A Deep And Gorgeous Thirst

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A Deep and Gorgeous Blog Tour

Pitch

A 3-point pitch, why I truly believe this book can reach a few new readers who otherwise never considered themselves fans of poetry: First: It’s about drinking! The good, the bad, and the ugly of it. The raucous, drunken, mad, idiotic, regrettable, and joyous escapades. And I truly believe that, if your thirst is as deep and gorgeous as mine, if you and your friends have a few drunken tales of your own, then this book will be a helluva lot of fun. Second: It’s not about drinking at all. I mean, yeah, sure, every poem has booze in it, but it merely serves as the lens through which a much bigger, more complex tapestry is woven. This book, like all art really, is about just two things: love and death, that profoundly joyous and terrible human predicament. The booze is just easier to see! Look deeper and you’ll find a book that is vulnerable and tortured, lost and confused, and in the next turn crazy, cackling, swaggering, and unhinged. The final result is a fractured, poetic mosaic– a spiritual journey that has walked through the existential Badlands and forged, from them, a proud, hard-won redemption. Lastly: It’s funny! Its like a fortune cookie my brother once chose: “If you can’t laugh at your own life, then it isn’t much.” Damn straight. All these stories testify to the utter jackassery we are all (hopefully) capable of. “Some people never go crazy,” says Bukowski, “what truly horrible lives they must lead.” So, if you’ve ever been drunk, if you’ve ever been insane, or lost, or too loud; if you’ve ever been lusty, or desperate; if you’ve ever been a little salty with authority; if you’ve ever struggled with love or no love; if you’ve done something you regret, or wished you’d done a helluva lot more to regret– you’ll find something hilarious and familiar in this book. And, sure, poetry isn’t everyone’s thing, but this is as approachable as poetry gets. There’s nothing terribly pompous or exclusionary, nothing opaque, or snooty. It’s a humble, human book, a book to laugh at, laugh with, and in the end drink to! And you should. I hope you will,

Biography

Hosho McCreesh is currently writing & painting in the gypsum & caliche badlands of the American Southwest. His work has appeared widely in print, audio, & online.

From A Deep & Gorgeous Thirst

And when you

walk in, your buddy

is in the middle of his

glorious story about

the time he was

zonked on mushrooms

and broken down

out on a lonesome

desert highway.

“The kind where you’d

sell your soul to the devil,”

he says, and he says it was cold,

so cold, and they’d busted

a drive shaft on the truck,

so they were walking

back to town

swaddled in the

sheepskin seat covers.

“Like human burritos,

with our heads sticking out of

the headrest holes,” he says.

And the girls are all

riveted, and wide-eyed,

and laughing when

one of them

finally notices you.

“Hey, how are you?” she says.

“Oh, hell! don’t know,” you say,

“fair to middling, I guess.

Just trying to make my way

through this hard

goddamned life.”

And she gives you a

curious little look.

“Well well well,” she says,

“let me guess

you must be

the writer.”

And you smile,

take a hero-gulp

of your first Guinness

without breaking

eye contact with

this saucy minx,

this cute girl

you’ve decided to

be in love with

tonight.

The Candidate’s Daughter Book Blitz.

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pitch

Pitch

The plan is simple: kidnap the daughter of Senate candidate Richard McClaine, take the money and run. Nobody gets hurt, the kid goes home alive. Twenty-two-year-old car thief Kelsey Money thinks it’s the worst idea Matt and his drug-fueled brother have ever come up with. But Matt’s the planner. He’s the one Kelsey has always depended on. Then she discovers she only knew half the plan. By the time she finds out the rest, she’s been framed for murder, and six-year-old Holly McClaine won’t be going home alive. Across town, Elizabeth McClaine has no idea what her daughter was wearing when she disappeared. When Holly was born with Down syndrome and a cleft palate, Elizabeth placed her only child in the care of a nanny while she fought post-natal depression. But when Holly is kidnapped and Elizabeth discovers the detective leading the hunt has already failed one kidnapped child, Elizabeth knows she cannot fail hers. Now both women have twenty-four hours to find Holly. Because in twenty-five, she’ll be dead. The Candidate’s Daughter is a fast paced thriller of love and loss, failure and redemption, of mothers and daughters, and the bonds that hold them.

