Tuesday, October 29, 2019

#93 Inside The Emotion of Fiction: THE SHADOWS BEHIND by Kristi Petersen Schoonover



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***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished fiction genre writers for INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION.  Contact CRC Blog via email at
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****Kristi Petersen Schoonover’s THE SHADOWS BEHIND is #93 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific excerpt from a fiction genre and how that fiction writer wrote that specific excerpt.  All INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION links are at the end of this piece. 


Name of fiction work? And were there other names you considered that you would like to share with us? I’ve chosen to talk about my short story “Hairless Girl Does the Hula,” which appears in my most recent collection, The Shadows Behind.
       I have a strong emotional connection to almost every piece I write, but some connections are stronger than others. I considered my novellette, This Poisoned Ground, because that was written during an extremely dark time in my life, and its creation was both torturous and cathartic—I had to let someone I’d loved very much go. In the end, I chose “Hairless,” because it deals with more complicated themes than grief and loss for me; I was trying to understand the concept of resolution, and it took nearly a decade for me to be able to reach closure so I could finish the story. In short, my emotional journey with this one was much longer and more complex.
       I also considered the longer project I’m working on right now, but I’m still emotionally “living” there, so I don’t really understand my relationship to it yet, and I can’t really discuss it without ruining my mojo to get it done.

Has this been published? And it is totally fine if the answer is no.  If yes, what publisher and what publication date? Yes. It appears in my short story collection, The Shadows Behind, which was published by Books & Boos Press in April of 2019.

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I started “Hairless” in January 2008. I pulled it out to work on it several times over the years—in 2009, in 2010, in 2011. I messed with it a little bit in 2013 and in 2015. When I had an offer on the table for The Shadows Behind in 2018, I made up my mind to get it completely finished, come hell or high water, so that it could be included in the collection. The official “finish” date was July 4, 2018, although it went through a couple of rounds of minor edits after that.

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work?  And please describe in detail.  And can you please include a photo? Because this story took a decade to finish, it’s been physically penned in countless places, including my dorm room up at Goddard College and a friend’s house in Rhode Island.
But my two favorite places to write are in my home office and on my back porch—the latter I mostly use as an “office” from the first nice day in April through November, and I love it, because it’s a large space that faces the untamed woods (I hate landscaping) and is very private. “Hairless” was completed on my back porch, and I was so excited that my journey with it had ended that I even wrote a blog post about it, which you can read here: https://kristipetersenschoonover.com/2018/07/04/independent-girl-does-the-hula-why-the-writing-life-is-worth-it/


What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? How I wrote “Hairless” evolved with how I grew older.  
          Years ago, I used to write with a glass of wine or beer. But as I’ve gotten older, that doesn’t work; it just ruins my focus because it puts me in a partying mood or gets me too relaxed. So now it’s coffee or my favorite diet soda—either Stewart’s Orange Cream or Tab. “Hairless” saw both libations, because I started it when I was in my thirties and then changed my habits in the ensuing decade.
       I also used to smoke in my home office, so there was always a cigarette burning in that ashtray back when I started this story. We no longer smoke in my house, so that’s also a habit that’s changed. Now I only smoke when I work outside.
       If I’m writing in my home office, I listen to music—usually film scores. I can tell you that the early pages of “Hairless” were probably written to the scores for Sideways, Gettysburg, and The Haunted Mansion (2003). When I finished it in 2018, I was sitting outside on my back porch, and my accompaniment was the noise of the twenty-odd species of birds we have in our yard thanks to my husband’s feeders, as well as the distant whine of motorboats on a nearby lake.

       I have a candle burning, no matter where I am. I believe fire powers creativity.
       I almost always write everything directly on some type of typing instrument, because I type 80 wpm and, therefore, it’s much faster than handwriting. “Hairless” was probably one of the first stories I wrote on a laptop—everything prior to 2008 was written on my old Dell desktop that I bought in 2004 (which I still use, actually, for video projects, believe it or not). I didn’t get my first laptop until right around the time I started “Hairless.”
       When I started “Hairless,” I was a night-writer. When I finished it? I was an early-morning/all day writer. Time, though, has never been a factor for me. I write when I’m inspired. Inspiration doesn’t keep a clock.

