Thursday, October 29, 2020

Catherine Meyrick’s The Bridled Tongue is #210 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright privilege by:  Public Domain, CCSAL, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law, or given copyright privilege by the copyright holder which is identified beneath the individual photo.

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished fiction genre (including screenwriters and playwrights) for INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION.  Contact CRC Blog via email at or personal Facebook messaging at 

****Catherine Meyrick’s The Bridled Tongue is #210 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.  

Name of fiction work? And were there other names you considered that you would like to share with us?
My most recent novel is called The Bridled Tongue and begins in the English city of Norwich in 1586. It began life as ‘The Unbridled Tongue’ because an important element is the effects of gossip and slander – the work of those with unbridled tongues. In contrast, Alyce Bradley, the main character, has learnt to keep her tongue in check, so much so that it affects her relationship with her husband, in particular. 
To reflect this, I changed the name to ‘The Turtles Cannot Sing’ – a line from the poem “A Modest Love”   by Sir Edward Dyer (1543-1607) an Elizabethan courtier. A verse from the “A Modest Love” is quoted in the novel.
The firmest faith is in the fewest words;      
The turtles cannot sing, and yet they love:  
True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak;                              They hear and see, and sigh, and then they break.                                                                                                                                          
The turtles referred to are turtle doves, the symbol of true love and fidelity to the Elizabethans. But, much as I loved the title, nearly everyone told me it was a stupid name that made no sense so, in the end, I changed it yet again. I went back to my original idea but this time as ‘The Bridled Tongue’. The title reflects Alyce’s character at the beginning of the novel, but is also a recognition of those in the story whose tongues should definitely be bridled.
What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? 
I can’t remember the exact date it was so long ago (possibly twelve years). I revise and rewrite many, many times. When I finish revising a draft, I put it aside and work on something else, so months can pass before I look at it again with almost a new set of eyes. I stopped tinkering with it in December 2020 when I started formatting it for publication.

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo?
Originally, I did most of my writing at my desk at the front of the house. It is beside a window looking out into the garden and the street. About two years ago my husband started working from home and needed that space. I worked for a while on the dining table but eventually got a table that I have set under the back window looking out into the yard.  (Right:  Catherine Meyrick in 2008)
And while I can no longer watch people walking up and down the street when my mind drifts away from my writing, I can watch the cat or the trees swaying in the wind and notice the changing of the seasons (the garden at the back of the house is much nicer than the front too). So, while I no longer have ‘a room of my own’, the arrangement works quite well. For most of the day I am working at one end of a very quiet house and my husband at the other.

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? 
When I started out, I had to fit my writing around work and family responsibilities. So, I generally wrote at the end of the day, once everyone else had settled in for the night. But when the muse struck, I would write wherever I could – when I was a primary school librarian, I would sometimes scribble away in my notebook at lunch times, standing at the bench in the library workroom. Now my aim (not achieved every day) is to get up early and write for four hours before even thinking about the day’s problems. I find I can concentrate better moving straight from sleeping to writing. I leave the afternoons for the messy and confusing social media and business tasks. 

I start with a general plan of what I am going to write – I have a beginning, ideas for some middle scenes and I do know how the story will end. My first draft is written by hand in a large spiralbound notebook, only on the righthand side pages. I then read through that draft and make notes onto it as well as writing brief scenes and ideas in a different coloured ink. Then I start typing on the laptop. I am a slow writer and each novel has gone through multiple revisions. 
        Whether I listen to music depends very much on my mood on the day. I find it distracting if I need to concentrate but in the latter stages of both my novels, I listened to a fair bit of early music.