Review

Embark on a journey of utterly believable intrigue toward a nail-biting show-down that’ll have you screaming “get’m, oh get’m, please”, until the very last world-erupting word. An emotional freight train running at an unprecedented pace into unfathomable darkness. A place of ice cold emptiness. A hollowed-out-heart. A wicked barren pit. You feel all this in the mother’s pain, tangibly. You will hear a crinkle of paper, loud enough to set your teeth on edge, as she crunches up her heartfelt void right in front of you! Yet, it has rhythm, a speed to it that layers warmth to melt straight through the ice at the base of the tale. I felt myself rooting for the heroine(s) vocally(very loudly, in fact). At various intersections, I found my hands in fists of sheer anticipation. The suspense nearly killed me. I was so very involved in the story I dreaded its finale, now isn’t that something? Incredibly eloquent, you’ll be marveling at phrase after phrase of first class, sparkling writing; could I say more? Catherine Lea stitched me right into the fabric of her story without me even noticing that she had; the mark of a truly gifted author.

Bio

Biography

Catherine lives with her daughter, and a fox terrier that thinks he owns the house. She has sold international satellite capacity, worked in IT recruitment, and run her own communications store.

When Catherine isn’t writing, she’s dog-wrangling, wrestling with technology, or going crazy trying to maintain control of the yard.

THE CANDIDATE’S DAUGHTER is her first published work.

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Bloom by Martin Kee :- Book Blitz

Author Bio

Pitch

Tennyson Middlebrook never considered himself a storyteller. The fairy tales he invented for his childhood friend Allison were only meant as a distraction from their troubled lives. For Tennyson, the stories were a whim, meant only to offer comfort in a bleak time of mass extinction and despair. The characters in his stories never even had names… But Lil’it is real, if not quite human.

She is feh, a non-person, existing in a fractured world of hoarded knowledge where the simple act of writing is a crime punishable by death. At best she is property; at worst she is an exotic commodity, something to be sold off to rich, superstitious lords and bankers who would use her organs as aphrodisiacs. She lives in a cage, kept as a pet, her saliva a pathogen used to concoct potions. But when she is sold to the prince of a kingdom as a plaything, she discovers her world is much bigger, more dangerous, and far more terrifying than she had ever imagined from inside the safety of her prison. Tennyson’s world has been afflicted by bloom, a parasitic fungus striking down the very people who might be able to stop it. For a disease that feeds on information, the minds and memories of humanity are the perfect food. As bloom scatters the remains of his species, Tennyson becomes separated from Allison. When he learns that she may still be alive, he must decide how far he is willing to go to see the end of the world with the only woman he ever loved… even if she has no memory of him.

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Excerpt

If only I could get another taste another sample with me in a less violent mood… If only I could render them all unconscious at once without so much death in my intentions.
But life is never simple is it? You can never get anything without harming someone. You walk through life on a road of bodies, Lil’it. That is why they spit your name. It is why they would carve your body and powder your liver.

“Some people only understand strength,” she says. “Some of them only understand a blade to their throat or a punch to the face.”

She can almost hear him smiling behind her. “He’ll if I’d known you and I thought so much alike, I would have invited you in and given you dinner. It’s a shame we had to meet under these circumstances… I don’t even know your name,”

“Lil’it.”

“Lil’it… You and I seem to be cut from the same cloth. Intelligent killers… Alone in the world. You and I seem to both be too smart for our own good.”

