Featured Book: High Wind to Idaho by Rod Barclay

SYNOPSIS

Most people believe that the United States has never been bombed. This is not true! During world War II, around 300 balloon bombs, out of 9,000 launched from Japan, landed on the United States and Western Canada. They rode on the Pacific trade winds, just as Yoshi does in this new Middle grade historical novel “High wind to Idaho” just released by Amazon.
His secret balloon carries no bombs, only a scared 13 year old boy on a joy-ride that goes terribly wrong. He really wasn’t supposed to take it up, only help his uncle test it for the Japanese Army. Instead, he ends up crashing on a farm in Idaho in the midst of the first UFO scare in the US. This is in 1896. This was a full-blown scare, with newspapers full of ghostly airship sightings and Martian abductions.
Luckily for Yoshi, he survives the crash, saved by Billy, also 13, his mom and younger sister. He fears if the US government finds out about the balloon, they will force him to tell the balloon’s secrets. To do so would betray his family’s Samurai Honor. He vows to return to Japan, or if found out, commit hara-kiri, just like his great uncle Saburu.
He must get back to Japan before anyone finds out about his balloon. He and Billy’s family concoct a plan to escape the clutches of the local sheriff and nosy neighbors, and go by train to San Francisco to find a relative who might help him return and apologize to his uncle. Their plan is thwarted by a vengeful Japanese Army Officer, sent to bring him back in disgrace. In the meantime, news of the balloon has been leaked to the press and the Pinkerton Detective Agency is on Yoshi’s trail, hired by the US Army Intelligence Service.
Trapped in a dingy room, with the police getting closer, Yoshi sees no other way out than to commit Hara-kiri, but is rescued just in time by the Japanese officer. They return to Japan, undetected, for Yoshi to make amends to his Uncle.
As the story begins, Billy is now a Forest Ranger during WWII, called to inspect a downed balloon bomb in the Oregon forest, and it looks suspiciously like Yoshi’s balloon of forty-six years ago. Is Yoshi, his friend, responsible for this terrible weapon? The postscript, set in 1942 Japan, give us the answer.

Buy links     Amazon

Excerpt

Yoshi lay down on the futon pad in his room later that night, thinking about all the work he had done for his uncle and how he had now been reduced to a lowly helper.
“I know I can fly that balloon. I don’t need a stuck-up army officer to supervise me,” he muttered. “People in America are free to do almost anything. That is what Father William says. If I was there, I would be free to fly any balloon I wanted.”
The more he thought about the airship just sitting out there, ready to go, the more he became convinced he had to show his uncle that he could fly it. His uncle would then have to let him make longer, more important flights. He would become a famous aviator and make demonstration flights all over the world.
“I just have to do it!” he exclaimed.
At four o’clock, as the eastern sky dawned, he got dressed quietly in a shirt and hakama, trousers, and tiptoed to the kitchen in his tabi socks, geta in hand. The servants had put together some food in a wicker hamper for the flight.
He left the house and sneaked over to the laboratory, looking out for Old Taiji. There he was, in a little shed outside the laboratory, reading a paper. His long white hair and stringy beard took on a golden glow from the lantern by his side. As soon as the watchman’s head start to nod, Yoshi ran quickly to the airship. It swayed gently in the breeze; the ropes that held it to the ground were taut. It seemed to Yoshi that the craft longed to be set free, just as he longed to be her pilot.
He climbed up the ladder into the gondola and stowed the food hamper.
All the gear was just as they left it. He had brought a padded jacket for extra warmth, and matches to light the lantern. He was ready.
Or was he? Suddenly he started to tremble at the thought of what he was about to do. Uncle Takahashi would surely be angry after what he had said to the lieutenant; Aunt Yasue would be upset; Lt. Itani would be insulted. But still, his desire to fly the balloon drove him on.
It wouldn’t be any safer with the lieutenant on board, he thought. I would have to tell him what to do, and I’ll have landed before they know what has happened.
Reassured, he started to untie the tether ropes: First the one on the port side, then on the starboard side. He hesitated before letting go of the stern rope. Was he ready to face the consequences of what he was about to do? Was he ready to face an angry uncle, an enraged lieutenant, a disappointed aunt? There was a piercing noise.

