6 August 2021

[Blog Tour] 'Kingfisher' (The Kingfisher Series, Book One) By D. K. Marley #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel

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]Blog Tour] 'Kingfisher' (The Kingfisher Series, Book One) By D. K. Marley #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel
Kingfisher - Blog Tour Banner

The Book:

Kingfisher
(The Kingfisher Series, Book One)
By D. K. Marley

  • Publication Date: June 28, 2021
  • Publisher: The White Rabbit Publishing (HFC Press)
  • Page Length: 530 Pages
  • Genre: Historical Time Travel

The Blurb:

The past, future, and Excalibur lie in her hands.

Wales, 1914. Vala Penrys and her four sisters find solace in their spinster life by story-telling, escaping the chaos of war by dreaming of the romantic days of Camelot. When the war hits close to home, Vala finds love with Taliesin Wren, a mysterious young Welsh Lieutenant, who shows her another world within the tangled roots of a Rowan tree, known to the Druids as ‘the portal’.

One night she falls through, and suddenly she is Vivyane, Lady of the Lake – the Kingfisher – in a divided Britain clamoring for a High King. What begins as an innocent pastime becomes the ultimate quest for peace in two worlds full of secrets, and Vala finds herself torn between the love of her life and the salvation of not only her family but of Britain, itself.

"It is, at the heart of it, a love story – the love between a man and a woman, between a woman and her country, and between the characters and their fates – but its appeal goes far beyond romance. It is a tale of fate, of power, and, ultimately, of sacrifice for a greater good." - Riana Everly, author of Teaching Eliza and Death of a Clergyman

Buy Links:

]Blog Tour] 'Kingfisher' (The Kingfisher Series, Book One) By D. K. Marley #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel
Kingfisher - Book Cover

'Kingfisher' - Excerpt:

Excerpt from Chapter 2 “The Rowan Tree”

Five pairs of eyes gazed up at my face when I approached, all in various states of inebriation—glazed, half-closed, wide-eyed, curious, and another with a look I dared not label from the leer on his lips. I raised my chin and steeled my courage, holding out the two pennies.

“Is there a fortune-teller here?” They looked askance at one another, murmuring and gesturing. One of them, a thin wiry man with a snaggled grin, slurred out an answer.

“Dw I dymm yn dallt.”

He did not understand. I smiled, my mind searching the Welsh tongue still tucked beneath my English facade. Father insisted on his girls speaking English on an everyday basis, especially when visiting London or attending the Season in search of husbands, as he concluded the high-born aristocrats of London society never stooped to learn the language of the least populated section of Great Britain. He was right, for even Edward, the Prince of Wales, knew only a smattering of the tongue. Even our house staff he hired from Dorset and Warwick instead of any locals to ensure we maintained the speech. In truth, his insistence on all things English piqued my curiosity on more than one occasion. I dared never ask, though.

“Dach chi’n siarad Saesnag?” I answered back, hoping at least one of them spoke English.

Each of them, in turn, shook their head. I held up the coins again, this time asking for the fortune-teller in their language.

“Ble mae’r rhifwr ffortiwn?”

The same wiry man stood up, brushed the dust from his trousers, and motioned for me to follow him. He approached one of the wagons and tapped his swarthy knuckles against the frame.

“Kezia,” he belted out. “Mae gennych fusnes ac arian.”

The woman, upon hearing that she had business and money, peeked out through the small square side window. She looked as ancient as the Black Mountains, grey hair, furrowed brow, and eyes full of fog.

She opened the door, her twig-like fingers beckoning for the coins and curling over them once obtained.

“Come in,” she said, her voice unmatching her appearance—wispy and soothing, yet rich like fine boxed Belgian chocolate.

I glanced back to the carriage and waved to Isla who stared out the window, biting her fingernails, while Harri stood near the campfire with the other men, accepting an offer of a cup of something to warm his gut. Blowing Isla a kiss, I mounted the steps and entered the cramped quarters.

The woman cackled softly and pointed towards a chair across from a round table in the centre of the room. I sat, taking in the surroundings. A fire burned in a iron-belly stove at one end of the room, the scented heat inundating the ambience with oakwood and anise. Snatches of herbs dangled from a hemp rope along the ceiling and rich burgundy scarves embroidered with botanical scenes lined the walls, as well as decorating my chair and the cushions behind my back. The air exuded mystery.

The woman, Kezia, blended into the atmosphere as naturally as a butterfly on a flower, even in her worn, aged state. She poured out two cups of tea and sat across from me, smiling a quite uncomfortable yet knowing grin.

“Ye sister not want to come?” Her question billowed out and her dark midnight eyes narrowed.

“My sister? No, she did not . . . how did you know?”

She chuckled and took a sip of her tea, tapping one finger to the side of her head. “I am knowing many things.” Leaning forwards, she stared deep into my face. “Like this . . . I know who ye are, my lady of waters.”

A sudden flush of nausea flooded my stomach and I touched my hand to my neck, my pulse racing beneath my fingertips.

“Lady of waters, what do you mean?”

She leaned back, draping her arms over the thick brocade upholstered arm chair she sat on. “Is this not why ye came . . . to hear ye ffortiwn?”

The nausea morphed into fear and I made a move to stand, but she stilled me with her words.

“I remember ye mam-gu, ye nain,” she said. “Illya was her name, was it not?”

“Wha . . . what?” I sputtered, easing back down. “How?”

“Ooh, ‘tis fifty years now, I think, when she died. I knew her before the Major, before India . . . that journey kill’d her, ye know.”

I huffed through my nose, an sardonic sneer as I pushed my teacup away and crossed my arms. “No, I wouldn’t know.”

She replied with a wink and a chuckle. “No, I suspect ye wouldn’t living with secrets now, would ye?”

“Secrets?”

She snickered and struck a white-tipped matchstick, lighting a thick beeswax candle in the centre of the table. The flickering flame danced in her pupils and she held the smouldering stick in between her thumb and forefinger; the smoke wafting in two slender entangling streams.

“White phosphorous . . .” she said, “very deadly, if eaten. One pack of matchsticks can kill a person.”

