Bobby Ether and the Jade Academy

YA Fantasy

Date Published: April 24, 2019

Publisher: Koehler Books

When sixteen-year-old Bobby Ether is abducted and brought to the secluded Jade Academy in Tibet, monks teach him and other special students how to tap into their Anima—the universal energy that connects all living things. But the headmistress of the academy is secretly exploiting the students, looking for genetic triggers to create a new breed of humans with metaphysical abilities. As his powers increase, Bobby is thrust into a cesspool of conspiracy, lies, and betrayal. A jade amulet left by his clairvoyant grandfather may provide answers, but what exactly is his family's connection to this mysterious place?

Can Bobby master his talents in time to uncover the truth? If not, his fate—and the fate of the entire Jade Academy—may be sealed.

Praise for Bobby Ether and the Jade Academy:

"Tragedy, mystery, and suspense make this scientific coming-of-age story a fascinating read." --Clarion 5-star review

"Bobby Ether and the Jade Academy is a thrilling action-packed adventure you never want to end." --IndieReader 4.5 stars

About the Author

R. Scott Boyer graduated from the Haas School of Business at UC Berkeley in 1996. In 2008, he became fascinated with the idea of blending young adult fantasy with new-age fiction and thus began his journey as a writer. While maintaining a full-time job, he couldn't help but envision the kind of book he wanted to read. This exploration led to the creation of the Bobby Ether YA fantasy series, which combines spiritual elements with ancient myths and legends to create fun, fast-paced stories tailored for young adults but suited for adventure lovers of all ages.

Through his writing, Scott likes to explore various spiritual and metaphysical themes, including karma, serendipity, communion with nature, and the interconnectedness of all living things. In his free time, Scott likes to play basketball and tennis, as well as bike with his rescue dog, Patch. Over the years, Scott has been involved with a number of volunteer youth organizations, including United In Harmony, YMCA summer and winter camps, various basketball programs, and C5LA.

Raised in Santa Monica, California, Scott still resides in the Los Angeles area close to his family.

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IndieBound

Tick Cooper

YA & Adult Historical Fiction

Publisher: Black Opal Books

“I swear by everything I ever owned that my adventure will be the honest truth—even if I had to tell a few lies along the way to get to the meaning of that truth.” So promises Tick Cooper, a twelve year old Ohio boy who’s about to accompany his Uncle Ned down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers to New Orleans. It’s the autumn of 1860, right before the election that will send Abraham Lincoln to the White House. With his mother deceased and his father having deserted him for the chance of gold in California, Tick has been most fortunate to receive the care and love of his father’s older brother and his wife—Aunt Clara. Although she has recently passed away, she and Uncle Ned have educated the boy about living a good and proper life. But Tick hasn’t had much of a chance to put what he’s learned into practice—nor to face the moral challenges every young person will face as he or she grows up. But the river journey will provide plenty of those experiences and tests of character. Yet, reaching New Orleans does not conclude the lessons and challenges, for there Tick witnesses a slave auction, and on the block is a thirteen-year-old freed black girl named Clarissa, whom Tick had briefly met in Ohio. Now Tick faces his most significant challenge. Can he help get Clarissa back to Ohio all the way from New Orleans?