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.                                                                                                 
The Bridled Tongue p.43                            
          ‘And if I do not accept his offer?’              
          ‘What future is there for you? In service for the rest of your days, a dependant in someone else’s household. When your mother and I are gone, where would your home be then?’                             
          ‘I could stay here…’ She knew she could make a useful place for herself if only given the chance.
         ‘Alyce. Have sense. As a single woman, even with wealth, you would be prey to every foul-tongued rumour-monger. They would have you a witch, a whore or worse.’ He leant forward, his palms spread on his thighs. ‘You must want a home of your own, children, a husband to keep you safe.’
        ‘In a perfect world—’
        ‘The present world is all we have. You have no choice but to consider these offers and decide on one.’
        ‘Can we not wait? You said we would take our time.’
        ‘And risk no one else offering?’
        ‘You think so little of me?’
        He jerked his head. ‘If what is offered is good enough, grasp it. If you wait, hoping for a green girl’s dream, you will end up with nothing.’
        Alyce, her lips pressed tight, rose from the bench.
        ‘Think on it tonight and tell me your decision on the morrow.’
        ‘My decision? It appears you have made it for me,’ Alyce said as she moved towards the stairs.
        She slammed the door to the bedchamber and walked across the unlit room to the window. Her arms crossed tight, she watched as night claimed the garden. It was happening again—her father making fine assurances that meant nothing. He had told her, those years ago, it was her decision whether she serve in Lady Faulconer’s household, yet, in the end, it had been made plain she had no other choice. It was no different now. When her father had said they would take their time and find someone who suited her, Alyce had not thought it meant she would be forced to accept the first man to offer. She had imagined she would be allowed time to determine whether he was someone she felt she could respect and live comfortably with. She understood her father considering Thomas Granville, a wealthy man with influential connections. But Robert Chapman? As Isabel had said, who would benefit from such a marriage other than Chapman? Her father would only consider him if he viewed Alyce as a burden to be disposed of as quickly as possible.

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And
can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt?
To get to the emotions involved in a scene, a writer often has to dredge up similar feelings from her or his own past. I drew, in part, on remembered feelings of helplessness from childhood, of being forced to do what I was told was for my own good. But, perhaps, the most intense experience I had of powerlessness occurred over thirty years ago (Above Right in 1990 with her baby daughter) when I was working for the Tax Office. I had just finished studying librarianship and had applied for a library position in another branch. Because the government announced a recruitment freeze the day I was told I had been successful, my manager informed me that I would not be able to take the job. The feelings of anger, frustration, thwarted dreams, and helplessness are still vivid and it was these I drew on when writing this scene. And while this was extremely frustrating for me, how much worse would it have been in earlier times when some women were given no say at all in a decision as important as the choice of a marriage partner. 
        Fortunately for me, someone behind the scenes was arguing on my behalf and a week later I was told that I could take up the position as it was within the same department.

Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked-up rough drafts of this excerpt? 
This is a page from several years ago, when the novel getting closer to its final form. There are few deletions but a number of additions. The words and phrases highlighted are those that I need to check because they might be too modern or colloquial for a novel set in 16th century England. 

Catherine Meyrick is a writer of historical fiction with a particular love of Elizabethan England. Her stories weave fictional characters into the gaps within the historical record – tales of ordinary people who are very much men and women of their time, yet in so many ways are like us today. These are people with the same hopes and longings as we have to find both love and their own place in a troubled world.
Although Catherine grew up in regional Victoria, Australia, she has lived all her adult life in Melbourne where she works as a librarian. She has a Master of Arts in history and is also a family history obsessive.

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Saturday, October 24, 2020

Alan Hardy’s "Nazi Spy: Nazi Spy Mystery Series book 1" is #209 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright privilege by:  Public Domain, CCSAL, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law, or given copyright privilege by the copyright holder which is identified beneath the individual photo.

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished fiction genre (including screenwriters and playwrights) for INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION.  Contact CRC Blog via email at or personal Facebook messaging at 

****Alan Hardy’s "Nazi Spy:  Nazi Spy Mystery Series book 1" is #209 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.  

Name of fiction work? And were there other names you considered that you would like to share with us? The Nazi Spy:  Nazi Spy Mystery Series book 1I did think of The Double Agent, but I guess I thought the Nazi Spy was just a bit more brutally direct.  (Right: Alan Hardy in June of 2018)

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I started in July/July 2018 and finished the first draft in October/November 2018.  I usually leave a book for a few weeks, and come back to it, hopefully, with amore critical, less self-indulgent eyes.  I must have got it to its present state in August 2019.