I arched my eyebrow, uncertain if I ought to sip any more of the tea. She blew away the smoke with a blast of breath, finishing off with a wave of her hand and crooked a smile.

“Useful information, is it not?” She added.

“I suppose, if you need to know such a thing.”

She nodded in agreement and pointed to my teacup. “Go on, finish the tea and with the last few drops, swirl the leaves and hand me the cup.”

With much trepidation, I finished the strong brew, deciding if she indeed poisoned me, at least Harri and Isla were close enough to ensure a rescue.

Handing her the cup, I waited for a moment as she turned the cup clockwise from the handle, her slight hum pausing once, twice, and a third time, with a ‘hmm’ or ‘ahh’.

She set the cup down and pointed to a long line close to the rim, formed by the residue of the leaves.

“Ye will take a long journey . . . far away from here. And here . . . near the bottom . . . the ‘T’. Do ye see it?”

I squinted and tilted my head, unsure, but agreed any ways. “Yes . . . I think.”

“This is for love . . . ye will look for this letter in your search for love. And the last, ye are a traveller as ye grandmother before ye.”

My heart leapt in my chest. “And where does it show that?”

She smiled and pushed the cup away, wrapping her warm hands over mine. “I need not the cup to see that.” Raising her hand, she pointed her forefinger and jabbed her rounded fingernail into my chest, right above my pounding heart. “Here . . . in ye soul and in ye eyes.”

The words lured me in with a strong pulling sensation, creeping into my core. “You said you remember her,” I said, hoping to draw more information from her about my past.

“Yes, she was like me.”

“A gipsy traveller, you mean . . . a Kale . . . from Caernarfon.”

She snickered. “Ooh, much more than just a Kale . . . for she knew the ways of travellers from long ago. She was a woman Bard with a voice like a nightingale—her favourite was Keats . . . do ye have a favourite?”

“Yes . . . I do. I adore Tennyson.”

“Ah,” she acknowledged, her eyes alighting with a long ago remembrance. “Of course, ye love Tennyson . . . the days of King Arthur. Romantics, both poets in search of escape, and dreamers of days long gone.” She narrowed her eyes. “Ah, I am seeing doubt in ye eyes. You have listened to rumours that we gipsy folk are ignorant . . . illiterate, even. Some are, no doubt, but ye nain was special, like a muse of fire to poets. She used to read poetry to me late into the night. One of her favourite lines was from Keats—‘O, for a life of sensations rather than of thoughts!’”

I grinned at the quote. “I know that line . . . my mother recites that quite often. But, what do you mean ‘of course, I love Tennyson’?”

She chuckled and lifted the teacup, tilting the rim for me to see inside. “What do ye see when ye look inside?”

I thought, for a moment, that her question answering my question was her attempt to evade, but as I stared into the cup, a clear picture formed in my thoughts. I shook my head and touched my fingers to my temple, just above my right eyebrow.

“The roots of a tree . . . like my ancestry reaching deep into the soul . . . searching for water . . .”
She cackled, reached across and touched my arm. From her fingertips, the goose flesh sped across my skin, all the way to the crown of my head. She narrowed her eyes and quoted another line. “Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry, for large white plumes are dancing in mine eyes.”

Keat’s poetic words compulsed from my heart and throat. “Last night I lay in bed, there came before my eyes that wonted thread of shapes, and shadows, and remembrances . . .”

She continued. “You know the Enchanted Castle—it doth stand upon the rock on the border of a lake . . . ye know it well enough, where it doth seem a mossy place, a Merlin’s hall, a dream . . .”

And I added, without volition. “Here do they look alive to love and hate, to smiles and frowns; they seem a lifted mound above some giant, pulsing underground.”

She leaned towards me, her eyes narrowing. “And from them comes a silver flash of light, as from the westward of a summer’s night; or like a beauteous woman’s large blue eyes gone mad through olden songs and poesies . . . it is a flaw in happiness to see beyond our bourn—it forces us in summer skies to mourn, it spoils the singing of the nightingale . . .”

“I have a tale to tell,” I rhymed. “And yet, I cannot speak it.”

“And yet, your dreams speak the tale, do they not?”

I shook my head, scattering her question tingling the hairs on my arm, and rubbed my brow again.

“What . . . what just happened?” I asked.

She answered only with another low chuckle.

Even with much eye-lash blinking and lip-biting, confusion bubbled inside me, fearing what just passed between me and the gipsy. Looking over to the empty tea cup, I felt a sudden fear that more than tea, indeed, poured from her kettle and down my throat.

]Blog Tour] 'Kingfisher' (The Kingfisher Series, Book One) By D. K. Marley #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel
D. K. Marley

Author Bio:

D. K. Marley is a Historical Fiction author specializing in Shakespearean adaptations, Tudor era historicals, Colonial American historicals, alternate historicals, and historical time-travel. At a very early age she knew she wanted to be a writer. Inspired by her grandmother, an English Literature teacher, she dove into writing during her teenage years, winning short story awards for two years in local competitions. After setting aside her writing to raise a family and run her graphic design business, White Rabbit Arts, returning to writing became therapy to her after suffering immense tragedy, and she published her first novel “Blood and Ink” in 2018, which went on to win the Bronze Medal for Best Historical Fiction from The Coffee Pot Book Club, and the Silver Medal from the Golden Squirrel Book Awards. Within three years, she has published four more novels (two Shakespearean adaptations, one Colonial American historical, and a historical time travel).

When she is not writing, she is the founder and administrator of The Historical Fiction Club on Facebook, and the CEO of The Historical Fiction Company, a website dedicated to supporting the best in historical fiction for authors and readers. And for fun, she is an avid reader of the genre, loves to draw, is a conceptual photography hobbyist, and is passionate about spending time with her granddaughter. She lives in Middle Georgia U.S.A. with her husband of 35 years, an English Lab named Max, and an adorable Westie named Daisy.