About the Author

Rod Barclay has always been curious; as a kid taking clocks and radios apart, exploring museums, peeking in on foundries and manufacturing shops. He lived in England as a boy, and later in California. He studied Radar, Industrial Design and Engineering, working in the computer and electronics industry.
Writing came later, with a desire to bring together learning and adventure, especially for boys.
His stories are mainly historical adventure that relate to his experiences and interests.
As well as writing stories, his recent activities have involved restoring old cars, (A 1953 MGTD from England and a 1953 Studebaker Hardtop, designed by the noted Industrial Designer, Raymond Loewy), ceramics, metal clay jewelry, and working in the field with his ‘Best Buddy’, Maru, a miniature wire-haired Dachshund.
Rod lives near Denton, Texas, with his other ‘Best Buddy,’ his wife, Nancy and two more miniature wire-haired Dachshunds, Wrinkles and Lexie.

Connect with Rod online

Facebook: www.facebook.com/highwindride
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/7110026.Rod_Barclay
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Ambitious or just plain insane?

Source: Facebook

For many of us (writers that is) November is NaNoWriMo month. We register on 1 October, plan our novel until 29 October, then we start panicking on the 31^st. When 1 November rolls around you are either jumping up and down with excitement, or hyperventilating in a brown bag.

Sound familiar? Yes, you have been there and probably have the T-Shirt to show for it. And it is an achievement to be proud of. A whole month of writing, neglecting our families, our homes and possibly even our pets because that 50k is not easy. Does give you a newfound respect for those authors who do this for a living, doesn’t it?

This year I started my fourth NaNoWriMo. Although I am not a planner, there are some things that have to be in place even for the pantser in me. At the very least I have to know where to start, who my characters are, where my story is taking place and what genre I am aiming for.

Since I am writing a series of novels, some of these aspects are clear, others are flowing on from the first two books, and some will be a surprise, just as I want them to be. I chain my muse to the wall, send my internal editor on a sinking ship to China and tell my husband to buy pizza more often than usual. Not an unfamiliar situation for most of us, I am sure.

But November 2014 turned out to be a different kettle of fish. There has been general consensus that I went off the deep end, and struck my head when I hit the bottom! And during this second week of November, I am inclined to agree.

You see, I enrolled not only to take part in NaNoWriMo, but also NaNonFiWriMo. That might be an unfamiliar acronym, and quite unpronounceable too, but it is the non-fiction equivalent of NaNoWriMo.

It is insane I know, but my third novel is on a go or no go path. If I cannot finish the first draft this year, it is going straight into file 13, locked and sealed. My non-fiction book has not seen much progress for a whole year, and that is becoming a real pain too.

So I made the decision: do or die! November will see the completed first drafts, or I stop wasting my time on both these projects and move on to something else. There are after all sixty eight more manuscripts on my computer that are in various stages of completion.

To NaNo or not to NaNo is not the question, it is the answer of which level of insane I want my life to be in November. Harrr!

Have you done both at the same time? Tell us about your NaNoWriMo experiences.

Featured Book: Time's Tempest by MJ Moores

Synopsis

Taya
A loyal and dedicated government contractor extraordinaire, learns of the fate of the planet while on a top-secret job working as a lab tech for a disreputed scientist.

Dezmind
A Talian government dissenter who claims the only way to save their dying world is to trust a set of ancient documents lost long ago in the forbidding Deserts.

Zaith
A reporter covering the story of a lifetime following a lead that could mean more than breaking the biggest story to hit the planet since the Nine Seas Massacre.