Excerpt

There I was jumping from the top of one tree to another. It wasn’t exactly as if I was flying, because I had to land on the top branch of each tree, but it sure felt like flying. Geese were following me and honking away like they were trying to warn me about something. But when I decided to forget about the tree tops and just fly, I fell hard to the ground thirty feet below and started rolling down the side of a hill while I was hiding my face in a pillow. I kept feeling the feathers from the goose down pillow sticking out and poking my cheeks and the side of my neck. Try as I might, I couldn’t pull that pillow off my face and it got to be stained with the blood coming out of me. But I kept rolling and rolling until I was stopped by something firm but soft. But by the time I finally pulled the pillow away from my face to see what or who had stopped me, I woke up and I never found out. That happens to me in dreams a lot. Wish it didn’t, though. What woke me up was my Uncle Ned telling me it was time to leave our house and get on the train to Cincinnati where we would get aboard the steamboat the St. Paul and head down to New Orleans. I was about to leave on the greatest adventure of my life. I swear by everything I ever owned that it will be the honest truth—even if I had to tell a few lies along the way to get to the meaning of that truth. Uncle Ned shouted from the front porch of our house in Oxford, Ohio, “Time to catch the train, Tick.” That’s my name—Tick—Tick Cooper. Or what they’ve always called me anyways. Uncle Ned said I’d always remember this day as long as I lived, but I still wrote it down when we got on the train in Hamilton so I’d be sure never to forget— “November the 1st, 1860.” We would ride some thirty-five miles to Cincinnati, the 2 largest city in the whole state. I’d a been on the train only once before—when the railway first opened, when I was six. But what gets a boy excited when he’s six and what gets him excited at twelve are quite different things—so this time I acted all grown up like I’d ridden the railroad every week. I didn’t jump around and bother Uncle Ned the way I did the first time. Even so, it was still pretty special chugging along in such high style. Nothing much happened on the train for the first twenty miles or so, but two more passengers got on and right afterward I heard some commotion going on in front of where we were sitting. “I say that’s my seat you’re sitting in. Get out of it now.” The man who said that was an elderly gent who looked like he had gotten into many tough scrapes in his life. He had long white hair and side whiskers, but what I grabbed my attention most was his scarred-up face. It looked like someone had dug trenches on his cheeks and above his right eye. And he seemed much bigger and stronger than men as old as he was. He was talking to a boy who looked younger than me—maybe nine or ten. The boy was in the seat by himself and was just too scared to say anything back. “You had better come up with a good reason why you took my seat or I’ll rip your nose right off your face, boy.” Because Uncle Ned had fallen asleep, it was up to me to do something. I just had to be sure that boy kept his nose on where it was, so I ran up to the man. “Excuse me, mister. My brother here is in the wrong seat. Come on, Ben. Your seat is back with us.” That boy almost flew out of the seat and headed to the back of the train car. “Excuse my brother, mister. He doesn’t hear well and sometimes I have to tell him things twice.” I turned and walked back to my seat, expecting that that white-haired old devil would 3 grab me and try to take my nose off. But he didn’t say or do anything. He just grunted and sat in the seat I guess he always sat in when he rode on that train. I found out that Ben’s real name was Peter Butler and that he was put on the train by his grandpap so he could take a steamboat from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh, where his mother, father, and baby sister had just settled in a house. I told him I’d look out for him until we reached Cincinnati, where his grandpap’s brother lived and would take him in for the night. We talked about the man with the scars on his face—I mean we talked softly so we wouldn’t wake Uncle Ned or let that old buzzard hear us. I told Peter that some folks believe they really own whatever they use often—cups, chairs, and such--and that it’s easy for someone big to get what they want from someone smaller, who can’t do anything about it. And if that big someone is also real ugly, it’s all the easier. When I told Peter my name, he wanted to know if I was born with it. I told him that when I was born my father named me John Polk Cooper, but those first two names never really suited me much. It was Aunt Clara who first called me “Tick” because when I was a baby I used to burrow into the blanket like a tick into a dog’s back. But the name really stuck when I started running around and hiding in bushes, old dead trees, and holes in the ground. I also like the sound of Tick Cooper better than John Cooper or John Polk Cooper any day of the week. One of my teachers said that Tick Cooper wasn’t as easy to pronounce as John or John Polk Cooper, because the first name ended with a “k” sound and the second name began with the same sound. But she was educated and I guess those things matter to those kinds of folks. Ben said that Polk was a funny name to be stuck with—and it was, but from what Uncle Ned told me I got my middle name because of the then president of the United States, James Polk, who they say kicked the Mexicans out of Texas and took it for the 4 United States. Uncle Ned said that my father thought Polk did the right thing, but from what Uncle Ned also told me, my father once shot a man in the leg who claimed that the twelve feet at the very back of my father’s land rightfully belonged to him. They say the man showed my father the papers, but