Connect with D. K. Marley:

Kingfisher - Blog Tour Schedule Banner

3 August 2021

French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message [Music Video Included]

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French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message [Music Video Included]
French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message
DJ Alexis Petronio has collaborated with guitarist and singer Keith to release his debut single, "Strange," a guitar-tinged summer anthem with a human hopeful post-pandemic message.
Alexis was inspired to write and produce the new track as COVID restrictions ease and people reconnect with each other. "The pandemic was tragic in many ways," says Alexis, "but it reminded us how important feelings of freedom and connection with other people really are."
The Singer and guitarist Keith, who features on the song, agrees: "Both Alexis and I believe that every cloud has a silver lining. 'Strange' is about embracing the opportunity for rebirth and becoming aware of the significance of our connection with people and nature in an increasingly digital new world."
French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message [Music Video Included]
DJ Alexis Petronio and Keith
"Strange" features blues, soul, and Andalusian influences with the help of Keith's vocal and guitar, backed by Callaghan's saxophone and set against the irresistibly festive electropop production from Alexis.

"Strange" - The Music Video:

Alexis Petronio is an independent DJ and a member of the "The French Production" collective from Porto Vecchio in Corsica. He has played every summer for the last 10 years at Via Notte and at B52 with the world's biggest DJs, including David Guetta, Solomun, DJ Snake, Roger Sanchez, and Little Louie Vega. His winter appearances include Paris, Abidjan, and Tulum.
French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message [Music Video Included]
Beach Music

Connect with Alexis Petronio:

SOURCE: La French Production

2 August 2021

[Blog Tour] 'Steampunk Cleopatra' By Thaddeus Thomas #HistoricalFantasy

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'Steampunk Cleopatra' - Tour Banner

The Book:

Steampunk Cleopatra
By Thaddeus Thomas
  • Publication Date: 21st May 2021
  • Publisher: Independently Published
  • Page Length: 419 Pages
  • Genre: Historical Fantasy

The Blurb:

Amani, a companion of Cleopatra, seeks to rediscover Egypt's suppressed science and history. She is the beloved of her princess become queen, but that may not be enough to overcome the system they've inherited. If she fails, her country and Cleopatra, both, could fall. History meets fantasy, and together, they create something new. Experience an intelligent thriller about star-crossed lovers and an ancient science that might have been.

Buy Links:

'Steampunk Cleopatra' - Front Cover

'Steampunk Cleopatra' - Excerpt:

Amani had sailed for Rome in early spring, north to the straight of Messana, where the snotgreen sea wedged itself between Sicily and the tip of the Italian peninsula. There, Dio and Theodotus had stood with her, admiring the coasts on either side.

“Have you read of the Roman siege of Syracuse, when it was still a Greek colony?” she asked.

Both men said they had not. Amani assumed they were lying, but if they offered lies in kindness, she would accept them.

“Archimedes held off their ships with a weapon that could set a ship ablaze from 300 cubits,” she said.

“Why don’t we have such machines now?” Dio asked.

“When the Romans finally took Syracuse, they killed Archimedes,” she said. “Many tried to guess how the weapon operated, but none of their designs ever worked.”

“How do you think it operated?” Theodotus asked.

Amani looked at him, and now, it was her turn to lie. “I don’t know.”

There was some truth in that. She felt certain they had added water to a heated metal cannon and the resulting steam fired a large ceramic projectile. On impact, the projectile released the mysterious Greek Fire, which consumed entire ships and even burned underwater. What Greek Fire was, no one knew.

In Messana, the breakwaters curled north, like a mother's arm, and they sought permission to harbor a few days. The city sent out supplies and an uneasy welcome. They would be better off to hurry along the last days of the journey and reach Ostia before the weather turned.

The skies showed no signs of ill-fortune. The leaders conferred with the captain and agreed to press on. They followed the coast and reached Ostia, a giant port at the mouth of the Tiber River. Tugboats guided them to the quay.

The city's ordered buildings shone clean and white. Amani almost felt safe as they awaited inspection. Two weeks had passed since they left Alexandria. Another day's journey by land would take them to Rome.

They spent that night in proper beds, free of the movement of the water and the sound of tortured wood.

Amani rose early, and she and Dio sat outside the city, staring off at the green hills and the roads. One would soon take them away to Rome.

“I need to ask something that may offend you,” she said.

Dio took a sip of wine and set down his chunk of bread. “At my age, I'm not easily offended.”

“I owe you. Don't think I've forgotten.”

“I won't.”

“You've eaten with Ptolemy,” she said.

“I have.”

“You've laughed with him and paid him homage, and now you travel to Rome as his accuser. I don't understand.”

“I haven't come to accuse him but to defend our people and our Pharaoh against his accusations. We are all here for one reason, to save our lives. Each of us has transitioned into the power structure under Berenice. Whether it’s her or her father who wears the crown, someone must care for Alexandria and run Egypt. The work continues without him, but he will see our care as treason.”

She wanted to argue against his reasoning, but could not. Instead, she nodded and ate her grapes, and they sat in silence as weightless clouds soared above the endless green. It was a wholly different beauty, and she wondered if she would ever see Egypt again.

Author Bio:

Thaddeus Thomas lives on the Mississippi River with his wife and three cats. Steampunk Cleopatra is his first novel, but he has a short story collection available at his website, ThaddeusThomas.com. There he also runs a book club where readers can receive indie book reviews and recommendation. His second book—Detective, 26 AD—releases July 9th and follows Doubting Thomas as he is conscripted to be an investigator for Pontius Pilate.

Connect with Thaddeus Thomas:

[Blog Tour] 'Steampunk Cleopatra' By Thaddeus Thomas #HistoricalFantasy
'Steampunk Cleopatra' - Tour Schedule Banner

30 July 2021

[Blog Tour] 'The Abdication' By Justin Newland #HistoricalFantasy #SuspenseThriller

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[Blog Tour] 'The Abdication'  By Justin Newland #HistoricalFantasy #SuspenseThriller
The Abdication - Book Tour Poster

The Book:

The Abdication 
By Justin Newland
  • Publication Day : 28th July by Matador
  • Page Count : 328 pages
  • Genre: Suspense Thriller / Historical Fantasy 

The Blurb:

The town of Unity sits perched on the edge of a yawning ravine where, long ago, a charisma of angels provided spiritual succour to a fledgeling human race. Then mankind was granted the gift of free will and had to find its own way, albeit with the guidance of the angels. The people’s first conscious act was to make an exodus from Unity. They built a rope bridge across the ravine and founded the town of Topeth. For a time, the union between the people of Topeth and the angels of Unity was one of mutual benefit. After that early spring advance, there had been a torrid decline in which mankind’s development resembled a crumpled, fading autumnal leaf.