Fate, destiny and truth collide with 2000 year old secrets the government will do anything to keep buried. When Taya is forced to accept a contract that will be a death sentence for anyone involved, she unwittingly becomes a catalyst in a game she never wanted to play. As she leads a false prophet and his followers on a mission doomed from the start, she learns far more about herself and her world than she ever thought possible.

Buy links   Amazon (e-book)     Amazon (print)     Waterstones (print)

Excerpt
Zaith bit her lower lip. We had an arrangement: I was never an official source for her stories. But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. The theories Professor Denali was so close to proving kept ricocheting around in my head. History and some ancient supposed chronicles were not going to solve this problem.
The Talian countered with a fierce passion lacing his every word. “Clues were left behind on the Ancient Tablets preserved in the Museum of Darius. We need to study them, analyse them, and form a band of Kahn-lea. With the information we gather, we’ll take to the Deserts and retrieve the Chronicles. Legend states that the ‘pure one’ upon finding them, will be granted the sight of old.”
Something clicked in the back of my mind: Legends – not facts. There is no substance here. “Bedtime stories, dreams and fantasies are all that’s left of the truth behind the Ancient Tablets and Chronicles. No one could ever know if what they risked their lives for was real, or if they were even looking in the right area of the Deserts. There’s no need for all this blather about your Spoken Truth.”
Chatter rose among the audience.
“Who is she?”
“Why is she challenging the Talian?”
“Is she right?”
“Why doesn’t she believe?”
The Talian held up his hand for silence, never once breaking eye contact with me. “We will never know when we’ll face the end of our existence. We’d be fools if we did nothing and died because of it. The Kronik, the supposed men of my race, continue to flounder, hide, and avoid the problem. It’s our turn now. This is a time for believers and doers.”
The crowd agreed with him, dismissing me entirely. They refilled the space between us. My skin pricked cold. My spine tingled and itched. This was not over. The Kronik may not be handling this problem publicly, but they have been dealing with life and death issues since the Great Migration over two thousand years ago.
He has no idea of the damage he’ll cause – the death sentence for anyone involved. And they believe him! Didn’t they hear him? He said “take to the Deserts!” He has to be stopped.
My body vibrated with fury. His disregard for the sanctity of life shattered my common sense. I couldn’t let these people be led to the slaughter.
As he spoke about the forming of a legion of Kahn-lea, the ancient term coined for a band of citizens dubbed ‘Explorers of Fate’, I opened my belt-pack and retrieved my Clinex. The small, round, reflective weapon emitted plasma bursts to a range of 300 yards. It would get the job done. Though it was a CTF-issued weapon, it was compact and discrete. No one would see it coming, no one but Zaith would know it was mine.
Zaith, oblivious to my actions, continued to carefully record the first sighting of a Talian in public since before the two of us were born.
Grasping the Clinex in my left hand, I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. Then, stepping back I opened my eyes again and took aim.

About the Author

Growing up in Ontario, Canada, M.J. was the only child of a single mom. M.J.’s passion for the arts ignited at a young age as she wrote adventure stories and read them aloud to close family and friends. The dramatic arts became a focus in high school as an aid to understanding character motivation in her writing. Majoring in Theatre Production at York University, with a minor in English, she went on to teach both elementary and high school for 10 years throughout Simcoe County.
M.J. currently lives with her husband and young son in Caledon, Ontario. She keeps busy these days with her emerging authors’ website Infinite Pathways: hosting writing contests, providing editing services, free publicity tips, book reviews, and opportunities for authors to build their writing platform and portfolio. In addition she writes articles and freelance edits between bouts of personal writing and novel crafting. Time’s Tempest: The Chronicles of Xannia (1) is M.J.’s debut science fiction novel. She firmly believes that if she hadn’t been born a Virgo, she wouldn’t be half as organized as she needs to be to get everything done.

Connect With M.J. Online

website: http://mjmoores.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/AuthorMJMoores

website: http://infinite-pathways.org

Twitter: @AuthorMJMoores

Featured Book: Newborn Nazi by Rhoda D'Ettore

"This family is amazing! A Nazi spy. A future SS officer. A brother in America oblivious to everything. And a sister who would kill us all." 

