Showing posts with label Novel Expressions Blog Tour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Novel Expressions Blog Tour. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Novel Expressions Blog Tours: What My Stories Mean To Me ~ Guest Post by Alfred Woollacott III, Author of The Immigrant


After retirement, I dabbled in my genealogy and family history. Soon, researching the vital dates and locations needed for my family tree branches grew tedious; whereas snippets of ancestors’ lives were intriguing, compelling me to romanticized further to put leaves on my branches. Babbling became an obsession.

John Law, the protagonist in “The Immigrant”, is my seven-greats grandfather. He was captured at the Battle of Dunbar, endured a ‘death march’ to Durham Cathedral, and survived a horrific, life-altering, trans-Atlantic crossing to arrive at Boston. Still in his teens, he began life anew as a Scottish POW in a Puritan Theocracy. I wondered about such a life. The Immigrant in many respects symbolizes the lives of a few hundred Scottish POWs in Puritan times.

Naamah Carter, the protagonist in “The Believers in the Crucible Nauvoo”, is my two-greats grand aunt. Like many, she was inspired by Joseph Smith’s testimonies and traveled to Nauvoo to join the faithful. With the western exodus imminent, she married Brigham Young. I was aware of these two historic figures, researched them further, and was awestruck by events in Nauvoo and their effect on the believers. To many, plural marriage is an anathema; to others, an enigma. But Naamah’s story is unique, more than what my initial reaction provided.
 
 
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Publisher: Myfourleggedstoolpublishers
Pub. Date: January 1st, 2015
Pages: 416
 
 
A historical saga that covers a winter of 1650/1651 journey of John Law, a young Scotsman captured by the English Lord Cromwell’s forces in seventeenth century Scotland during “The Battle of Dunbar”. He survives a death march to Durham, England and is eventually sent to Massachusetts Bay Colony as an indentured servant, arriving aboard the ship “Unity” that was carrying around 150 prisoners of war from different Scottish clans. Now an outcast, and in the sanctuary of the new colony, John starts over as an immigrant in a Puritan theocracy. He is first indentured to the Saugus Iron Works and then to Concord as a public shepherd in West Concord (now Acton). The young man faces obstacles often beyond his control, and his only ally is his faith. After his indenture is served he struggles a near lifetime to obtain title to his promised land. From start to finish “The Immigrant” is an intoxicating journey that follows the travails of John, his faith in God, his good wife and growing family.
 
 

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About the Author

 
 
 

Alfred Woollacott, III retired from KPMG after a career spanning 34 years, choosing to reside full time at his summer residence on Martha’s Vineyard. Being “45 minutes from America” and with a 50 – 60 hour per week void to fill, he began dabbling into his family history. His dabbling grew into an obsession, and he published several genealogical summaries of his ancestors. But certain ones absorbed him such that he could not leave them. So he researched their lives and times further while evolving his writing skills from “just the facts ma’am” to a fascinating narrative style. Thus with imagination, anchored in fact and tempered with plausibility, a remote ancestor can achieve a robust life as envisioned by a writer with a few drops of his ancestor’s blood in his veins.

When not writing, Al serves on several Boards, and keeps physically active with golf, tennis, and hockey. He and his wife of 44 years, Jill, have four children and ten grandchildren.
 
Learn more about Al on his website and connect with him on Twitter and Facebook.
 
 

Novel Expressions Blog Tours Schedule



April 16th

Book Review – Locks, Hooks and Book

April 17th

Book Review- before the second sleep
Book Excerpt – A Bookaholic Swede

April 18th 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

Friday, March 16, 2018

Novel Expressions Blog Tours: Excerpt of Daughters of the Night Sky by Aimie K. Runyan