my father shot him anyways, saying that it was the law that those who live on the land and cultivate it have all right to it. I guess old President Polk never heard of that law when he took Texas. So since I was born on March 3, 1848, I got stuck with a Polk between my first and last names. If I was born three years ago my name would have been John Buchanan Cooper, which was wore then the name I had. As Aunt Clara used to say, “Thank heaven for small favors.” When the train stopped in Cincinnati, we waited until the foul-looking man left the train car before we did. Uncle Ned woke up and finally met Peter, who thanked me for helping him and waited until he saw his grandpap’s brother before getting off the train. I wished he was going to New Orleans instead of Pittsburgh, because I knew I’d never see him again, but my Aunt Clara used to say that the older you get the more often folks would come in and then out of your life—sometimes on the very same day. Aunt Clara. I guess I forgot to say that she was Uncle Ned’s wife and was always like a mother to me, since my own mother died when I wasn’t yet two years old. I’m still very sad that Aunt Clara got real sick and died a few months back. The day before we left Oxford, we went to see her grave at the Old Yard Cemetery. Uncle Ned had been going there every week since she died, but he never made me go with him. I just did it on my own every few weeks or so, but it was more to be with Uncle Ned because I really wanted to go. Not that I’m afraid to visit the graves of all those dead people. I’ve been there after the sun went down with three of my friends and was the very last to run out of there, which won me the wool cap we found snagged on a tree limb the day before. 5 Anyway--at her grave, Uncle Ned told Aunt Clara that he’d be going away for a spell and he’d be thinking of her all the time. He also told her that he’d be taking me with him. She was so good to me—she really was. As soon as we got off the train, we heard a noise on the wooden platform—a kind of “ker-thump” every several second or so, so we looked around and saw a man who looked like he hadn’t shaved his whiskers in a hundred years limping along with a wooden crutch under his arm, which he dragged as he took a step with his good leg. Good leg? I should have said only leg! Uncle Ned reached in his pocket for a coin or two, which he liked to do whenever he saw someone who couldn’t walk or see too well. So I reached in mine and pulled out one of my two new Indian head pennies. My other one was back in my room at home, but I always carried one of them with me for good luck. But when I looked at the coin, I wanted to think that Uncle Ned’s contribution would be enough that the one-legged old soul wouldn’t hold it against me if I jammed my lucky coin back in my pocket. I sure didn’t want to be without luck on my grand adventure to New Orleans. But I didn’t think or act fast enough because the next thing I knew I had put my Indian head penny in the man’s hand. He closed his old fist around it, and I felt like I dropped my hunting rifle down a well. My stomach became as heavy as a cannon ball, and my throat felt as dry as if I had swallowed a campfire. Being charitable isn’t always “its own reward,” as Aunt Clara used to say. The poor man had only limped about ten feet away when two men in fancy clothes, with new top hats and walking sticks came up behind him and started laughing and pointing at his crutch. I guess these were men because they were dressed in all high fancy, but they acted like boys not much older than me. The one in the striped pants took his walking stick and swung it like he was chopping at a low limb and knocked the 6 crutch out from under the old man, who fell to the platform before I could take get close enough to break his fall. Those two dandified gents both burst out laughing as the old man let out one of them painful old man’s screeches, with a whistling sound—probably because he lacked some front teeth. The coins he had gotten from me, Uncle Ned, and some other kindly folks were scattered all over the platform. And then you know what those two popinjays did? They threw down several coins themselves! I couldn’t believe it. I guess they paid for the right to hurt the old man. Or maybe they did it to make sure their consciences wouldn’t bother them none. Uncle Ned told me once that some folks believe they can make up for their being cruel and thoughtless by giving money. And these two gents were nothing compared to what I’d see later on my adventure. But I’m running ahead of myself. When I went over to help up the old man, I saw my Indian head penny about six feet away, picking up the bright sunshine, which made it sparkle. When I got the crutch situated under the old man’s arm, I walked over and picked up the coin. I was afraid someone else would take it and use it to buy something useless. No. Now wait. That’s not all of it. I better come clean or this tale isn’t going to be worth you’re taking the time to read it if I don’t. To tell the honest truth, I picked up the coin mostly because I wanted to think more about his need for it, since four other folks gave the old man more money. I picked up my coin as the lame old man was walking away with the rest of the money that someone had picked up from the platform, along with the new coins just placed in his hand. I knew he wouldn’t miss my Indian head penny—not one bit--and seeing that it and the other penny back home were gifts from my Uncle Ned, I decided to put the penny back in my pocket. For about a second. I caught up with the old man and gave him my good-luck penny for a second time. Maybe I was wrong, but I just felt he needed the good luck 7 much more than I did. Then I heard Uncle Ned calling me, and that was the last I saw of my penny and the old man. But not the last I’d see of those two high-hatted, dandypants scoundrels who knocked the old man down.