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Before They Find Us by Michelle A Hansen

Before They Find Us
Cover Designed
by: Cathi Stevenson of Book Cover Express
Book Summary:
I’m going to make you wish you were dead.
Just a text.
Seventeen-year-old Rebecca Hales tries not to worry. Probably a wrong number.
Not really meant for her, and definitely not related to the crime she witnessed
six years ago. Right?
Then two states
away, a bomb goes off in her best friend’s locker. Soon Ryan is labeled a
terrorist and runs to the safest place he knows—Rebecca’s house in small-town
Wyoming. It doesn’t take long for the FBI to show up asking questions. Rebecca
lies, of course, and says she hasn’t seen him.
Now she’s
neck-deep in it with him, whatever “it” is. The only way out is to
return to Vegas, where Ryan is a wanted man. The city of lies and illusion puts
Rebecca’s small-town wits to the test as she struggles to find the person who
framed Ryan and why.

Is Rebecca’s
text linked to the bombing? And what does it have to do with a six year old
murder? Rebecca needs to find out before she loses Ryan—and her own life.

About the Author
I’m a Florida native who currently resides in Greenville, South Carolina with my husband and toy poodle. When I’m not writing, I can be found drinking Earl Grey tea with honey and cream, singing ineptly and butchering the lyrics to my favorite songs, and asking my friends ridiculous, hypothetical scenario-based questions. 


Author Links:
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Excerpt and biography: Michelle Muckley author extraordinaire

20131009-035724.jpgShort Biography.
I was born in the town of Warwick in 1981. It is a small historical town in the heart of England, and I was the fifth child born into a family of boys. I developed a huge interest in the written world from a young age, and with more than a little help from Roald Dahl found quite the taste for anything gross and gory. Home now is Limassol, a city on the southern Mediterranean shores of Cyprus. Winters are spent in the mountains, summers are spent at the beach, and pretty much all hours between are sat at a computer where I am writing the next novel, or reading somebody else’s.

Chapter Seven.

BEN HAD NEVER BEEN TO Seventy Fourth Street before, or the park behind it. He had heard of it because he knew that from this road led another small road, a dead end that led to nowhere. At the far end of the road sat a regal building which had been standing for over two hundred years. Its beauty was celebrated, especially at night when the rows of purple blooming Paulownias were illuminated and romanticised by the delicate light of the ancient street lamps. The building once stood as a palatial home of a local aristocrat, who alongside his own home had built a series of coach houses where his servants lived. These coach houses lined a small road that arose from Seventy Fourth Street and now did nothing more than guild the walkway to the square and hide its beauty away from the rest of the city like a beautiful but veiled face, there but unseen. This place of beauty had been left to its own devices, and much like love, after a period without care, attention, or somebody to nurture it, became less than precious and eventually forgotten until it was past the point of recovery. History would regale how this road was purpose built to carry horse drawn coaches many years before the advent of the car, but which now carried only feet towards a crumbling backdrop of long lost decadence. He didn’t much care for being here, and couldn’t for the life of him think why Ami would arrange to meet him in this place. The thought that this dead end could in fact be a trap rose poisonously in his mind like air pockets escaping from a stagnant quagmire, inserting doubt upon pre-existing doubt, cairns set to lead him in the wrong direction. He acknowledged this brief moment of hesitation, but found himself accepting the fact that he had no other option, and so despite his fears steeled himself for the moments ahead.

He turned from Seventy Fourth Street and into the narrow lane. Above him were rows of poorly constructed coach houses, abandoned and no longer in use. Newspapers dating from over twenty years ago had been pasted to the windows in several layers, the deepest of which were peeling and yellow from the heat of the sun and ground with dust and grime. Before him stood the beautiful regal building, decorated with ornate iron balustrades covering the base of the long oversized windows. Underneath the Paulownias there were a series of benches that sat empty and looked rickety and partly rotten. As he approached, he saw that the park opened out to the left and to the right forming a T shape with the narrow lane that led up to it. On his first look he couldn’t see anybody. He was stood beneath the trees, heavily laden with buds that looked set to burst into bloom as the temperature would surely rise next month, coaxing them out. There was no wind here, and it felt immediately warmer surrounded by the height of the buildings proudly standing tall, unashamed of their atrophy and disrepair. He was suddenly hit by an overwhelming desire to bring Hannah here, and to sit with her on the benches beneath the blossoming trees. In his vision they wouldn’t speak, only sit together, needing nothing more than each other’s company and the sight of Matthew playing at their feet. In his visions Matthew remained an eternal toddler, short of words and rich in love and awe for his father. It was only as he saw Matthew in his mind’s eye today, that he realised his reflections were always from the past, every vision born of a time before Bionics.