Following the promptings of an inner voice, Tula, a young woman from the city, trudges into Topeth. Her quest is to abide with the angels and thereby discover the right and proper exercise of free will. To do that, she has to cross the bridge – and overcome her vertigo. Topeth is in upheaval; the townsfolk blame the death of a child on dust from the nearby copper mines. The priests have convinced them that a horde of devils have thrown the angels out of Unity and now occupy the bridge, possessing anyone who trespasses on it. Then there’s the heinous Temple of Moloch!

The Abdication is the story of Tula’s endeavour to step upon the path of a destiny far greater than she could ever have imagined.
[Blog Tour] 'The Abdication'  By Justin Newland #HistoricalFantasy #SuspenseThriller
The Abdication - Book Cover

'The Abdication' - Excerpt:

The Welcome Boulder

Tula’s swollen ankle ached as she trudged up the mountain. It had moaned incessantly, ever since she had left her home in the city before embarking on this journey. Then again, it had always hurt. Perhaps since birth: she could never remember that far back. She had complained to her parents, who could not afford to get it seen by the doctor.

A gust of wind whipped up particles of sand which spiralled in the fractious air ahead of her. She squinted and pulled her keffiyeh up to cover her nose. At this altitude, the air was a thin gruel, offering paltry nourishment. Her gut was rumbling, but that was nothing new. She had walked uphill all afternoon from Seliga in the valley below and now she was gasping for breath. Her backpack seemed to weigh as much as that boulder up ahead. A vulture circled effortlessly in the azure blue sky. There was another one above the next valley, griffon vultures searching for prey; so long as they left her alone.

Wisps of straw-coloured grass sprouted beside the graves of an unkempt cemetery. The top of the surrounding low stone wall was speckled with reddish spots, like splashes of copper rain. A few of the gravestones had fallen over and kissed the parched earth. This was the summit of a mountain and even the grand old yew trees huddled in one side of the cemetery were bending to the east, bowing to the omnipotent goddess of the winds in her distant unseen shrine.

Between the cemetery and the town lay a vibrant carpet of blue thorns; large cones of tiny blue flowers surrounded by a spiky, electric-blue collar.

Up ahead were the town walls, shimmering in the waves of heat rising from the scorched land. Finally, her journey’s end was in sight. On the side of the road just outside the town’s South Gate was the Welcome Boulder. It towered above her, which was not that difficult because in the city she was constantly mocked as the shortest amongst her peers. Most of the boulder was coated in that brownish-red dust. Towards the top of it was the immortal sign that declared the town’s identity:

Welcome to Topeth.
The First Free Town and
‘The Top’ Town of all.

Long before her arrival, her parents and teachers had fired her imagination with their stories about Topeth. As the sign proudly declared, it was once ‘The Top’ town, not only because it was perched precariously on the highest mountain in the range, but also because it was the living exemplar of humanity’s stumbling progress. Many years before, that epic story had featured Herman, the First Man. It told how he had ushered in a brilliant new freedom for mankind – hence the First Free Town. Yet, after that early spring advance, there was now a torrid decline in which mankind’s development resembled a crumpled, fading autumnal leaf.

Many people asked whether their forefathers had used that freedom wisely. Some answered with a resounding ‘Yes’, but Tula had doubts. That was why she was in Topeth; to find out for herself.

On either side of the entrance road was a row of tall, spiky cacti, standing like pale, bloated fish out of water.

To the west of the town was a large area of open ground. Huge scars pitted the land which was dotted with peaked mounds of reddened earth. A gnarled ghost haunted the land. Crouched amidst its shadow lands were rickety sheds and wooden shacks, all dowsed in the same brown-red dust. Even the town’s walls were tainted in the same hue. This was the infamous Topeth open cast copper mine.

In these dangerous times, many towns shut their gates well before sundown. Thankfully, the main gates to Topeth were still open.

An old man sat cross-legged with his back against one of the gate posts, whittling a long, rod-like piece of wood and chewing on a wedge of tobacco. What an obnoxious substance. Yellow pouting lips glared at her from within a grey, untended beard. On his head, he wore a scruffy, black and white chequered keffiyeh.

“Who’s there?” He completed the question by spitting prodigiously onto the earth.

“Me, I’m Tula. And you are?”

“Can’t you see I’m blind or are you as well?” The man was gruff. He faced her. Empty sockets peered into the void.

“No, I mean yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t notice. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day.”

“Don’t recognise your voice. You new here?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve just arrived.”

“Got your pass?”

A blind man was asking her for a pass to travel. That she had not expected. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper from her knapsack and hesitated, not knowing what to do with it.

“Give it here,” he demanded. “I may be blind, but do you think I can’t see right through you?”

“No, sir. I’m sure you can. It’s just that…” She gave him the travel permit.

He held it to his cheek. He rubbed it first against his left cheek, then against his right, and nodded to himself, as if reading its contents with inner eyes. She gazed at him wide-eyed.

He handed it back to her. “Go on. All in order here.”

“What did you just do?”

“When I hold something against my cheeks, I get pictures in my mind.”

“I never knew that was even possible. What did you see?”

“I saw a fair-haired young woman with blue eyes, sparkling like rays of sunlight dancing on a flowing river. I saw a smile that warms the day, a pretty face. Your fringe and pale skin and freckles will drive the young men crazy.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” she said, failing to hide a blush. “May I ask you something?”

“Carry on. You’re good at asking questions.”

No one was going to intimidate her. No one. 

[Blog Tour] 'The Abdication'  By Justin Newland #HistoricalFantasy #SuspenseThriller
Justin Newland

About The Author:

Justin Newland is an author of historical fantasy and secret history thrillers - that’s history with a supernatural twist. His stories feature known events and real people from history which are re-told and examined through the lens of the supernatural. He gives author talks and is a regular contributor to BBC Radio Bristol’s Thought for the Day

He lives with his partner in plain sight of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, England.