Chapter I


1931, Miass, Chelyabinsk Oblast, the Gateway to Siberia


I stared as the rainbow-hued blooms danced in the breeze, imagining them ballerinas on the Moscow stage. The expansive steel-blue mountains, always capped with a hood of ice, were so different from the narrow streets and towering buildings of the city where I had spent my earliest years. My memories of the capital were garish with color. On bleak days, I could see in my mind Saint Basil’s with its earthy, sienna-colored body and onion-shaped spires swathed in rich tones of emerald, ruby, sapphire, and topaz, always set against a flurry of snow. The white swirl of frost made the colors reverberate even more, the memory refusing to be erased from the brilliant palette of my youth. The people—happy or cross, handsome or plain—were more colorful, too. Miass was gray, and the people with it. They mined in the hills, tended their shops, managed their farms. Mama worked in the laundry, day after day in a fog of gray.

But for two weeks in July, the muddy hills along the riverbank outside Miass were a riot of color. The summer of my tenth year was a particularly magnificent display. The splashes of lavender, crimson, and indigo against the sea of grass were the closest thing I could imagine to heaven. It was as though the Ural Mountains had been given an annual allotment of color by the new regime and they had chosen to use it up during those two glorious weeks.

I should have been at home in the cabin, doing the mending or preparing supper for Mama. She would be too tired to attend to these things when she came home, but to waste any of that color seemed inexcusable. So I left the chores undone, reveling in the light of summer.

When the hulking, olive-green airplane scarred the sky with its white trail, I thought perhaps my mother’s worst fears had been realized, that my imagination had run wild and I had finally gone mad. She would be so disappointed, but there was always a satisfaction in being proved right, I supposed.

But then I saw the neighbor, a squat old farmer with a face like a weathered beet, emerge from his cabin and follow the winding white exhaust from the sputtering engines with his dull, black eyes until the green speck was low on the horizon. It was real, and it was landing in the field outside the town square.

I knew I was running the risk of making Mama angry. I had no school that day, or marketing, or any other errand that would call me into town. She didn’t want me there more than I had to be, but she could hardly blame me for my curiosity. Papa used to talk about the airplanes he had flown in the European War—the war that had made him a hero—and Mama had to know the lure of seeing an aircraft for myself would be too great to resist.

I ran the two kilometers into Miass, and by the time I reached it, the townspeople had abandoned their work and gathered in the field to the east of town to see the remarkable machine and its pilot. He was a tall man with dark hair and a bristling black mustache that gleamed in the afternoon sun. He spoke to the crowd with a strong voice, and they stood captivated, as though Stalin himself had come to speak. I had seen Stalin once when he addressed the people of Moscow, and was far more impressed with this new visitor with the leather helmet and goggles atop his head.

Mama, who had been straining to take a peek, spotted me as I approached the crowd, and wove her way through the throng to my side, clasping my hand when I was within reach. Her power for worry was a formidable monster, and I had learned it was easier to placate it than to fight it.

“I thought this would bring you in, Katya. I wish you’d stayed home.” Annoyance or sheer exhaustion lined her face. “I can’t afford to leave early to see you home.”

“I made it here, Mama. I can make it home,” I answered, careful to keep any hint of cheek from my tone.

“Very well,” she said. “But I won’t tolerate this again.”

I laced my fingers in hers and kissed the back of her hand, hoping to soften her mood. I wouldn’t enjoy this if she were angry with me. “What has he told everyone, Mama?”

“He’s flying across the whole country,” she said, absently stroking my hair with her free hand. “He says there is a problem with his engine and he had to land for repairs.”

She strained her neck and stood on the tips of her toes to get a better view of the aircraft, but it was useless for me. I was a tall girl but still could not hope to see over the heads of the swarm that encircled the astounding contraption. I broke free from Mama’s grip and squeezed myself through the cracks until I was standing only a few centimeterss from the metal casing. It was not smooth, as it appeared from a distance, but dimpled by the rivets that attached the sheets of metal to the frame beneath.

The pilot answered the townspeople’s questions with patience.

“How does it stay up?” one of the town’s mechanics called out.

“Aren’t you afraid to crash?” a young woman with a squawking toddler asked.