What scene/excerpt of the book was the most emotional for you to write? This scene/excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer. Although the flashbacks with Hailey’s father were very difficult—my dad had just passed away when I started this story, and through Hailey’s relationship to him I could see the damage in my own relationship to my dad, and it would often make me cry while I was writing it—the most difficult was the scene at the end, in which Hailey and her love interest, Toke, finally connect.

His apartment building is older, garden-style and only two floors—he lives on the first one, and I am fortunately clear-headed enough to remember which door he’d come out of when I picked him up this morning.
I knock, and suddenly feel like I’m going to pass out. This is your last chance, Hailey; this is the last chance you have to call this whole thing off. He doesn’t come to the door for what seems like forever, and then, I think, what if he doesn’t answer—
—it opens with a click-swish and I’m hit with the smell of beer and cigarette smoke. He’s in a gray T-shirt and navy shorts and seems so much taller than he did this afternoon; then I realize there’s a step up to enter his apartment. “Hailey.”
I nod and force a smile, but I know it’s a nervous one. “Yeah. I just . . . changed my mind, is all.”
“Jesus, woman. You’re practically white. You good?” He motions me inside, and the second I cross the threshold I feel comfortable and . . . safe; not what I’d expected to feel. I set my bag on the floor in the corner and glance around his apartment. It’s not bright and typically Floridian—it’s got walnut paneling. There are two mission-style futons. Gray-and-blue flecked rug. Cheap, badly put-together furniture, like the kind you buy in boxes at Walmart and assemble with flimsy included tools. No colors match: green cushions, maroon cushions, rust curtains, gold raised-velvet wallpaper.
I was right. There are no hula girls here.
I realize I’m not really drunk anymore, probably a combination of fear, adrenaline, and the fact that I’d puked up most of the remainder of the bottle of rum and the last couple of shots of SoCo before they’d had time to seriously take effect. “Fine. Like I said, I changed my mind.”
Terrified I’ll see the hula girl standing in the parking lot, I peer outside before closing the front door.
He motions to the futon. “Come. Sit.”
I do. The cushion is much more comfortable than it looks; I sink into it.
He goes into the kitchenette and opens the refrigerator; I’m close enough that I can see all that’s in it is alcohol, a couple of Chinese food containers, and what looks to be a pile of onion peels or something on the very bottom. “Want a beer?”
I’m not big on beer, but recall with horror that, yes, I had gotten sick, and yes, I hadn’t brushed my teeth. I was going to need something to cover that up. “Sure.”
“Miller Lite, Killian’s Red, or Bud?”
We don’t serve any of that at the Kahiki, so I don’t really know what the difference is. I decide on the most interesting name. “Killian’s sounds good.”
“Woman after my own heart.” He bends over and I hear him slide out a drawer.
For the first time, I notice a long mark on the back of his left thigh. It’s like the amoebas I used to see in my science textbooks way back when, a big white blob fringed in a brown fuzzy ring.
I’m afraid to say anything, so I don’t.
He struts into the living room and hands me the beer, then settles down on the floor across from me. “It’s a burn scar, by the way. Really old. It was back when I first started training.”
I flush with embarrassment. “I—I didn’t mean to stare.”
“Didn’t know you were. Just everybody asks when I wear something short enough to see it, so I figured I’d get it out of the way.”
I bring the bottle to my lips and can barely get past the smell of it—like rug shampoo and cat piss. I don’t sip and say instead, “Weren’t you afraid after that?”
“Sure. Was I supposed to give up? I’d already told myself the fire thing wasn’t something I was going to fail at.” He sips his beer and reaches for his cigarettes. “Every fear you have you can pretty much trace back to the fear of failure. All fear is rooted there.”
I’m skeptical. “Fear of spiders?”
He shrugs matter-of-factly. “Fear of the failure to protect yourself.”
“Okay. Fear of . . . sleep.”
He lights his cigarette. “Fear of the failure to be impervious. When you sleep, you’re vulnerable.”
I think about the hula girls, how they’re a defense mechanism and nothing more. But a defense mechanism—that’s a manifestation of fear. The hula girl who chased me out of my apartment—her, too. But fear of what?
“And you’re sitting way up there. I don’t bite.” He pats the floor. “Come down here.”
I feel a flush. I join him, kneeling sideways.
I can see the bulge in his shorts.
Oh my God.
This moment is here.
I try in vain to suppress a nervous smile.
He shifts closer. “Don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m just—”
He sets his burning cigarette in the ashtray. “Remember before, when I was talking about fire and water? How they need each other?”
“Yes,” I say. Not that I care at the moment.
“Comes from Hawaiian legend. There’s many variations. But there’s one that says Pele, goddess of fire, was actually married to Kamapua’a, the god of water.” He inches forward.
Our knees are touching.
Small shocks travel up my legs.
“Story says Pele got mad at him, chased him out of their home with lava all the way to the sea.” He reaches out and takes my hands. “But it’s the lava, its collision with the sea, that creates more land. Makes the island grow.”