His Books:

  • The Genes of Isis is a tale of love, destruction and ephemeral power set under the skies of Ancient Egypt. A re-telling of the Biblical story of the flood, it reveals the mystery of the genes of Isis – or genesis – of mankind.
  • The Old Dragon’s Head is a historical fantasy and supernatural thriller set during the Ming Dynasty and played out in the shadows the Great Wall of China. It explores the secret history of the influences that shaped the beginnings of modern times.
  • Set during the Great Enlightenment, The Coronation reveals the secret history of the Industrial Revolution.
  • His latest, The Abdication (July, 2021), is a suspense thriller, a journey of destiny, wisdom and self-discovery.

Connect with Justin Newland

27 July 2021

The Monster Is Out of the Bottle! - Highly Anticipated Horror Film 'Bottle Monster' to be Released Early August [Trailer Included]

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The Monster Is Out of the Bottle! - Highly Anticipated Horror Film 'Bottle Monster' to be Released Early August [Trailer Included]
Bottle Monster has received numerous awards throughout its festival run.
Overloaded Mags Productions and Premiere Digital have announced the release of the Feature Film "Bottle Monster."

The psychological thriller/horror movie, centers around the anti-heroine Allison Keys, who struggles to raise her young son while trying unsuccessfully to fight her addiction to alcohol. Alison's world crumbles as she tries to flee her life, only to come face-to-face with a real-life monster.
  • Written, directed and produced by powerhouse, Marjorie DeHey, the film has won numerous festival accolades domestically and internationally. 
This modern-day take on the classic "creature-feature" is set for release on August 3, 2021, and will be available on VUDU, DISH, Redbox OnDemand, Rogers, Tubi, numerous other streaming platforms and currently available for pre-order from iTunes ahead of its wider release.

The Monster Is Out of the Bottle! - Highly Anticipated Horror Film 'Bottle Monster' to be Released Early August [Trailer Included]
Behind the scenes of Bottle Monster. From left to right: Ryker Overacker - Actor, Paul Overacker - Producer, Marjorie DeHey - Director, Zac Overacker - Production Manager, Gabriel Chacon - Associate Producer/Sound Mixer; Photo Credit: Rodin Eckenroth (@rodinphotography)
DeHey began creating her own films in 2017 following a near-death experience upon the discovery of a large brain tumor. Having worked on the business side of the industry for years, she was frustrated with the lack of opportunities available to women directors, so she determined to create her own opportunities. For her, "Bottle Monster" not only reflects Allison's struggles as a woman and a mother but also every woman's daily struggle to try to balance all the challenges in their lives. It is a poignant reflection of how some women lose the fight to drugs and alcohol only to redeem themselves when their child is in real danger.
"For me, the true horror of "Bottle Monster" is Allison's internal struggle. The monster, while real, is a reflection of Allison's darkness and self-loathing. Allison wants to ask for help but she doesn't know how. She wants to be a good mother, but the tragic and haunting events of her life drive her to find solace at the bottom of a bottle. Her son is forced to grow up too fast and they are pushed into fighting an atrocity that they cannot truly comprehend," says DeHey.

The Trailer:

The film stars Billie Proffitt, industry veteran Willie Aames, Emmy-award winning actor Kim Estes, and introduces Ryker Overacker. It was produced by Paul Overacker, and Marjorie DeHey, both of whom earned the coveted "Produced By Mark" (p.g.a.) from the Producers Guild of America in recognition of their roles in the production of the film.

SOURCE: Bottle Monster LLC

26 July 2021

[Blog Tour] 'The Girl from Venice' By Siobhan Daiko #HistoricalFiction #WomensFiction

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[Blog Tour] 'The Girl from Venice' By Siobhan Daiko #HistoricalFiction #WomensFiction
The Girl From Venice - Tour Banner

The Book:

The Girl from Venice 
By Siobhan Daiko
  • Publication Date: 29th June 2021
  • Publisher: ASOLANDO BOOKS
  • Page Length: 300 Pages
  • Genre: Romantic Historical/Women’s Fiction

The Blurb:

Lidia De Angelis has kept a low profile since Mussolini's racial laws wrenched her from her childhood sweetheart. But when the Germans occupy Venice in 1943, she must flee the city to save her life.

Lidia joins the partisans in the Venetian mountains, where she meets David, an English soldier fighting for the same cause. As she grows closer to him, harsh Nazi reprisals and Lidia’s own ardent anti-fascist activities threaten to tear them apart.

Decades later in London, while sorting through her grandmother’s belongings after her death, Charlotte discovers a Jewish prayer book, unopened letters written in Italian, and a fading photograph of a group of young people in front of the Doge’s Palace.

Intrigued by her grandmother’s refusal to talk about her life in Italy before and during the war, Charlotte travels to Venice in search of her roots. There, she learns not only the devastating truth about her grandmother’s past, but also some surprising truths about herself.

A heart-breaking page-turner, based on actual events in Italy during World War II
Trigger Warnings: Death, Miscarriage, PTSD, Rape

The Teaser:

[Blog Tour] 'The Girl from Venice' By Siobhan Daiko #HistoricalFiction #WomensFiction
The Girl From Venice - Teaser
'The Girl from Venice' - Front Cover 

'The Girl from Venice' - Excerpt:

Lidia was spending the rest of the night in the Pivettas’ attic, just like Giorgio had done over two months ago. She’d insisted on coming up here; she didn’t want to put Marta and her family at risk. Giudecca was a small community and not everyone was anti-Fascist. It would take only one person to tell the police they’d seen Lidia leave the palazzo with her friend, and they would easily work out where she’d gone.

She sat on a lumpy mattress on the cold wooden floor and knuckled away a tear. What she’d witnessed tonight, the wilful destruction of hers and Papa’s personal property, had brought home the grim reality of her situation. Obviously, those air raid sirens had been a distraction. People’s eyes had been on the sky and the noise had prevented them from hearing what was going on. Would they have done anything, though? She doubted it; they would have been too afraid—

A knock rapped at the attic trapdoor, and Lidia almost jumped out of her skin. Then came two further knocks in quick succession followed, after a beat, by two more. Lidia’s knees buckled with relief. It was Marta, using a broom handle to tap their agreed signal—the same code she’d put in place for Giorgio.