They didn’t seem like interesting questions to me, but all the same he didn’t answer the mechanic with a sarcastic “Fairy dust” or the young mother with a “No, I wouldn’t feel a thing if I did,” as others might have done. He gave a very simple explanation and spoke as if each question was the most important matter in his world. No one chattered when he offered his explanations; no one muttered about men forgetting that their place was on the ground.

Emboldened, I placed my hand on the metal of the plane’s body, warmed by the summer sun, but not too hot to touch for a few seconds. I removed my hand before the pilot could chastise me. Though I longed to run my hands along the wings that spread outward forever, I wouldn’t have the stolen caress ruined by a reprimand. Papa’s descriptions had not come close to doing the machine justice. My mind could only begin to understand the freedom this aircraft gave its pilot. He could go anywhere he pleased: If he could fly from the western border of Russia to the farthest reaches of Siberia, there was nothing stopping him from continuing on to see the wonders of China. Better still, he could go back west to see Geneva, Madrid, Florence, and all the cities Mama had dreamed of seeing but no longer spoke of.

I knew that if I had one of these machines for myself, I would never settle in one place for the rest of my days. I would hop from the pyramids of Egypt to the Amazon to the streets of New York and wherever else my fancy flew me. I looked at the pilot and tried not to let my jealousy consume me. He had earned his wings, his freedom. Someday I could earn mine, too. I would take Mama on my adventures, and she could leave the laundry behind her. She’d never do so much as rinse a blouse out in a sink ever again. She would smile again. Sing again. We would eat like queens and hire people to see to the less pleasant tasks of daily life. I would never speak that aloud in front of my teacher, Comrade Dokorov. He’d chastise me for setting a bad example of capitalist greed.

In an unprecedented gesture of generosity, Mama’s boss allowed her to come home early that day without docking her pay, owing to my presence in town. The plane must have bewitched him as it had me. The entire way home and all throughout preparations of dinner, I spoke of nothing but the pilot and his airplane. Mama listened patiently, but her cornflower eyes began to grow hazy.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m boring you,” I said, adding the potatoes to the stewpot.

“No, darling. I’m simply tired, as usual.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand as she stirred.

“I’m going to learn how to fly a plane of my own someday, Mama. I’m going to get us out of here.”


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Publisher: Lake Union Publishing

Pub. Date: January 1st, 2018
Pages: 316

Genre: Historical Fiction


A novel—inspired by the most celebrated regiment in the Red Army—about a woman’s sacrifice, courage, and love in a time of war.


Russia, 1941. Katya Ivanova is a young pilot in a far-flung military academy in the Ural Mountains. From childhood, she’s dreamed of taking to the skies to escape her bleak mountain life. With the Nazis on the march across Europe, she is called on to use her wings to serve her country in its darkest hour. Not even the entreaties of her new husband—a sensitive artist who fears for her safety—can dissuade her from doing her part as a proud daughter of Russia.

After years of arduous training, Katya is assigned to the 588th Night Bomber Regiment—one of the only Soviet air units comprised entirely of women. The Germans quickly learn to fear nocturnal raids by the daring fliers they call “Night Witches.” But the brutal campaign will exact a bitter toll on Katya and her sisters-in-arms. When the smoke of war clears, nothing will ever be the same—and one of Russia’s most decorated military heroines will face the most agonizing choice of all.


About the Author



Aimie K. Runyan writes to celebrate history’s unsung heroines. She is the author of two previous historical novels: Promised to the Crown and Duty to the Crown, and hard at work on novel #4. She is active as an educator and a speaker in the writing community and beyond. She lives in Colorado with her wonderful husband and two (usually) adorable children.
To learn more about Aimie and her work, please visit her website, and connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.
 

