cover, wait to you see this! There is also a chance to win a digital copy of Dead Steam, so make sure to enter the giveaway at the bottom!
Dead Steam: A Chilling Collection of Dreadpunk Tales of the Dark and Supernatural
Expected Publication Date: October 1st, 2018
Genre: Anthology/ Dreadpunk/ Dark Steampunk/ Horror
Reader beware: to open this tome is to invite dread into your heart. Every page you turn will bring you closer to something wicked. And when the dead begin to rise from the steaming pits of hell, only then will you discover that it is already too late. Your life is forfeit.
Featuring an introduction by Leanna Renee Hieber, author of the Eterna Files and Strangely Beautiful saga, DeadSteam plays host to the scintillating writing of David Lee Summers (Owl Dance, The Brazen Shark), Jen Ponce (The Bazaar, Demon’s Cradle), Wendy Nikel (The Continuum), Karen J Carlisle (The Adventures of Viola Stewart), Jonah Buck (Carrion Safari), and more…
With seventeen chilling tales of Dreadpunk, Gaslamp, and Dark Steampunk, DeadSteam will leave you tearing at the pages, desperate for more. For within these pages, the dead rise from their graves to haunt the London Underground, witches whisper their incantations to the wind, a sisterhood of bitten necks hunts fog-drenched alleyways lit only by gaslight, and only one thing is certain: that dread will follow you until you turn that final page.
And that sinking feeling in the pit of your chest? That fear that something is following you, watching you, hunting you? It is not for nothing. Look over your shoulder, dear reader. Watch behind you. Listen to the whispers in the darkness.
The city was frost and fog. Icy crystals formed on the windows of the train station. Breath drifted up in a hazy clouds like puffs of cigarette smoke as Theodore tried to warm his hands, blowing hot breath onto his stiff, cold fingers and rubbing his hands together vigorously. When that failed, he thrust them back into his coat pockets, cursing under his breath. His threadbare coat offered little warmth. Drafts of wind found their way through the broken stitching and the tears in his sleeves like rats scrambling through the cracks in the station walls. A discarded page of newsprint, caught in the rushing wind, tumbled and turned in the air and landed, crumpled and torn, at Theodore’s feet.
He stooped over, picked it up, and glanced at the engraving of a wanted man. Even without a skill for reading, he knew what name was printed beneath the picture of masked man on the page. Anthony Tidkins.
Wanted, he read. That was one word Theodore recognized. Crimes was another, and then, finally…murder.
Rubbish. The newspapers always tried to make villains out of the radical thinkers of the world. The Resurrectionists, who named their organization after the sack-em-up men who provided the anatomists with subjects for their scientific endeavors, were scientists. They had provided the world with aether, revolutionizing air travel. They had brought Prince Charles back from the brink of death. They had devised the engines for the London Underground. Anthony Tidkins himself promised to cure death. Yet the newspaper men still called for his blood. Theodore balled up the page and shoved it in his pocket.
He pulled out his trick coin as he approached the gate. The station master was asleep at his booth, a little dribble of spit running down his chin. Typical. Thoedore stuck his coin in the machine, waited for the gate to open, and then, with a light tug on the fishing line threaded through a little hole in the tip of the coin, it popped back out. Easy. He was in before anybody noticed what he had done. He pocketed the coin and started down the hallway.
Tap-tap, clack, tap-tap, clack, his shoes beat a rhythm on the stone steps. The sole of his left shoe was beginning to wear, and the heel of his shoe tapped against the heel of his foot as he walked. He puffed on his hands again, and peeked over his shoulder. No one was after him. He had done this trick a thousand times before. So why did he feel like there was someone watching him?
Clack, tap-tap, clack. Again, he glanced over his shoulder. The odd double-rhythm of his broken shoe was suddenly unnerving in the deserted station. Where were all the other passengers? Nice folks avoided this place like the plague, especially after midnight. The oil lamps that lit Burke Street Station were so routinely out of oil that he could hardly find his own feet in front of him, but still, Theodore expected to see other passengers. But where were the other vagrants? They should be sleeping in the dark corners of the hallway under blankets made of rags. And the boys from the blacking factory should be heading home from their long shifts, fingers stained black with powders and oil. But there was no one. Only the rats skittering through rat tunnels to keep him company.
Tap-tap, clack, tap-tap, clack.
Another set of footsteps began to follow his own, beating out a different rhythm. A steady tap, tap, tap, tap. He paused to listen, and nothing but silence greeted him. He glanced over his shoulder. Nobody there.
He continued onward, and again, a second set of footsteps started up behind him. He paused to listen. This time, they didn’t stop.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Whoever it was, they were getting closer. Closer and closer, louder and louder, tapping out a steady rhythm as they approached down the long, dark hallway. He could almost make out the solitary figure in the gloomy, hazy light, but then the fog grew thicker, and whatever he thought he’d seen was gone. The footsteps kept on getting louder, though, and closer. He turned and ran down the hallway.
A long flight of steps delved deeper into the darkness of Burke Street Station, down, down toward the platform. The train was already rumbling, announcing its approach. It vibrated through Theodore’s toes to the tip of his spine, rattling his bones.
He grabbed the railing all but flew down the staircase. The rumble of the train grew louder and clearer.
“Shit,” Theodore cursed. Taking the steps two at a time, he hurtled down the steps and didn’t stop when he reached the bottom.
Nails on a blackboard. The tines of silverware scraping against a ceramic plate. The screaming madmen at Newgate Asylum. The anguished cry of a mother weeping over her stillborn babe. Theodore had heard these sounds all, but not one compared to the shrill screech of an automatic train rolling into Burke Street. Iron wheels grinding against iron tracks. Hot metal sending up sparks, belching out steam as black as sin. The carriages rattling and clanging against one another. The hiss of hot coal burning in the engines. The shriek of brakes as the train ground to a halt. If it went on long enough, it would surely drive a man mad. Theodore covered his ears with his hands, pressing them against his head to muffle out the deafening noise, and waited for the thundering train to come to a halt.