About the Author

During his career as Professor of English at the University of Georgia, John Vance was the author of six books and numerous articles devoted to literary biography and criticism. He also began indulging his love of theater as actor, director, and playwright, with thirty-five of his plays staged. Now he has turned exclusively to fiction, and is the author of fourteen novels, including the humorous memoir Setting Sail for Golden Harbor and the recently BookBub featured In Mind of the Vampire. He lives in Athens, Georgia with his wife Susan.

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Room 11

~ Book Blitz ~

Room 11 by Mari.Reiza

 Women's Psychological Fiction

About the Book:

After an accident leaves his wife in a coma, he sits on a hospital chair day-in day-out singing to her. Nobody can pull him away from her as she threads through the rage that could save her. Meanwhile, a desperate nurse grows her admiration for him into obsessive desire.







Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon


Quotes
Anyone can see this man is drawn to his wife with fanatical intensity, beseeching God to give him sense so that he can reconcile the irreconcilable. Paradoxically, through him and his comatose wife I have a vision of order I can aim to, it comforts me to breathe the same air as this man, being part of his landscape. (nurse)

My mother is tight, neat, closed. I want to explode and scare her, show her the real me. I want her to see through to the real me. But I don’t dare, because whenever she’s around I revert to nothing. I wonder if the pain will go once she’s dead. Then I feel guilty. (wife)

He couldn’t learn to do her toes in a hundred years, and surely hopes he won’t have that long, so he gets someone else to come in once a week who also does her wax every three weeks. That’s how my patient’s heels are soft like a baby’s, unlike mine, which are cracked and tired of my body being on my feet all day. Her legs are smooth like silk, whilst sleeping next to me must feel like lying in bed with a horse brush.

‘I have not slept for nights, I have not slept for nights. I do not remember when I ate last, an apple on Thursday.’ I feel like my flow has dried and I can’t fly anymore. (wife)

The man in Room 11 is singing again as he keeps watch on his Salvador Dali girl dripping out of the canvas of the world. ‘We longed for a child but he was stillborn.’ Next he pauses and takes his eyes off me to look out of the window, so I cannot see the hollowness in them. ‘She suffered like a dog,’ he whispers. ‘But we’re ready now, when she comes back.’

Read a Snippet:

It’s not a very romantic arrangement I have with Dr. Patel. I don’t find him very attractive, with shoulders and hips like tatty coat hangers with a bit of old hairy flesh slapped on, and favourite hobbies including reading Stamp Collector’s Magazine and listening to Classic FM. The only ‘exciting’ thing he owns is a recent tattoo of an anchor over his left hip and God only knows what that’s about! It makes me puke the way he feels that I respect him more than fear what he may do if I don’t, ‘with an element of coquetry,’ as he puts it. He’s very proud that he’s helping me, proud of my little single storey house in a not too bad neighbourhood with one and a half bedrooms and a bathroom large enough for a proper bath. He loves soaking in my bath he calls his, reading his Stamp Collector’s Magazine whilst I rub his back. My living room has a fireplace with a mantelpiece where I display a picture of me in my university gown, flanked by my parents. The frame is good quality but slightly hidden amongst towers of pink and purple novel spines screaming love. But I don’t have a picture of the man I loved back in Ghana. Dr. Patel teases me enough already about my university photo, about being a near-doctor by training yet spending my life cleaning hospital floors, and he would tease me more if he knew that I’m still in love with a man who was cut to pieces back home years ago. I know that my humiliations excite him. (nurse)