Novel Expressions Blog Tour Schedule

 
March 12th

Book Review – 2 Kids and Tired Books
Book Review – MY NOVELSQUE LIFE

March 13th

Guest Post – Let Them Read Books
Book Review – Locks, Hooks and Books

March 14th

Book Spotlight – The Writing Desk
Book Review – The Maiden’s Court

March 15th

Book Excerpt – A Bookaholic Swede

March 16th

Interview – Just One More Chapter
Book Excerpt – A Literary Vacation
Book Review – before the second sleep
 
 
 


Wednesday, February 21, 2018

The Life of Eileen O'Connell - Guest Post by Kevin O'Connell, Author of Two Journeys Home: :A Novel of Eighteenth Century Europe

 

Since Two Journeys Home’s predecessor volume, Beyond Derrynane, was first published, now some eighteen months ago, Eileen O’Connell has captured the attention of virtually everyone familiar with the story. Whenever people – critics, readers, friends – have spoken and/or written about Eileen, or for that matter asked me about her, her courage and/or strength are mentioned as frequently as – or even more than – her arresting physical presence.

 Of less focus has been what was Eileen’s quiet yet continuing struggle between being strong and courageous and the realities of being an Eighteenth-Century female, not to mention an aristocrat – even of a “fallen” aristocracy – in that period, in a time when and especially in a social setting in which, women were expected to do as they were told, to be meek, pliant and gentle. As became quickly apparent in Derrynane Eileen proved to be none of these.

 As a child bride, in Beyond Derrynane, she initially accepted the reality of being, as one character observes “sold like a fine horse” to an extremely wealthy man of advanced age, whom she’d never met – solely to benefit her family’s largely-illegal commercial interests. When she was unexpectedly confronted by violence, she reflexively responded to it with her own even more extreme measures, showing herself to be not at all reluctant to employ the use of firearms, in retribution as well as in her on-going defence.

That she did so virtually insured her continued safety – perhaps even more importantly, it permitted her to create the kind of life largely unimaginable to one such as herself. In addition to being the spouse of a wealthy and powerful individual, as intended by the O’Connells, she achieved a remarkable degree of autonomy, power and control over her husband and her life.

 Widowed within months of her marriage, Eileen (albeit through her brother, as the head of her family – women, of course, would not speak of such things publicly!) would customarily be expected to make it be known that she was seeking another advantageous marriage. Rather, provided with an alternative, she struck out on an entirely different path, one that took her far from home into what must have seemed, even to her at the time, as at least something of a daunting environment, albeit one in which she came to thrive – in no small measure because of her strength and courage.

As the Saga continues, so too does Eileen “chart her own course”, drawing from this inner strength to sustain herself in difficult circumstances – even those in which she would probably not have found herself had she “behaved properly”.

 Considering the singular nature of this complex young woman, one must reflect on whether, and if so how, her independence, courage and strength may have impacted her in the world of the Eighteenth Century.

 I believe it is fair to say that the structure of the O’Connells of Derrynane very much reflected the overall ethos of the period: Like Eighteenth Century Europe itself, it was largely male-dominated, raucous, untidy and, at times, dangerous. (I say “largely” because – at least according to the old tales and as my own stories are written – Eileen’s mother appears in many ways to control the inner workings of the world that was Derrynane – the largely self-sufficient, heavily-guarded remote sanctuary at the tip of County Kerry, which the family called home.) She may have perhaps been something of a “model” for Eileen, though even Maire speaks of herself as “being just a woman, a weak woman”.

Eileen is obviously intelligent – indeed, “’brilliant,’ the priests say,” she reflects at one point.

As one character observed early on in Derrynane, speaking in part about Eileen, “(T)he O’Connells, they are unusual people. They are frighteningly intelligent; one is able to see and hear this in the girl herself. From merely a few moments spent with and near her . . . , I am able to say that her Latin puts the damned priests to shame, her French is near flawless and – though she is still a mere girl, a child, and only just beginning to grasp the reality of who and what she is – even at this juncture she is as poised as a woman twice her age, and more regal than most I have ever encountered in Dublin, indeed in London as well.