His hands. I could write novels about his hands, forceful with a fire knife but tender now, rough but gentle as he manipulates his large fingers between mine.
“Chase me to the sea,” he whispers, and then his mouth smashes on mine.
His tongue butterflies in my mouth. I’m overwhelmed by the taste of hops, the smell of beach sand and the white gas they use in his knife. Hot fireworks of want explode inside me in places I never knew existed as he bulldozes me to the floor.
Our beers spill. The ashtray goes flying. Something plummets from the coffee table.
Oh, God my wig. My wig is going to come off.
His weight bears on me and forces the air from my lungs, but I suck hard and sounds I don’t recognize escape the back of my throat because this feels right and wonderful and amazing and all sorts of other words I couldn’t really fathom until this moment.
“I want to be inside you right. Now.”
Nothing excites me more than this. I watch him as he hefts off me and straightens up, wrestles with his shirt, throws it over by the glass sliding door that leads out to a small patio.
In the window stands a familiar figure.
Only it’s not a hula girl this time.
It’s Izzy, her eyes glowing like hot coals.
I scream.
He leaps off me. “Oh God. Did I hurt you? Shit!”
“No, no—it’s not that it’s not that it’s not that, there’s just . . .” There’s what? What the fuck do I say?
She’s gone.
He grins. “Oh . . . you’re a screamer. When you get worked up.”
“Yes,” I lie. Eager to distract him, I sit up and work out of my tank top. I’m not wearing a bra.
He crawls back to me, runs his hands up my legs, using words like smooth and soft and that it’s like I have no hair.
I try to quell the rising tide of fear, but he keeps going, furiously fingering the button and zipper on my jeans. He lifts me off the floor and works them down to my knees, then does the same with my thong and gasps. “You shaved!”
My breath catches in my throat. Oh, shit. “Is that bad?”
“No.” His eyes meet mine, and he looks amazed. “I’ve never been with a woman who shaved and that’s . . . something I always wanted. That’s—” he stops.
He’s looking at me—well, not me.
At the top of my head.
Panic grips my soul. The warm flush throbbing in every corner of me abruptly halts.
“Your hair is crooked.”
“Um . . .” Tears well up in my eyes. I can’t stop them. “It’s—it’s a wig.”
Under my tense fingers I feel his arm muscles have gone taut and still.
There’s a long moment. The only sound is the whoosh of the central air kicking on and the quiet hiccup of the tears I’m trying to control.
“It’s okay.” He shifts slightly off of me, puts his head down on my shoulder and wraps his big arms around me. “It’s okay. Cry it out. When you’re done, you can tell me.”
When I open my eyes between jags I see Izzy in the corner, but I know she can’t get to me because he’s between us. I want to tell him the whole thing, everything, but I can’t, not now when I know that the best I can hope for is these last few moments before it’s a sure thing that this won’t finish, that I’ll have to leave and go back to my apartment, forced to hold on to only a few tactile memories and the fear that he’ll tell everyone. That I’ll become some backstage failed sex story shared with the other performers over a few beers while Izzy tortures me in every waking moment, in every hula dancer glass, clock, picture frame and bathing suit in my house.
I’m finally cried out. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be.”
“I have—it’s alopecia. It means I have no hair. Anywhere.”
Stillness again.
“This is a bad thing because why?” His hand pets my shoulder. “Don’t women spend fortunes on Brazilians? Razors? Nair?”
“But I’m bald.”
“I don’t care,” he says. “Personally? Can’t stand a hairy woman. This guy right here? Left women ’cause they were too hairy. I know. I’m a bastard. Just a thing I have.”
I let this sink in. “What?”
“Can I see it?”
“Can you see what?”
“You. Bald.”
I bite my lip. This is the one step I’m not sure I can take.
He lifts himself, rolls off me, and sits up. “Take it off.”
Something comes over me, a peace I’ve never felt before.
He holds out his meaty hand. “Come on. Take it off.”
I do.
He gasps and for one second I think it’s in horror. He reaches up and touches my head. His fingers tickle and it’s sensitive—no one’s ever touched it before. I don’t know whether to scream or wince.
“You’re perfect.”
I blink in surprise. I’m not sure I’ve heard that correctly. He can’t mean that, can he? What the hell is going on here? Is he real? Is this actually happening? “Really?”
“God yes.” His breath is hot in my ear. “Bed.”
He stands up and yanks me to my feet and into the adjoining room, eagerly splays me naked on the bed, mounts me. I wait for the pain—like the stabbing of knives—that Izzy told me girls have when they have sex for the first time. Strangely, it doesn’t come. All I feel is an odd sense of fulfillment, completeness.
I see Izzy in the doorway. Glaring.
But the whole world is different now. He’s inside me, pounding, using words like tight and I feel beautiful and bold. I peer over at his shoulder at her and feel remorse; that trophy, now, seems like a meaningless trinket, its value squat. It should’ve been hers. I never should’ve taken it from her. Never should’ve done what I did. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Toke hesitates for only a second. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shift so I can look into his eyes, wide open and boring straight into mine, unwilling for even a softening of her malignant stare to miss the thrill ride that is Toke.
There is fire and water, and no more fear.