He was snatched back into reality as he heard Ami whisper his name. As he turned to the direction of the voice he saw her stood in the corner of the square. She was tucked into the shadow of the great building, and she motioned for him to sit. He sat as instructed onto the bench which was facing away from her, but he turned and gripped the panels of brittle and splintered wood in anticipation of her approach, his eyes never once leaving her face.

Ami waited hesitantly for a moment, seconds ticking by at a pace which felt as if time had become stationary, until she eventually took her first steps towards him. He could see her indecision in her cautious steps and in the way that her eyes darted left and right, occasionally looking back over her shoulder. For a moment Ben was sure that he had seen a man dart back into the shadows of the building behind Ami, but as she approached he soon found himself completely focussed on her presence, remembering why he was here and forgetting anything else. Just before she sat down next to him she took a deep and fortifying breath, and he wondered why it was that she looked so fitful and apprehensive. He followed her with his eyes, and as she sat he turned to face her. His leg and arm muscles were braced and ready to run like a watched gazelle in the African bush, aware he was being watched but still anxiously waiting, fearful that any quick and sudden departure could render him vulnerable and exposed.

Her long casual hair that he had admired on so many occasions was wrapped neatly into a bun behind her head, and she was wearing a long Macintosh that swung freely and draped open as she sat. For the first time that he could remember she was wearing trousers. She appeared different from his memory, beautiful still, but rather than the softly painted vision that he kept close in his mind, it was a harder edged reality in which she appeared sharply focused and dangerous.

“Ben, there isn’t much time. You have to listen to me carefully.”

“Hang on Ami.” This was his first chance to try to find out what the hell was going on, and if there wasn’t much time he sure as hell wasn’t going to hand it straight over to her. “Before you start, I need to ask you something.”

“No Ben. You need to listen.” This woman looked like Ami, but for the first time he could detect a slight accent in her voice. It reminded him of Mr. Saad, the man who was trying to fund his continued research programme. This was the first time she had demanded anything.

“No, no. Ami wait. Listen. I have to ask you some things.”

“There will be a time for your questions but it isn’t now. At the moment your questions will get us both killed.” He didn’t interrupt her again and he sat with his arms obediently dropped into his lap, his muscles limp and helpless, sun melted candles, leaves starved of water. “Ben, everything that has happened to you over the last few hours was not supposed to happen. It should already be over. We are only lucky that it is not.” Ben’s mouth dropped open in shock. Lucky? He didn’t feel too damn lucky. “You should already be dead.”

“I know that. Somebody tried to shoot me at the lab.”

“I’m not referring to the lab. You were never supposed to wake up today. They started it much quicker than I anticipated. If I had known I would have found a way to tell you at the bar.”

“What bar? What did they start? Anyway, who are they” Ami wasn’t making much sense to him. “Is this about Mark?”

“Ben, who do you think you work for?”

“Bionics.”

“You work for the government. Bionics is just the public face of the Office of Scientific Weaponry Development. OSWED.”

“The government?”

“Yes, but not the one you see on the television, or in the newspaper. It’s the same one, but it’s the side of it that nobody knows about.”

“Ami there is only one government.”

“That’s what I just said. There is the government that you see, the one that stands up and leads the country with clean hands, the one that can deny that certain things ever happened because they don’t even know about it. They are public puppets. They are the ones that don’t have to lie. Then there are the rest of us. The people that nobody knows about. The people that do what you might call dirty work.”

“Ami, you’re a scientist.”