Just to be sure, Lidia peered through a crack in the wood.

Marta’s dear face was staring up at her.

With trembling hands, Lidia lifted the trapdoor, fetched the ladder resting against the attic wall, and eased it down.

Marta climbed the rungs and pulled the ladder up after herself. She kissed Lidia on both cheeks and inquired how she was feeling.

‘Scared,’ Lidia breathed.

‘I think we got away with it,’ Marta said, hugging her. ‘If anyone ratted on us, the police would have been here by now. Oh, and I know where they’ve taken your papa—'

Lidia grabbed hold of her arm. ‘Where?’

‘The Collegio Mario Foscarini, that private school in the Cannaregio district. Angelo found out that he’s there with hundreds of other Jews rounded up by the police.’

O, Dio.’ Lidia’s chest tightened. ‘My poor dear papa. I must go and be with him.’

Marta stiffened. ‘You can’t mean that—’

Lidia held her in a firm gaze. ‘Where he goes, I go too. He would do the same for me.’

‘Are you crazy?’ Marta shook her head. ‘From what I’ve heard, your papa and the others will soon be transported to a labour camp.’

‘He will need me to help him.’ Lidia’s voice quivered. ‘I’ve always helped him.

‘Your papa won’t expect this of you. I’m sure he would tell you if he could.’

‘I must hand myself in.’ Lidia’s chin lifted. ‘I will go to the police first thing in the morning.’

‘Don’t do that,’ Marta pleaded. ‘Ti prego. I beg of you.’ She fell silent momentarily, then said, ‘If we can find a way for you to talk to your papa, and tell him what you are planning, would you agree to that?’

Lidia sighed. There was no point in going to see him; she’d made up her mind. She stared at Marta, and Marta stared back at her. Lidia caught the love and concern in her friend’s gaze. She owed it to her to go through the motions. ‘Alright. I’ll talk to him. But how do you propose I do that? I mean, there are probably guards.’

‘Some guards are more lenient than others.’ Marta gave a wry smile. ‘Try and get some sleep, bella.’ She hugged Lidia again. ‘Ti voglio bene.'

‘I love you too, beautiful,’ Lidia said. And she did. O Dio, she would miss Marta so much. So very much.

***

Lidia tossed and turned for the rest of the night. Papa’s eternal optimism would have him making the best of things, and he’d be helping anyone in need. But she couldn’t help worrying about him.

At breakfast time, Marta brought her some bread and milk, as well as a bowl of water, soap, a facecloth and a towel. ‘Giovanna came to find out how you are coping. She’ll be back later today with more information about what’s going on at that school.’

‘I’m serious about handing myself in,’ Lidia repeated.

Marta put her arm around her shoulders. ‘Be patient, bella.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll try.’

Throughout the morning, she waited and worried. Marta came up at lunchtime, and said, ‘It seems the police aren’t looking for you. Come down to the kitchen and eat with us. You can stay in my room tonight.’

‘How about we go now, just the two of us, to the Collegio?’ Lidia gave her a pleading look.

‘I think tomorrow would be more sensible. Better to wait until we know more about what’s happening there.’

Va bene.’ She would give it one more day. If she couldn’t find a way to speak with her papa, she’d hand herself in. It was only for Marta’s sake that she’d agreed to talk to Papa anyway.

Giovanna and Marisa dropped by before the night-time curfew. The four girls sat together in the Pivettas’ lounge.

‘The school has been transformed into a primitive detention centre,’ Giovanna said without preamble.

‘There aren’t any facilities,’ Marisa added. ‘Even the old and sick are sleeping on benches or on the floor.’

O Dio,’ Lidia muttered. ‘I hope they are being given food.’

Giovanna tapped the ash from her cigarette. ‘I’m afraid not. Some of the neighbours, hearing the children crying with hunger, have been passing bread, fruit and cheese through the windows.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Lidia choked back a sob.

‘It is.’ Marisa leant towards her. ‘But you can use the situation to your advantage. If you mingled with the people who are helping the detainees, you could ask about your father.’

Lidia wiped her eyes. She would do it. She had nothing to lose. If she was caught, she’d be imprisoned with Papa. And, if she wasn’t caught, she’d go directly to the police station anyway. ‘I will walk to the Collegio my own,’ she said, sending Marta a determined look. ‘It will be too dangerous for you to come with me.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Marta shook her head. ‘We’ll go in my babbo’s boat. The patrols won’t take any notice of us. It’s as if they consider women not worth worrying about; I’ve sailed right past them so often—’

‘But won’t we use a lot of fuel?’ Lidia asked. ‘The school is on the other side of Venice.’

‘We can cut across San Marco via the smaller canals. I know the route from visiting my nonna’s grave at San Michele cemetery.’

Lidia decided not to press the argument. When Marta got the bit between her teeth she never gave up. Lidia sat back in her seat and listened to her friends as they talked about the upcoming Christmas celebrations, and how miserable they would be with the Germans infesting the city like a plague. Lidia stared down at her hands. Hanukkah would start on December 22nd this year. Whatever happened, she knew she wouldn’t be lighting the menorah candles with Papa. And the realisation made her heart weep.
[Blog Tour] 'The Girl from Venice' By Siobhan Daiko #HistoricalFiction #WomensFiction
Siobhan Daiko

Author Bio:

Siobhan Daiko is an international bestselling historical romantic fiction author. A lover of all things Italian, she lives in the Veneto region of northern Italy with her husband, a Havanese puppy and two rescue cats. After a life of romance and adventure in Hong Kong, Australia and the UK, Siobhan now spends her time, when she isn't writing, enjoying the sweet life near Venice.