Why is this scene/excerpt so emotional for you to write?  And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific scene/excerpt? That scene’s specifics were taken from a real experience which had happened a dozen years prior, in 1997. Things were ripped, word-for-word in some cases, from the detailed journal entry I’d written about it. I had to relive that painful day all over again, and see—especially in 2018, 21 years later, when that scene was finally completed—what had actually been going on between me and this other person. Trying to take that raw, painful memory and shape it into a scene that was meaningful and made sense for the story was like being stabbed with knives; it was about acceptance and self-love in an environment where there wasn’t any in the real world. It was like taking my own personal tragedy and putting a happy ending on it, even though, in the end, no one wins, and there are no happy endings. I’d say now it’s probably why the damn thing sat in a drawer on and off for a decade: I simply wasn’t ready to deal with the truth.

Were there any deletions from this scene/excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt. Oh my, yes. That scene had about four or five different ways it was going to go, and I had no idea how it was going to end—essentially, it’s the end of the story; there’s just a brief tag after that, but that was a decision that was made later (I did not include how the story ends in the excerpt I provided). I’m afraid my mark-up photo isn’t going to show much, because I mostly do it on the fly, typing over the old draft, fixing it as I go. But this screenshot of an old PDF I saved from two days prior to finishing illustrates that the dialogue, and who was doing what, was completely different from the finished version. It also looks like the appearance of the ghost is in a different spot.

Other works you have published? I’ve been published in many magazines and anthologies over the years, and some things were back before the days of the Internet, so they’re completely out of print.