About the Author:

Mari.Reiza was born in Madrid in 1973. She studied at Oxford University and worked as an investment research writer and management consultant for twenty years in London, before becoming an indie fiction writer. Also by her, Inconceivable Tales, Death in Pisa, Sour Pricks, A Pack of Wolves, STUP, Mum, Watch Me Have Fun!, Marmotte’s Journey, West bEgg, Room 11, Triple Bagger, Caro M, Opera, the Retreat, sells sea shells and aberri (homeland), all available on Amazon.



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THE TALENTED 2

I am so excited that THE TALENTED 2 by Desy Smith is out now and I wanted to share the news!

If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book by Author Desy Smith, be sure to check out all the details below.

This blitz also includes a giveaway for a $10 Amazon, International, courtesy of Desy and Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, enter in the Rafflecopter at the bottom of this post.

About the Book:

Title: THE TALENTED 2

Author: Desy Smith

Pub. Date: April 8, 2019

Publisher: Floebe Publishing

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 315

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon

I'm back and better than every with my memory intact, mind you.

After learning that Flame, the guy whose sexiness I can't stop admiring is my equal. I would have loved, a few days alone with him. Of course, I never get what I want. Instead, the world, is about to end per usual, because my brother Lucifer, has escaped Hell, again. This time he's stationed himself outside my company, where he's most likely going to kill Queen Isabelle. Sigh. It's up to me to save the day, once more.

Follow Carmel, the Water Talent/Angel for the continuation of her journey in The Talented Kingdom. Where she discovers, she has an equal, meets her son, and the King's Council. While think of some way to stop Lucifer from ending the world.

 About Book 1:

Title: THE TALENTED

Author: Desy Smith

Pub. Date: February 6, 2019

Publisher: Floebe Publishing

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 65

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon

Picture this, it’s your last night on the cruise ship. One would expect to drop it like it’s hot one more time or summon the courage to get up on stage and sing the karaoke song you choose days ago.

Of course, I didn't get the chance to partake in any of that, and I should be disappointed or even upset but I’m not, you see I anticipated this. As soon as he, Flame, also known as King Ezekiel’s right-hand man, boarded the ship, I knew without a doubt, something was going to happen.

So when the ship begins to sink, I don’t panic. I jump straight into action. You see, I’m not human, I’m referred to as Talented which are Angels. No, we don’t have wings, well not all of us anyway, and no our appearance is not human. We’re colorful, literally.

Now what I didn’t expect was for Flame to drag me to The Talented Kingdom under false pretenses, no less. If he didn’t make me tingle in weird places, I would have strangled him when he first boarded the ship.

I suppose going to The Talented Kingdom, isn’t bad. I mean, I’ll be around my people, and possibly get to see Flame butt naked. Which is great right? But something is telling me not to go and I don’t know why. Oh well, I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there, that’s if I don’t die first or fall into another coma.

Join Carmel in her world of The Talented, where nothing is what it seems. Angels and Demons are constantly at war with each other and themselves. And the four elements, water, fire, earth and air are controlled and manipulated by the Talented. These aren’t the angels from your bible.

About Desy:

Desy Smith, MFA, is a paranormal romance author and English teacher who is on a mission to expand her readers' minds and create unique worlds that they can escape to through the power of storytelling. Her poignant writing style features sassy heroines, urban drama, angels, wolves, demons, witches, and sensual scenes.