Connect With Siobhan Daiko:

[Blog Tour] 'The Girl from Venice' By Siobhan Daiko #HistoricalFiction #WomensFiction
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23 July 2021

#PodsPollute! - New Study Shows That Detergent Pods Are Contributing To Plastic Pollution

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#PodsPollute! - New Study Shows That Detergent Pods Are Contributing To Plastic Pollution
Laundry and dish detergent pods are polluting the environment. (Infographic: Charlie Rolsky and Plastic Oceans International)
A recent study by Plastic Oceans International and Arizona State University reveals that washing machine and dishwasher detergent pods are contributing to the plastic pollution problem, leaking large amounts of untreated PVA (polyvinyl alcohol) into the environment, and possibly into the human food chain.

  • The study stands as a clarion call to not only question how these products are marketed, but also how we legally define such terms as biodegradable and eco-friendly.
The objective of this study was to estimate the US nationwide emissions of PVA resulting from domestic use of laundry and dish detergent pods. Via extensive literature review, researchers Dr. Charlie Rolsky and Varun Kelkar, concluded that as much as 75% of PVA from these detergent pods goes untreated in the US. That's over 8,000 tons per year entering the environment.
"Because of water solubility, PVA turns into a solution, then goes down the drain, where the chances of it fully biodegrading are very low," said Rolsky, who serves as the Director of Science for Plastic Oceans International. "The pods can easily pass through wastewater treatment plants and travel to ecosystems beyond."
It is still not fully known how PVA behaves as a pollutant, but current research suggests that PVA particles can sequester heavy metals and alter gas exchanges, potentially causing dangerous shifts of oxygen or carbon dioxide – which could negatively impact ecosystems. Ethylene, contained within the chemistry of PVA, could interfere with crop yields, as many plants utilize it as a hormone, which influences diverse processes in plant growth, development and stress responses throughout the plant life cycle.

Preliminary findings of this study show that strict conditions must be met for PVA to fully biodegrade. This means these products are not fully capable of being decomposed by bacteria or other living organisms, and thus they cannot naturally return to the environment. The ongoing public perception is that the pods are eco-friendly and fully biodegrade, as is often claimed by their manufacturers.

#PodsPollute! - New Study Shows That Detergent Pods Are Contributing To Plastic Pollution
New Study Shows That Detergent Pods Are Contributing To Plastic Pollution (Image via Plastic Oceans International)
"This is an issue of truth-in-labeling," said Julie Andersen, CEO of Plastic Oceans International. "We recognize the rise in use of PVAs as a marketed 'eco friendly' and/or 'biodegradable' solution to other plastic polymers causing more harm. However, based on current research, we must question these claims of biodegradability and eco friendliness in order to prevent further environmental harm and to ensure that consumers are provided with factual product information."
  • As Andersen points out, the U.S. Federal Trade Commission (FTC) clearly addresses marketing misinformation, including those that are directly related to false claims of environmental benefits.
The FTC Act states that the law "... acts in the interest of all consumers to prevent deceptive and unfair acts or practices. The Commission has determined that a representation, omission or practice is deceptive if it is likely to mislead consumers and affect consumers' behavior or decisions about the product or service. Marketers may make an unqualified degradable claim only if they can prove that the entire product or package will completely break down and return to nature within a reasonably short period of time after customary disposal."
#PodsPollute! - New Study Shows That Detergent Pods Are Contributing To Plastic Pollution
PVA pods are making into the environment and the food chain. (Photo: Shutterstock via Plastic Oceans International)
The study provides data needed in order to demand a closer look at how manufacturers are marketing their products to consumers. That's something we can act on now, but more is to be done on the research end. Dr. Rolsky says the next steps are to study the actual impact that PVA is having on the environment, better quantifying levels found in various ecosystems and identifying the consequences related to them, in addition to exploring how closely PVA behaves relative to more traditional plastics.

About Plastic Oceans International:

"A US-based non-profit organization working to end plastic pollution and to foster sustainable communities worldwide. We operate with the belief that we can and must act locally in order to create change globally, and we do so through the power of film and other content to empower and globalize community actions."

22 July 2021

[Blog Tour] 'The Steel Rose' (The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy, Book 2) by Nancy Northcott #HistoricalFantasy #TimeTravel

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[Blog Tour] 'The Steel Rose' (The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy, Book 2) by Nancy Northcott #HistoricalFantasy #TimeTravel
The Steel Rose - Tour Banner

The Book:

The Steel Rose
(The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy, Book 2)
by Nancy Northcott

  • Publication Date: April 29, 2021
  • Publisher: Falstaff Books
  • Page Length: 370 Pages
  • Genre: Historical Fantasy/Romantic Fantasy

The Blurb:

The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy
A wizard’s misplaced trust
A king wrongly blamed for murder
A bloodline cursed until they clear the king’s name

Book 2: The Steel Rose
Amelia Mainwaring, a magically Gifted seer, is desperate to rescue the souls of her dead father and brother, who are trapped in a shadowy, wraith-filled land between life and death as the latest victims of their family curse. Lifting the curse requires clearing the name of King Richard III, who was wrongly accused of his nephews’ murder because of a mistake made by Amelia’s ancestor.

In London to seek help from a wizard scholar, Julian Winfield, Amelia has disturbing visions that warn of Napoleon Bonaparte’s escape from Elba and renewed war in Europe. A magical artifact fuels growing French support for Bonaparte. Can Amelia and Julian recover the artifact and deprive him of its power in time to avert the coming battles?

Their quest takes them from the crowded ballrooms of the London Season to the bloody field of Waterloo, demanding all of their courage, guile, and magical skill. Can they recover the artifact and stop Bonaparte? Or will all their hopes, along with Amanda’s father and brother, be doomed as a battle-weary Europe is once again engulfed in the flames of war?

The Steel Rose is the second book in the time-traveling, history-spanning fantasy series The Boar King’s Honor, from Nancy Northcott (Outcast Station, The Herald of Day).

Buy Links: 

This novel is available to read with #KindleUnlimited subscription.
[Blog Tour] 'The Steel Rose' (The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy, Book 2) by Nancy Northcott #HistoricalFantasy #TimeTravel
The Steel Rose - Front Cover

'The Steel Rose' -  Excerpt:

In this excerpt, Amelia and Julian’s Aunt Augusta search his library for clues about the Mainwaring curse and pull books from the shelves to donate to a charity sale. It introduces a possible avenue for lifting the family curse.