“Correct. But I don’t work for you. I work for OSWED. They are supposed to be the people that keep you safe. It’s supposed to be about intelligence and development. They believe it is what makes your Great Country so great.” Ben could hear a certain level of sarcasm coming through in her newly accented voice. “We work outside of standard military intelligence. We don’t exist, at least as far as the rest of the world knows. That counts for the rest of the staff at Bionics.”

“You’re telling me that I work for a secret government agency, and that all of the staff I work with knew nothing about it except for you? What have you done with them? What happened to my research?”

“NO. Start paying attention Ben. You’re the only one that doesn’t know anything about it. Why do you think the lab and all of the staff have disappeared? The mission was complete. Your theory had been proven and NEMREC worked.” She could detect the surprise on his face, the inability to understand as his mouth hung limply open. She wished that she could spare him the details, but she had to be honest. If ever there was a time it was now. “You were already supposed to be dead.”

“What the hell!”

“They knew how good you were. They targeted you. They knew you would succeed so they started to control everything about you. They wanted your brilliance in the palm of their hand, and they did everything they could to get it. Your friends, your wife, your whole life. It’s a set up Ben. It was all about getting NEMREC. You did it. They don’t need you anymore.”

“You’re saying my whole life is a set up? That’s bullshit Ami!” He was up and off the bench now, arms flailing like compliant branches in the wind without any control over their own movement. Who the hell does she think she is? Mark? Hannah? Matthew? She had to be lying.

“It’s not bullshit. It’s the truth. It’s the first truthful thing you have heard in years. You discovered how to change people’s DNA Ben. You know what they can do with that kind of knowledge.” She was up on her feet now too, trying to make contact with him and reaching out for his arms as he span around, propelled by the inertia of disbelief.

“I’m trying to cure disease, Ami not make weapons for your government.”

“Your government, Ben. You might not be trying to make weapons but OSWED are. They want the ability to change DNA to build a stronger army. An elite force. They don’t want to manufacture pharmaceuticals to cure Huntington’s disease like you do. They want to make a stronger army and build weapons. They want people to be their weapons, and you have given them everything they need.”

“And you?” He was stood still staring straight at her. “Why are you helping me if you work for them?” She sat down onto the bench, her head bowed. For a moment he thought he could see tears forming in her dark almond eyes.

“I want what you want, Ben.” She turned her head up to look at him, and her eyes looked swollen and set to burst. “My father is dying. So am I. I want a chance to live to grow old.” The pain in her face, in her blurry eyes and crumpled brow was a feeling that he recognised. He understood the feelings that she described, and he felt them every day in every one of his mutated cells. Her words could have been his own, his own feelings, his own hopes, his own aspirations. Any fears he had, any caution for the woman before him had passed. He saw his own reflection in her glassy eyes as he contemplated her sadness and regret. It softened him and he sensed the need for truth and trust, believing in the freedom and strength that it offered.

“Ami, why am I not dead already?”

“I don’t know. You should be. What she gave you should have been enough to kill you?”

“What who gave me?” He saw that same sense of pity on her face, as she wiped away a tear from her cheek. He traced his thoughts back to when he passed out on his settee, how he assumed he had merely been drunk, and how he had been dragged up the stairs, and how he had slept for thirty six hours, and how he had been sick, and how it was still there the next morning, and the next morning, and how Hannah hadn’t been home. Suddenly he had visions of her as a spy carrying a gun and speaking in Russian on a foreign mission and seducing people to steal data chips, right before he reminded himself that the explanation that he had conjured up seemed utterly ridiculous. Yet still he said it. “You think Hannah tried to kill me?”

“No Ben. I know she tried to kill you. She poured you champagne, it was drugged. That’s why you feel so awful now.” She sat down on the bench, steadying herself, and attempting also to steady Ben, hoping that their current connection was enough to pull him towards her. Skin on skin, a real connection. She knew they had felt it before, and she hoped he felt it now.