Born, raised and based in Dallas, Desy spent most of her childhood picking apart movies and books. Her mother and her affinity for all things supernatural also really drove Desy to dabble in life's unknowns and use her imagination. Ultimately, this led her to writing stories of her own at just 10 years of age. After her release of "The Talented (The Messenger Series)" this February, she will be working on book number three, and plans on writing until her last breath.

Currently, Desy is the Founder of Floebe Publishing, where she publishes her own and other writers' short stories (of 15,000 words max) with the busy reader in mind. She also provides complimentary creative writing advice to her fellow word weavers.

When she doesn't have a pen or book in hand, Desy Smith is a movie buff and foodie with an unquenchable sweet tooth (having a gluten allergy makes things a bit tricky). She also isn't much of a whistler and has a round face (people like pinching her cheeks any chance they get). With her "carpe diem" mindset towards life, she looks forward to exposing her readers to realms unseen.

Goodreads | Amazon Author Page

Giveaway Details:

1 winner will win a $10 Amazon or B&N gift card, International.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Scepters of Empyrea by Vignesh Ravichandran

~Book Blitz~

 Scepters of Empyrea

A Journey to the Andromeda Galaxy

by Vignesh Ravichandran 

About the Book:

Empyrea, an island in the Andromeda galaxy belonging to planet Vathura is serene. Everywhere your eyes turn, you will feast on the lovely birds singing their heart out in the lush green vegetation. Osiris Mysterio ruled the regions of Empyrea with his brother Tyrant Seth and with their children Pitheceus Babi, Kraity Wadjet, and Horus Mysterio.

5000 years ago, the ancient Egyptians were the only humans to receive the invitation to enter Empyrea. They gladly on-boarded into a Pegasus chariot and took their journey to Empyrea. Their journey is indescribable. Empyrea by itself was like a fairy-tale garden, an ocean of flowers and exotic trees.

As the Egyptians went further inside Empyrea, they saw its netherworld. They had mixed feelings when they saw the triangle shaped tombs and the bizarre headhunting people. Empyrea also had the blood-curdling creatures like the deadly dinosaurs, gigantic snakes, furious apes, ruthless rhino’s, massive mastodons and many other creepy creatures. This showed the power of the Empyrean Army and that no other army could survive their wrath.

The Emperor Osiris and the kings ruled Empyrea with powerful Scepters. With those powers, they were not only considered as kings but also worshipped as Lords. The Lords with the help of their scepter had the crucial power to transform themselves into giant creatures.

Egyptians while departing from Empyrea was gifted with a shortcut portal to earth and also with some people and creatures of Empyrea to build the Empramids in Egypt. Overwhelmed with happiness they took the shortcut door and returned to Egypt.

However, the happiness was short-lived in Empyrea. The Empire of Empyrea was betrayed for ruling earth avariciously. Somehow the Emperor of Empyrea locked the shortcut portal and asked the Egyptians to safeguard it. The Egyptians, on the other hand, failed to safeguard the portal. And some gangsters accidentally opened the shortcut door in 2017 A.D, entered Empyrea, and inadvertently got access to the Lord scepters.

So, now the Earthians were left with no choice but to battle against the merciless predators and headhunting people in their heroic journey. Their ultimate fate lied in an empire beyond imagination. They would take their stand against the powerful lords, who brutally led their people to war against planet Earth.

Did the gangsters protect the earth from danger, or left the other world to accomplish their tyrant rule on Earth? Explore the world of Empyrea to unravel the truth behind this mystery.

Book Links:

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Book Trailer:

War Arrays:

About the Author:

Vignesh Ravichandran is the author of the book Scepters Of Empyrea: A Journey to the Andromeda Galaxy. He  did his Masters in Business Administration from a leading Business School and  presently working as a Human Resource professional in a leading software organization in Chennai. He wrote this debut novel with the story line which he experienced in his nightmare 7 years ago.