***

Despite hours of work, Amelia and Augusta had found nothing helpful about the Mainwaring curse. Now they were having tea before going back to the books Julian had left for them. Fighting frustration, Amelia savored the warm liquid going down her throat. At least she and Augusta had found several volumes of poetry and an old copy of Edward Gibbon’s multi-volume The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire for the charity box.

She glanced to the side, at the secret room that held the oldest books and those about magic. Usually concealed by a bookshelf, it stood exposed today. A touch of Augusta’s hand and a bit of magic had caused that shelf to slide behind the one on the left and revealed Julian’s sanctuary.

Having such a collection of books about magic to read whenever one wished would be divine.

Augusta took a bite of caraway biscuit. “You know, Julian can introduce you to a number of Gifted antiquaries and historians who might be able to help you. In the meantime, you’ll continue with your research here and sort a few books from time to time.”

“That sounds lovely. Thank you.”

“Are you ready to resume our hunt?”

Reading old-style type, with f for s, was fatiguing, but it was necessary. “Of course.”

The two women settled back into their chairs by the hearth. If they could find a clue—even something to trigger a vision or a scrying—that could lead them to proof Richard III hadn’t murdered his nephews, surely that would satisfy the curse.

Amelia had tried again to See or scry any link between king and the armor she’d Seen a few nights ago. Images of a sturdy figure wearing it on the battlefield and others of it packed into a chest had offered no clue. The figure bulged oddly in the upper torso, but that could’ve been an ill-fitting surcoat. The French emblem in the vision posed another puzzle. King Richard had been an enemy of France. Did the flag mean someone he’d fought held the answer she needed?

For now, best to attend to her research and not worry about this mystery.

Amelia picked up the next book on her stack. She and her hostess read in silence.

The delicate chiming of six by the mantel clock drew Amelia out of her book. “This is interesting,” she said. “Many more people than I realized defended King Richard’s honor, no matter how subtly and carefully they had to do it. It’s no wonder they waited until the Tudor dynasty ended.”

Augusta’s mouth turned up in a wry smile. “The more insecure a dynasty, the more likely they are to kill even a remote threat.” She fished a book from her stack. “You should read this one, Horace Walpole’s Historic Doubts on the Life and Reign of King Richard the Third. Take it home with you if you like.”

“We’re having a quiet evening for once, so I would like to have it.” Amelia accepted the book. “I should go, though. Mama and Aunt Louisa will be wondering where I am.”

“I’ll have James send for the carriage and bring your maid from the kitchen.”

They left the library without closing the secret room. With the Gifted footman away, calling for the carriage, was that wise? Before Amelia could think of a tactful way to ask, Augusta laid her fingertips on the doorknob. Faint silver flared around them, and she smiled. “Just a little ward until I return. Anyone who tries that door will find it stuck. Or so they’ll think.”

They strolled down the corridor to the stairs.

Descending, Augusta sighed. “One cannot help pitying Richard III when he learned his admired elder brother was perhaps not so admirable. Or feeling for poor Lady Eleanor Butler. Years before he met his future queen, King Edward secretly wed her, only to disavow the marriage when it suited him. She thought she’d won the heart of the most charismatic nobleman of the age, that she was Edward IV’s wife and would be his queen.”

“It must’ve seemed too good to be true.”

“As it proved to be.” In a voice as dry as earth in a drought, the older woman added, “She never married again, likely because she believed she would be committing bigamy. Julian says that in those days, a betrothal followed by a bedding made a marriage, with or without the ceremony. According to that book in your hand, a bishop married her to the king, albeit secretly. Of course she believed they were wed.”

“If Edward IV did that to her and later secretly married Elizabeth Woodville, his queen, how many others did he treat the same way between them?”

“We’ll never know. After King Edward died, the bishop told Richard of Gloucester, as King Richard was then, and showed his proofs to Parliament. Proofs that have gone missing. If Edward’s marriage to Eleanor was valid, as Julian and I believe, then his later marriage to his queen was bigamous. That made their children, including the two boys who’re still known as the Princes in the Tower, illegitimate and thus ineligible to inherit the crown.”

Amelia’s heart kicked. “If they had no right to the throne, King Richard had no reason to kill them. That would point to his innocence, perhaps even clear his name.”

Why had Buckingham seen them as a threat? Did he fear the nobility would prefer the sons of Edward IV, illegitimate or not, to him? King Richard would not have shared that fear. He’d acceded to the throne after being asked to do so by the nobility, and he’d subsequently received oaths of allegiance from the higher clergy, the lords, and officials of the City of London. His nephews posed no threat to him.

“If we could find that proof,” Augusta replied.
[Blog Tour] 'The Steel Rose' (The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy, Book 2) by Nancy Northcott #HistoricalFantasy #TimeTravel
Nancy Northcott

Author Bio:

Nancy Northcott’s childhood ambition was to grow up and become Wonder Woman. Around fourth grade, she realized it was too late to acquire Amazon genes, but she still loved comic books, science fiction, fantasy, history, and romance. She combines the emotion and high stakes, and sometimes the magic, she loves in the books she writes.

She has written freelance articles and taught at the college level. Her most popular course was on science fiction, fantasy, and society. She has also given presentations on the Wars of the Roses and Richard III to university classes studying Shakespeare’s play about Richard III. Reviewers have described her books as melding fantasy, romance, and suspense. Library Journal gave her debut novel, Renegade, a starred review, calling it “genre fiction at its best.”

In addition to the historical fantasy Boar King’s Honor trilogy, Nancy writes the Light Mage Wars paranormal romances, the Arachnid Files romantic suspense novellas, and the Lethal Webs romantic spy adventures. With Jeanne Adams, she cowrites the Outcast Station science fiction mysteries.

Married since 1987, Nancy and her husband have one son, a bossy dog, and a house full of books.

Connect with Nancy Northcott:

[Blog Tour] 'The Steel Rose' (The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy, Book 2) by Nancy Northcott #HistoricalFantasy #TimeTravel
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