“These O’Connells are arrogant and prideful, yes . . . they see themselves as somehow benighted, even though they are mere graziers and smugglers and thieves and cattle-rustlers, and God knows what else in addition.

 “They live down there at the very end of Kerry, protected by their mountains and their own cunning and by what appears to be a strange combination of fear and awe that they have somehow managed to instil in their good Protestant neighbours, so as to keep them in thrall. They lie hidden in their glens, nourished in many ways by the ocean that they treat as their own; they journey to Spain the way we may go to London . . . They are singular, indeed, like it or not, and many, many in Ireland do not!

 “Despite the fact that the O’Connells may be disliked by many—indeed hated by some—. . . they do not appear to care what anyone thinks . . .”

Standing six feet and an inch, perhaps two feet tall, and broad shouldered, Eileen is not only an imposing figure but a strikingly beautiful woman – with thick, waist-length blue-black hair, the deepest of blue eyes, a husky, almost sensual voice. It is with a remarkable degree of cunning, that she rarely hesitates to employ either or both of her appearance and courage to her advantage, the general result of which, for good or for ill, she finds is that she is intimidating to most men . . . and virtually all women.

Though her physical and personal attributes largely serve her well as the stories progress, one does wonder if being “intimidating to most men . . . and virtually all women” might leave this young woman feeling isolated and alone in the complex, at times dangerous, worlds in which she comes to dwell.

I think not – perhaps the most significant reasons for this conclusion being that, despite her gender and (save to some degree for her older sister Abigail, with whom she first went to Vienna), unlike all of the six other still-living sisters Eileen embodies, and indeed (unlike Abby) fully embraces, the O’Connells’ reputed attributes: In addition to being “frighteningly intelligent,” she is arrogant and prideful, and one can only assume that, with significant exceptions, she cares very little about what most individuals with whom she may come in contact think about her.

This having been said, it would relatively simply to conclude dismissively that Eileen was or could easily be viewed as little more than a snobbish bore.

To do so would be an unfortunate conclusion, for she comes to move easily amongst the grandeur and the personalities at the Habsburg court, beloved especially by her youngest charge, her Little Archduchess, Maria Antonia, and greatly respected by the Empress Maria Theresa herself – no easy individual with whom to get along if the history books are accurate.

It is precisely because of her courage and strength of character that Eileen proves to be successful in Vienna. She does so because she is able reconcile these attributes, and the further fact that she is extremely well-educated, with the reality that she is very much an Eighteenth-Century woman. She readily defers to the Empress, and deftly – and respectfully – manages her relationships with lesser courtiers, virtually all being superior to her. She is conservative in her views, a firm absolute monarchist – her disdain for English rule in Ireland notwithstanding.

To say that Eileen O’Connell is a strong personality would be an understatement – I say this as I have “experienced” her strength. Hearing her stories from an early age, I have “known” Eileen virtually all of my life, and, for reasons unbeknownst, have always felt some mystical, numinous connection with her. Interestingly, Beyond Derrynane began as a family chronicle, focusing on the youngest O’Connell child, Hugh. Though the opening scenes involved Eileen’s return to Derrynane, they primarily introduced the little boy. Within a matter of days of writing, however, Eileen had somehow managed to push and elbow her way into my imagination, indeed, thoughts, story-lines, actual scenes and dialogue “appeared” as if by magic – and from that point the Derrynane Saga has largely become Eileen’s story.

Like her life as a whole, she has made it her own.
 
 
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Publisher: Gortcullinane Press
Pub. Date: November 1st, 2017
Pages: 310
 
Book Series: The Derrynane Saga (Book 2)
Genre: Historical Fiction


It’s 1767. As the eagerly anticipated sequel to Beyond Derrynane begins, Eileen O’Connell avails herself of a fortuitous opportunity to travel back to Ireland. In Two Journeys Home, the O’Connells encounter old faces and new—and their lives change forever.