When it did, he realized it must have drowned out the sound of the steadily approaching footsteps he’d heard in the hallway, because he could hear them again, and they were closer. So close he half expected to feel someone’s hot breath on his neck. He whirled around, but there was no one there. Silence greeted him like an old friend. His heart hammered against his chest.
“There’s no one there,” he muttered to himself. But he didn’t sound convinced.
A smell lingered in the air, as if something foul had passed through. The smell was familiar enough, the breath of a man with rotting teeth. It was a foul, cloying stench. He spun around again, and this time found himself face to face with the man to whom those dreaded footsteps belonged.
Only he wasn’t a man. Not really.
About the Author
Bryce Raffle writes steampunk, horror, and fantasy. He was the lead writer for Ironclad Games’ multiplayer online game Sins of A Dark Age and is the founder of Grimmer & Grimmer Books. His short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies, including Hideous Progeny: Classic Horror Goes Punk, Denizens of Steam and Den of Antiquity. His short story, The Complications of Avery Vane, was awarded Best Steampunk Short in the Preditors and Editors Reader’s Poll in 2016. He lives in beautiful Vancouver, Canada, where he works in the film industry.
Well, let’s see. We saw rats, cats, turtles, fish, and birds at a pet store – Several times. My sister was actually thinking about adopting a cat. We have too many pets sooo a big no on that one.
We have used markers on a our white board and it was a very pretty drawing of circles and lines….and even prettier on our hands and face. 😉
We have favorite fruit! – Watermelon and bananas.
Mommy tries hard to tire me out and sometimes I fall asleep on her chest or in her arms.
Chuck E Cheese! Did you know that it has many flashy lights and little fish’s in bowls and you even get tickets that you can tug on. Mommy lets me press buttons and I watch all the lights and listen to sounds. It has a good area for my age kids where I climb up and slide down a slide. Lots of smiles. We love all types of slides. Besides the cheese place, we tried a couple of other play areas oh and zoo’s! I’ve been to 2 zoo’s. Got to pet a goat and everything.
I got 2 teeth left to come in….my biting certainly hurts Mama. I find it funny….
Mommy said that she didn’t have a little car when she was a kid. I got a car. A gift from my Godfather. I make her do the work, though. She pushes and I look cool.
I like fire trucks, cars, cubes. I love cubes. I tend to choose numbers face up. Mommy said that I even got the ‘8’ right.
Daddy said that he likes legos so mommy found me legos for toddlers. I got yellow, blue and red and I try making towers. They don’t last.
We’re the size of 18 months old, still, although sometimes we wear 24 months old.
Oh! Mommy isn’t happy with the libraries. She stopped me from picking a used condom. I don’t know what that is but she had a look of disgust and was very angry with the librarians. We haven’t been back since.
Oh, we spent more time in hotels thanks to grandma’s birthday and vacation. Mommy left some reviews on her blog. I like those big beds with the big headboards. It’s so fun trying to move my cars at the top. Gotta stretch.
I had two play dates. We went swimming in the kiddle pool. Played with water table, toys. Drew with chalk and rode the little car. It was fun.
Mommy is trying to get me interested in puzzles. We have a couple of them. So far, I like biting on the pieces and watching Mommy put them together.
Mommy got me a floaty. I cry every time Mommy stripes me in but then I’m okay with it once I’m in the pool. The water be warm though because not a fan of a cold pool.
I like those toddler activities that involve plastic balls. It’s fun watching them shoot out of something or roll around.
We were in my first car accident. Grandma was driving and it wasn’t her fault! The guy hit us. Said that he didn’t see us and said that it wasn’t his fault. Contradictory. Mommy leaned over me to protect me and now has to have physical therapy. Ouch!
Oh! Spray bottles are fun!
Mommy allowed me to go on a carassel, a Ferris wheel, and on a train! It was so much fun!
A vampire romance novel is in ‘adding material’ mode. Then, it will be with an editor and a proofreader! I will let you guys more about it after it will be with the editor. It’s a collaborated novel written with my best friend.
I’m also working on a short story about mermaids. Interested in reading?
Book 2 in the Svabodina case files is in the works. I have written 5 chapters so far. Who’s excited?!
Until next time,
P.S.: Please leave reviews of my books on Amazon, Goodreads, and on your blogs. I love reading all the reviews that I get!
A day ago, the actor – Bill Daily passed away at 91.
After I watched Bewitched, I checked out I dream of Jeannie and I loved Roger Healey. He was a good character – funny, intelligent, cute. I only seen the show when I was in my twenties so I didn’t grow up with the show, but I have seen the show maybe 3 times all the way through! My mother and I would watch it together and we need to watch it again! It was that or Bewitched when it came to American shows for her and I didn’t mind it not one bit. I still don’t mind. It’s nice to watch these shows. ^_^
Bill Dailey – you’ll be missed but remembered as funny Roger Healey….at least for me. Thank you for being awesome!
“The Scented Bones isn’t like your typical fantasy vamp, witches, werewolves books. This is a fun, magical/fantasy mystery with plenty of quirky, endearing characters, that once you start reading its hard to put down!” – Dash Fan
I loved the review! It made my Friday evening.
I would like to thank Dash Fan for reading! She likes reviewing because she wants to help other readers find new books! There’s also a lot of genre’s that she has read and you can look up her reviews based on them. They could be found on the left column of the website. Wow! I didn’t know so many genre’s existed!
The Finest Supermarket in Kabul
Dead Steam: A Chilling Collection of Dreadpunk Tales of the Dark and Supernatural