Germany, 1934 -- SS officers entered the house of Hedwig Schultz and ripped her 14 year old brother, Edmund, from her arms. He has been selected for an elite division of the Hitler Youth that will train him for indoctrination into the feared SS.
Horrified, Hedwig enlists the help of her brother in America to thwart Nazi plans regarding the Final Solution of the Jewish people. It becomes a cat and mouse game as the family enters a world of Nazi spies, double agents and the Underground movement. All the while, Hedwig must prevent their brother, Edmund, from becoming suspicious. One report of treason to his Hitler Youth instructors would result in death... or worse.

Buy Links      AMAZON        SMASHWORDS  

The Story Behind Newborn Nazi

Most authors are inspired by real occurrences or people. Newborn Nazi is based on a family legend of a real family who faced life altering circumstance and then vowed to stand by principles of what was right and what was wrong. Remember, the book is fiction. The family was not involved with murder or Nazi spies. They were, however, involved with the Underground movement to assist Jewish families and those of other orientations get out of Germany. What is important is that Hedwig and Edmund lived, and because of them, many others did as well.

THE REAL STORY: Twelve year old Edmund was forcibly removed from the family home and chosen for an elite division of the Hitler Youth. Boys were being groomed to become SS officers upon adulthood. The real Hedwig was so outraged by the actions of the Third Reich that she began housing Jewish families and even American soldiers during the later days of the war. Although her brother was torn between his loyalties for his sister and that of the Third Reich, Edmund used his position to protect his sister. And in essence, he protected the lives of those she helped. In real life, Edmund died on the Russian front in 1941. The Gestapo eventually stormed Hedwig's home in search of “deviants”. An American uniform was found by the soldiers and when questioned, Hedwig replied, “My brother sent them as souvenirs.” The quick thinking woman stood in front of her fireplace mantle where her brother's picture and memorial flag rested. The officer in charge saw the picture then ordered the men to leave. “This is a house of mourning, and you will not be disturbed again.” She spent the rest of the war working with the Underground. Not one time was she ever searched or questioned after that fateful day. Hedwig always believed her brother was still watching over her, protecting her.

About the Author

Rhoda D'Ettore was born and raised in the Philadelphia suburbs of southern New Jersey. She comes from a family with five siblings, raised by her widowed mother. She has a degree in Human & Social Servies and minored in History/Politics.  She makes it a point to volunteer and donate to charitable organizations--especially for military families, children  and animals. $1 of every sale will be donated to the National Military Family Association.
As a 15 year veteran with the United States Postal Service, her first work is a compilation of crazy, humorous things postal workers must endure--including alligators, human heads and bombs in the mail.  This story was such a hit she has gone on to publish three paperbacks, three audiobooks and 10 ebooks.  Her writing usually encompasses historical writings set in the Philadelphia area, her own family legends and humorous anecdotes.  Her favorite quote: "I don't plan the stories or they would be predictable. I first think what I can do to mess up the character's life, and then I ask myself how I can shock the reader."

Connect with Rhoda online

Twitter: @rhodadettore

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rhodadettore

Website: www.rhodadettore.com

Featured Book: Ghostly Visitations and Southern Destinations by Anthony Renfro

There comes a moment in all our lives when we sit back and do a mental inventory. We, in essence, see our lives flash before our eyes. Parson Slang was taking that mental inventory as he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting, a box of shells beside him and hands within reach of a shotgun that would end a human life. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. The deal is done once the body goes cold. There was no turning back … 
Parson was, at one point in time, a warehouse worker. A simple day to day guy, and then that Golden Pirate showed up with the map leading to buried treasure. Parson had debated about it for a good long time, but the chance to wind up rich in this world was too much for him to pass up. So he took the next step, and journeyed beyond his front door, into this new life where he found himself sitting on a bed with a shotgun in his hand, waiting for the door to open. 