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

Poetry Dead to Society

Poetry

Date Published:  October 2018

Publisher: Page Publishing

All types of poetry; love, romance, life's journey, religion, heartbreak, and even hatred and anger that will amaze and stun readers. It's guaranteed to open your mind's eye.

Poetry Dead to Society written to awaken the life of poetry within our society.

Excerpt

Not A Care To Fall

Dedicated to the city of Wichita Falls, Texas

I am in sorrow

I am in pain

I'm all alone

They're all insane

Here in the city

The city of the falls

The city that's fallen

The city that falls

It's depressing

It's despair

It's dislike

In this city

This city of falls

There's nothing to do

There's nothing to play

There's nothing to say

And I always pay

There's no one here

No one but nobodies

And all the nobodies

Don't care

They think that they're somebody

Of this city

This city of nothing

This city of fallen hell

I want to go

I want to live

I want to die

I want to leave

I am in sorrow

I am in pain

I'm all alone

And no one seems to care

I'm tired of this world

This world of damnation

This world of despair

I just don't give a care

Not anymore

It's too damn depressing

The lies they tell

The games they play

In our heads

I'm tired of the lies

The uncare

The despair

The eyes

The trips

The rips

The tares

The dares

I just don't care

All I want is to die

To live!

About the Author

Cee Jay Spring was born in New Orleans Louisiana in 1979. He grew up in Houma Louisiana and Wichita Falls Texas. He had moved to Texas at the age of nine with his mother and four sisters and lived there till he turned eighteen, when he moved back to Louisiana. He had started writing poetry at the age of ten. He's always loved creative writing for as long as he could remember. He lives in his hometown of Houma now and is now working on his second and third books of poetry. He enjoys writing poetry, listening to music, and reading for fun. He loves watching movies and hanging with family. He works nights in the Private Security sector.

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Physical

~ Book Blitz ~

Physical by Mari.Reiza

 Women's Psychological Fiction

About the Book:

A feminist read that won’t disappoint. 

In a small town in Italy, Kiki feels worthless and angry when her longtime partner finds a new cool girl to ride on another decade of easy existence. Meanwhile in London, Fátima, the wife of Kiki’s best friend, is losing her selfhood after giving birth to twins and being made redundant. Both heroines are determined to rebuild the passion and impunity of their youth, vitalizing desires that will bring them to risk everything.





Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon


Read an Excerpt:

‘You have to stop calling me!’ I said, answering the phone in a rage.
‘We could maybe go on holiday together for a few days?’ he replied in an appeasing, almost a supplicating voice. ‘If that is what you want.’
‘Have I said that is what I want?’ I was taken aback.
I didn’t remember being delirious enough with pleasure at the time of our last encounter to have said something I would later forget. Where were we going? Somewhere exciting? Five kilometres away to the Montello? By bus? Would his mother come this time too? ‘Is that what you want?’ I finally asked.
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘I’m not sure I could bear it,’ I replied more calmly. I pitied him but I had to come clean, there was no point in lengthening the ordeal and I felt so much more courageous on the phone than I had with him in person.
‘Why not?’ he seemed genuinely surprised. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘You want a list?’ I replied quickly, before the opportunity could be lost.
He asked me to take down an address and a time, the old fashioned way, on a piece of paper, and think about it. ‘Maybe you will change your mind…’ He had probably seen the trick done on a novella on TV, his mother sitting next to him. At least he would not call back. Good riddance.
Still. I was really in shit. I knew I was in my deepest ever sexual identity crisis

About the Author:

Mari.Reiza was born in Madrid in 1973. She studied at Oxford University and worked as an investment research writer and management consultant for twenty years in London, before becoming an indie fiction writer. Also by her, Inconceivable Tales, Death in Pisa, Sour Pricks, A Pack of Wolves, STUP, Mum, Watch Me Have Fun!, Marmotte’s Journey, West bEgg, Room 11, Triple Bagger, Caro M, Opera, the Retreat, sells sea shells and aberri (homeland), all available on Amazon.



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