My main works include this most recent collection, The Shadows Behind, which is about the monsters that chase us from within; my short story collection, Skeletons in the Swimmin’ Hole: Tales from Haunted Disney World; my novel, Bad Apple; my novellette, This Poisoned Ground; and my novella, Splendid Chyna, which appears in The Terror Project’s Three on a Match. All of these are available on Amazon and other places books are sold, as they’re with several different publishers.

Links to short stories of mine that are still available in online magazines for free are here: https://kristipetersenschoonover.com/where-to-read-me/. I’d recommend giving “Wailing Station,” “King of Bull,” and “A Bone to Pick” to get a sense of my style.

Anything you would like to add? One of the most important things about writing, at least for me, is to be able to let yourself go while you’re doing it. 

          I have had times when I’ve cried or laughed writing a certain scene, times when I was just devastated or inebriated by what I was feeling. It’s hard to allow yourself to go to those extreme places, and that’s why some people avoid it. But when you are truly engaged in the emotion of what you’re creating, it breaks through to the page without your having to work at it. 
    
          I’ve read so many short stories in my lifetime, and I can tell the difference between ones that were guided by eviscerating emotion and passion—and ones that were simply there or “cranked out.” Clarity, truth, your message, what you’re trying to say to the world—that’s not superficial. It comes from deep within. When you’re creating, don’t think about I can’t sell this or this sucks or nobody’s going to understand this.
          Just let it flow, let it come out. If the raw material of emotion is there? It will be there when you shape, revise, and craft later on. Feel it in the draft. Don’t stifle your feelings when you’re working, or you might just find you’ll have nothing but a bunch of dead words. Writing is as much about your personal journey as it is about entertaining others. If you are being truthful and honest on your journey, some reader out there will be very grateful that you did.

          Kristi Petersen Schoonover has always wanted to take hula classes. Her work has appeared in many magazines and anthologies, and she’s the author of the collection The Shadows Behind. She curated the Ink Stains anthology Volume 7, was the recipient of three Norman Mailer Writers Colony Residencies, and holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College. She serves as co-host of the Dark Discussions podcast and lives in the Connecticut woods with her husband, Nathan.
Follow her adventures at www.kristipetersenschoonover.com 


INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION links

001   11 15 2018 Nathaniel Kaine’s
Thriller Novel
John Hunter – The Veteran

002   11 18 2018 Ed Protzzel’s
Futuristic/Mystery/Thriller
The Antiquities Dealer 

003   11 23 2018 Janice Seagraves’s
Science Fiction Romance
Exodus Arcon

004   11 29 2018 Christian Fennell’s
Literary Fiction Novel
The Fiddler in the Night

005  12 02 2018 Jessica Mathews’s
Adult Paranormal Romance
Death Adjacent

006  12 04 2018 Robin Jansen’s
Literary Fiction Novel
Ruby the Indomitable

007  12 12 2018  Adair Valerez’s
Literary Fiction Novel
Scrim

008  12 17 218 Kit Frazier’s
Mystery Novel
Dead Copy

009 12 21 2019 Robert Craven’s
Noir/Spy Novel
The Road of a Thousand Tigers

010 01 13 2019 Kristine Goodfellow’s
Contemporary Romantic Fiction
The Other Twin

011 01 17 2019 Nancy J Cohen’s
Cozy Mystery
Trimmed To Death

012 01 20 2019 Charles Salzberg’s
Crime Novel
Second Story Man

013 01 23 2019 Alexis Fancher’s
Flash Fiction
His Full Attention

014 01 27 2019 Brian L Tucker’s
Young Adult/Historical
POKEWEED:  AN ILLUSTRATED NOVELLA

015 01 31 2019 Robin Tidwell’s
Dystopian
Reduced

016 02 07 2019 J.D. Trafford’s
Legal Fiction/Mystery
Little Boy Lost

017 02 08 2019 Paula Shene’s
Young Adult ScieFi/Fantasy/Romance/Adventure
My Quest Begins 

018 02 13 2019 Talia Carner’s
Mainstream Fiction/ Suspense/ Historical
Hotel Moscow