Her vivacious personality matched only by her arresting physical presence, Eileen returns to Derrynane this time not as a teen aged widow but as one of the most recognised figures at the Habsburg court. Before returning to Vienna she experiences a whirlwind romance, leading to a tumult of betrayal and conflict with the O’Connell clan.

Abigail lives not in the shadow of her sister but instead becomes the principal lady-in-waiting to Empress Maria Theresa.

Hugh O’Connell leaves behind waning adolescence and a fleeting attraction to the youngest archduchess when he begins a military career in the Irish Brigade under Louis XV. But more royal entanglement awaits him in France…


Author Kevin O’Connell again deftly weaves threads of historical fact and fancy to create a colourful tapestry affording unique insights into the courts of eighteenth-century Catholic Europe and Protestant Ascendancy–ruled Ireland. Watch as the saga continues to unfold amongst the O’Connell’s, their friends and enemies, at home and abroad.


Praise for Two Journeys Home



"O’Connell is a fantastic storyteller. His prose is so rich and beautiful it is a joy to read. The story is compelling and the characters memorable – all the more so because they are based on real people. . . I am Irish but I did not know about this piece of Irish history. It is fascinating but historical fiction at the same time . . . Highly recommended for historical fiction lovers!"- Beth Nolan, Beth’s Book Nook


"I enjoyed the first part of the Saga awhile back . . . (and) couldn’t wait to continue the story of Eileen and her family . . . this author really does have a way with words. The world and the characters are so vivid . . . Overall, I was hooked from page one. I honestly think that (Two Journeys Home) was better than (Beyond Derrynane) – which is rare. The characters and world-building was done in such a beautiful manner . . . I can’t wait for the next one . . ."- Carole Rae, Carole’s Sunday Review, Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell


"Two Journeys Home: A Novel of Eighteenth Century Europe . . . is a gripping story that will transport the reader back in time, a story with a strong setting and compelling characters . . . a sensational romance, betrayal, family drama and intrigue . . . The plot is so complex that I find it hard to offer a summary in a few lines, but it is intriguing and it holds many surprises . . . great writing. Kevin O’Connell’s prose is crisp and highly descriptive. I was delighted (by) . . . how he builds the setting, offering . . . powerful images of places, exploring cultural traits and unveiling the political climate of the time . . . The conflict is (as well-developed as the characters) and it is a powerful ingredient that moves the plot forward . . . an absorbing and intelligently-crafted historical novel . . . ."- Divine Zapa for Readers’ Favourite

 

Buy the Book

 

About the Author

 
Kevin O’Connell is a native of New York City and the descendant of a young officer of what had—from 1690 to 1792—been the Irish Brigade of the French Army, believed to have arrived in French Canada following the execution of Queen Marie Antoinette in October of 1793. He holds both Irish and American citizenship.

An international business attorney, Mr. O’Connell is an alumnus of Providence College and Georgetown University Law Centre.

A lifelong personal and scholarly interest in the history of eighteenth-century Ireland, as well as that of his extended family, led O’Connell to create his first book, Beyond Derrynane, which will, together with Two Journeys Home and the two books to follow, comprise the Derrynane Saga.

The father of five children and grandfather of ten, he and his wife, Laurette, live with their golden retriever, Katie, near Annapolis, Maryland.
 
To learn more about Kevin and his writing visit his website and Amazon profile page, and connect with him on Facebook.

 

Novel Expressions Blog Tour Schedule

 
February 19th

Spotlight Layered Pages

February 20th

Guest Post -The Writing Desk
Guest Post – Blood Mother Blog

February 21th

Book Review - A Bookaholic Swede
Book Excerpt – Kate Braithwaite
Guest Post – A Literary Vacation

February 22nd

Interview & Review – Flashlight Commentary
Book Excerpt – Just One More Chapter
Book Review –Impressions In Ink

February 23rd

Book Review – Lock, Hooks and Books
Book Review – before the second sleep

March 5th
 
 
*Find out  more about Novel Expression Blog Tours on their website*