Buy Link   Amazon

Excerpt

Parson Slang woke up and opened his eyes. Something was strange about the night. The thick darkness was now invaded with light. No. It wasn’t light. It was illumination. This illumination hung over him, soft, creamy white. It oozed and pulsed as it highlighted his half exposed body, where a cold sweat had started to form.
A sharp gust of wind cracked the window causing Parson to jump and he knew what you may or may not already know. Something was standing by his bed waiting for him to turn and see. To see what, Parson wasn’t sure. The mind raced with possibilities. Anything and everything could have crawled up out of the dark and formed while he slept. With hesitation Parson turned, turned to see the horror that had awakened him from his dreams.
Standing beside the bed was the ghost of a pirate. This pirate stood about six feet tall, and he was decked out like a pirate from head to toe. He had long dread locks for hair, a shaggy black beard, and a red feather sticking out of his hat. He wore pirate clothes and boots the color of gold. If you wanted a cliché pirate to look at, then this guy was your guy.
Parson didn’t hesitate or pause when he saw the apparition. He flew across the king size bed (more cushion for the loving) and onto the floor with a hard thud. His butt hit the floor first, and then his head hit the wall. Parson looked up at the unmoving pirate who just stood there with its cold dark empty eyes, deep and haunting. It didn’t speak or make any gestures before it just poofed out, leaving a lingering white mist in the room which also disappeared.
Parson was speechless.

He got up off the floor (this part is important) and ran, not walked, over to the light switch. Light flooded the room as he stood there planted to the wall, cold sweat drying on his back. There was no one there. The pirate was gone.
Parson checked the clock. It was just after 4 in the morning, and work would be calling by 7. He checked his sleep impulses and realized they were gone. The sleep he would have had tonight was done.
The wind howled again, and this time Parson could have sworn there was a voice on the wind – PAAAAARRRRRRRSSSSSSOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNN – it said.
He ignored the voice as he slipped on a shirt and walked into the hallway (another light turned on) and then into the kitchen (more light). He made coffee, had breakfast, and then waited for the day to arrive.
The day passed as usual from that point forward, 7 A.M.-4:30 P.M., typical warehouse
work, nothing special to see here folks.
Once the day was finished, a tired and aching Parson drove 7 miles back to his
house and parked in his gravel driveway. He shut off the car and looked at his house, the white structure, no bigger than a trailer. It had been such a peaceful house before the pirate showed up. Now when he saw his home, the word “haunted” was all that sprang to mind.
Parson got out of his car, and he looked over at the dying winter sun. The world would go dark and cold pretty soon, and he still needed to get a run in. The wind gusted, and Parson braced himself against it.

He found his feet and walked up to the door. He took out the key and pushed it into the lock and turned. He was sure he would see that pirate on the other side of the door. He was sure that pirate would be standing there with those empty eyes staring back at him.
He opened the door slowly; and then, when he found the courage, he shoved it open all the way – hard! The door banged against the wall. No pirate to be seen, just his house filled with the light of a dying day.
Parson went inside and closed the door behind him. He was concerned with getting in a run before the weather turned bad, so he focused on that as he went into the bedroom. He grabbed his running gear and then walked over to the calendar. He always did this before he ran. It was self mojo, and it worked.
Parson stared at the calendar and the circle he had placed on it. In that circle was this statement 10K (6.2 Miles). He sighed, “Never going to make that goal.”

About the Author
Anthony lives in Apex, North Carolina. He is the self-published author of multiple short stories and the novel "Ghostly Visitations and Southern Destinations." He is a reader, writer, runner, husband, father, and stay at home dad - one of the toughest jobs anyone could ever do.

Connect with Anthony online

Goodreads: 

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6469341.Anthony_Renfro

Blogs: 

http://azombiefortheholidays.wordpress.com/

http://apoetryjourney.wordpress.com/

Amazon Page:

http://www.amazon.com/Anthony-Renfro/e/B0075Q5G4C/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1