019 02 15 2019 Rick Robinson’s
Multidimensional Fiction
Alligator Alley

020 02 21 2019 LaVerne Thompson’s
Urban Fantasy
The Soul Collectors

021 02 27 2019 Marlon L Fick’s
Post-Colonialist Novel
The Nowhere Man

022 03 02 2019 Carol Johnson’s
Mainstream Novel
Silk And Ashes

023 03 06 2019 Samuel Snoek-Brown’s
Short Story Collection
There Is No Other Way to Worship Them

024 03 08 2019 Marlin Barton’s
Short Story Collection
Pasture Art

025 03 18 2019 Laura Hunter’s
Historical Fiction
Beloved Mother

026 03 21 2019 Maggie Rivers’s
Romance
Magical Mistletoe

027  03 25 2019 Faith Gibson’s
Paranormal Romance
Rafael

028 03 27 2019 Valerie Nieman’s
Tall Tale
To The Bones

029 04 04 2019 Betty Bolte’s
Paranormal Romance
Veiled Visions of Love

030 04 05 2019  Marianne Maili’s
Tragicomedy
Lucy, go see

031 04 10 2019 Gregory Erich Phillips’s
Mainstream Fiction
The Exile


032 04 15 2019 Jason Ament’s
Speculative Fiction
Rabid Dogs

033 04 24 2019 Stephen P. Keirnan’s
Historical Novel
The Baker’s Secret

034 05 01 2019 George Kramer’s
Fantasy
Arcadis: Prophecy Book

035 05 05 2019 Erika Sams’s
Adventure/Fantasy/Romance
Rose of Dance

036 05 07 2019 Mark Wisniewski’s
Literary Fiction
Watch Me Go

037 05 08 2019 Marci Baun’s
Science Fiction/Horror
The Whispering House

038 05 10 2019 Suzanne M. Wolfe’s
Historical Fiction
Murder By Any Name

039 05 12 2019 Edward DeVito’s
Historical/Fantasy
The Woodstock Paradox

040 05 14 2019 Gytha Lodge’s
Literary/Crime
She Lies In Wait

041 05 16 2019 Kari Bovee’s
Historical Fiction/Mystery
Peccadillo At The Palace:  An Annie Oakley Mystery

042 05 20 2019 Annie Seaton’s
Time Travel Romance
Follow Me

043 05 22 2019 Paula Rose Michelson’s
Inspirational Christian Romance
Rosa & Miguel – Love’s Legacy: Prequel to The Naomi
Chronicles

044 05 24 2019 Gracie C McKeever’s
BDMS/Interracial Romance
On The Edge

045 06 03 2019 Micheal Maxwell’s
Mystery
The Soul of Cole

046 06 04 2019 Jeanne Mackin’s
Historical
The Last Collection:  A Novel of Elsa Schiaparelli and
Coco Chanel

047 06 07 2019 Philip Shirley’s
Suspense/Thriller
The Graceland Conspiracy


048 06 08 2019 Bonnie Kistler’s
Domestic Suspense
The House on Fire

049 06 13 2019 Barbara Taylor Sissel’s
Domestic Suspense/Family Drama
Tell No One

050 06 18 2019 Charles Salzberg’s
Short Story/ Crime Fiction
“No Good Deed” from Down to the River

051 06 19 2019 Rita Dragonette’s
Historical Fiction
The Fourteenth of September

052  06 20 2019 Nona Caspers’s
Literary Novel/Collage
The Fifth Woman


053 06 26 2019 Jeri Westerson’s
Paranormal Romance
Shadows in the Mist

054 06 28 2019 Brian Moreland’s
Horror
The Devil’s Woods

055 06 29 2019
Epic Fantasy
Wings Unseen

056 07 02 2019 Randee Green’s
Mystery Novel
Criminal Misdeeds

057 07 03 2019 Saralyn Ricahrd’s
Mystery Novel
Murder In The One Percent

#058 07 04 2019 Hannah Mary McKinnon’s
Domestic Suspense
Her Secret Son

#059 07 05 2019 Sonia Saikaley’s
Contemporary Women’s Literature
The Allspice Bath