“I threw up.” He thought back to the pile of sick on the floor and couldn’t remember ever being so pleased that he had been ill. He tried again to remind himself of the absurdity of her accusations, but found that the more time that passed and the more he listened to himself, the dismissal of her theory didn’t seem quite so easy.

“Then that’s why you’re still here.”

“Ami. What do they want from me?”

“They want you dead, Ben. It’s their only aim. To them,” she paused apologetically before she finished her sentence, “you already are. There is no record of your life anymore. It’s not like you died, it’s like you never existed.”

“Ami, will you help me?” She nodded reassuringly. After everything that had happened this morning he had only one other question. “Ami, where have they taken my son?”

Identity X by Michelle Muckley. A Book Review.

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This is so much a journey taken in the shoes of, Ben, the main protagonist! We are given air to all his venting angst; should he try to resurrect his tired marriage that has albeit given a final resigned sigh, or would he prefer to embark on an ill-advised romp with his gorgeous and provocative lab assistant. Has his research been driven by the ugly and untimely demise of his father, or has it been the gauge of his own unremitting ambition. Ben’s world is turned violently asunder after he invents a remarkable gene altering repair mechanism that will eradicate all inborn predilection to hereditary disease. However, instead of accolade and fame he is dropped into an abyss of ignominy. Suddenly his identity is wiped off the main frame of society, his documents are invalid his existence threatened physically and figuratively.

Ben is in a very scary place; what do his assailant want, why have they stolen his life’s work and possibly abducted his family. In a churning, topsy turvy world of intrigue and violence, Ben attempts to save himself, his life’s work and his family form the terror of an unknown malevolence. This is a heart-felt tale of suspense, buckle up for a bumpy ride.

Unusual prose, which, at times felt a little wordy for me, but at others proved delightfully poetic; this quote for instance is delicious:
“She loved to visit the smaller districts of the city, where people courted art and culture rather than power and money. She always told him that it was those things that enriched their lives, and that made the world a better place. They would come here early on Sunday mornings when hours dwindled by unaccounted for, where they would sip coffee and eat bagels for breakfast in one of the chafes, or when the weather was fine at one of the small patio tables on the pavement. He passed the flower shop where he would buy her tulips in the spring and roses in the winter, and it reminded him of the early days of their marriage when life was simpler and happier.”

All-in-all, I doubt if there would be anyone who would not enjoy this book, the action scenes are tense and dramatic, the characters well drawn and emotionally evocative, and the story well thought out and riveting. A very enjoyable read!

Bleeding Shame a Book Review.

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The Review:-From Ezine Articles.
Bleeding Shame is a thought provoking and provocative novel. It engages the reader immediately in a suspense drama that pivots around the senseless and mysterious death of Stacey Cornish, a biochemist who is supposedly moonlighting as a hooker in order to pay for her beloved brother’s expensive cancer treatment. Frankie Harlow is a somewhat jaded, but nevertheless, determined cop who is assigned to the murder investigation. When his own family come under attack, he begins to question the facts of the murder, concluding that there is far more to the case than meets the eye. Frankie is soon convinced that the posed murderer has been framed.

This is a carefully constructed rendition of events that lead to a jigsawing of pieces that solve the vexing conundrum. The reader is led along a ever vortexing spiral of circumstance the converge toward a violent climax with more than a few unexpected twists.
Nora Black, delves deeply into the mind and quirks of her characters to give this fiction a realistic edge. The Sci-fi aspect, although slight, is intelligently dealt with and well researched. The gentle method used by the author to introduce aspects of science make this read easy on the least and most curious reader alike–a fairly conniving trick.
Frankie is a believable protagonist with a lovable if somewhat dysfunctional family. Each member, and indeed many domestic events, are given highlighted staging, which makes this read unusual for the genre. Nevertheless, the tale twisting is charmingly and elegantly handled, pushing this read into the realm of entertainment, above and beyond the mere story. Enjoy a romp on the wild side with Nora Black and her more than lovable Frankie Harlow.