#060 07 09 2019 Olivia Gaines’s
Romance Suspense Serial
Blind Luck

#061 07 11 2019 Anne Raeff’s
Literary Fiction
Winter Kept Us Warm

#062 07 12 2918 Vic Sizemore’s
Literary Fiction-Short Stories
I Love You I’m Leaving

#063 07 13 2019 Deborah Riley Magnus’s
Dark Paranormal Urban Fantasy
THE ORPHANS BOOK ONE:  THE LOST RACE
TRILOGY

#064 07 14 2019 Elizabeth Bell’s
Historical Fiction
NECESSARY SINS

#065 07 15 2019 Lori Baker Martin’s
Literary Novel
BITTER WATER

#066 08 01 2019 Sabine Chennault’s
Historical Novel
THE CORPSMAN’S WIFE

#067 08 02 2019 Margaret Porter’s
Historical Biographical Fiction

BEAUTIFUL INVENTION:  A NOVEL OF HEDY LAMARR

#068 08 04 2019 Hank Phillippi Ryan’s
Suspense
THE MURDER LIST

069 08 08 2019 Diana Y. Paul’s
Literary Mainstream Fiction
THINGS UNSAID

070 08 10 2019 Phyllis H. Moore’s
Women’s Historical Fiction
BIRDIE & JUDE

071 08 11 2019 Sara Dahmen’s
Historical Fiction
TINSMITH 1865

072  08 19 2019 Carolyn Breckinridge’s
Short Story Collection
KALIEDESCOPE & OTHER STORIES

073 08 21 2019 Alison Ragsdale’s
Emotional Women’s Fiction
THE ART OF REMEMBERING

074  08 22 2019 Lee Matthew Goldberg’s
Suspense Thriller
THE DESIRE CARD

075 08 23 2019 Jonathan Brown’s
Mystery/Amateur P.I.
THE BIG CRESCENDO

076 09 02 2019 Chera Hammons Miller’s
Literary Fiction w/ suspense, concern with animals & land management
Monarchs of the Northeast Kingdom

077 09 09 019 Joe William Taylor’s
Literary Mystery
The Theoretics of Love

078 09 15 2019 Linda Hughes’s
Romantic Suspense
Secret of the Island

079 09 19 2019 Max Elliot Anderson’s
Middle Grade Adventure/Mystery
Snake Island

080 09 22 2019 Danny Adams’s
Science Fiction
Dayworld: A Hole In Wednesday

081 09 24 2019 Arianna Dagnino’s
Social/Historical/Adventure
The Afrikaner


082 09 29 2019 Lawrence Verigin’s
Thriller/Suspense
Seed of Control

083  10 05 2019 Emma Khoury’s
Fantasy
The Sword And Shield

#084 10 07 2019 Steve McManus’s
Mystery/Suspense/Thriller
SEVEN DEVILS

#085 10 08 2019 Sheila Lowe’s
Mystery/Psychological/Suspense with Scientific Bent
PROOF OF LIVE

#086 10 10 2019 Jess Neal Woods’s
Historical Fiction
THE PROCESS OF FRAYING


#087 10 11 2019 Karen Odden’s
Historical Suspense
A TRACE OF DECEIT

#88 10 14 2019 Kate Maruyama’s
Love, Loss & Supernatural
“HARROWGATE”

#89 10 17 2019 Sherry Harris’s
Mystery
“LET’S FAKE A DEAL”

#90 10 18 2019 Linda Mooney’s
Science Fiction Apocalyptic/ Post Apocalyptic
“THE TRUNK”

#91 10 19 2019 Jayne Martin’s
Flash Fiction Short Story Collection
“TENDER CUTS”

#92 10 22 2019 Janice Cole Hopkins’s
Inspirational Romance
“IT ALL STARTED AT THE MASQUERADE”

#93 10 29 2019 Kristi Petersen Schoonover’s