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work?  And please describe in detail.  And can you please include a photo? The living-room of our former house (we moved into our present house in October 2019).  The laptop was placed on a table just to the left of the main windows looking out on the road.  I could see the outside from that position, but would be mainly “hidden” from view unless somebody was up close to the house (for example, coming to the front door).  So, the position was both intensely “private”, and yet afforded an extensive view of the outside world. 

Thinking about this question, I’ve realized that the position where I write now (in our new house) is more or less analogous with the former house (now, for example, I’m facing a wall, but, to my right, the large window looks out on a fair section of the square).  So, maybe deliberately (or just by chance), I seem to write facing a blank wall, but near enough to open spaces I can easily look at whenever I choose.  Does that mean anything?  Something about the seclusion of the writing process (hiding away from public gaze) and yet hoping to reach out to a wider public . . .But the, who knows?  All rooms have walls and windows, don’t they? The only choice you have is where you place yourself in relation to them. 

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?  I never listen to music when I write.  I don’t particularly drink anything either.  I write directly on to the laptop.  I used to write in pen and paper when I only wrote poetry (for many years I would really just took for publishing outlets in the small  press/poetry magazine scene mainly in the UK).  

When I started writing fiction, I always did that on a computer, but would revert to pen and paper for the first few drafts of poems, but now I also write poetry straight on to the computer, and rewrite/sculpt, cut it on the laptop too.  I’m ashamed to say I’m a one-finger typist, but seem to get on perfectly well and even swiftly enough with that.  I’m liable to write any time of the day, but in general, the most common time is in the evening.  Maybe because it is quieter? More secluded? More conducive to playing around with those images in one’s head?  Maybe still that child-like instinct to be secretive about one’s writing?

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference.  This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.

“All right, Mrs. Macintosh, I’m ready.  Fire away,”  he said.  “I promise I’m not laughing at you.”

Fiona was confused, angry, perturbed, and not a little excited.  She felt out of her depth, but she would give it a go.  “Well,” she began nervously, “can you explain what you were doing meeting up with Flight Lieutenant Turnbill just now?”

“Why should I have to explain that?” he answered, almost contemptuously.  “After all, we are ex-brothers-in arms.”

“Do you deny he was reporting back to you after the meeting I had with him?”

“Reporting back?” He echoed.  “Aren’t you being a bit melodramatic?  I can see you must be a lover of Hollywood films.”

She was getting angrier and angrier, and, as she did so, and faced with Matthew’s inconsiderate lack of responsiveness, she felt a growing resolve to defend her corner. “He claims he was the one who wrote me those letters.”

“Does he now?”

“But you know that, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer. 

“You coached him on what to say to me, didn’t you?”

“Did I?” 

“He repeated the sort of phrases you used, almost word for word. . .”

“Like what, Mrs. Macintosh?”

“Matthew, you can either call me Fiona, or Mrs Macintosh,” she said harshly, “but I won’t have you slipping from one to another depending on how you consider I should be treated.  I’m not a child to be given a sweetie when a good girl, not reprimanded when I’m behaving badly.”

“Understood, Fiona,”  said Matthew, looking respectfully at her for a moment, before his eyes sparkled like the rays of the sun bursting out from behind the cloud.  “And do you often do that?”


“Behave badly?”

She didn’t answer, pursing her lips, if he carried on like this, she would definitely give him a slap.   

He looked down at her hands. She looked down too.  She was doing that thing again.  Rubbing her left wrist with her right hand.  Rubbing and rubbing.  He left eye welled up with a tear or two. She instinctively flicked them away with her left hand, like scratching at the skin below her eyes.  He stared at the nervous tic, too, fascinated.  He was starting to know her so well.  She understood that. She had to be careful.  She lowered her hand, wiping it on her black caot.  He followed her movements and gestures like a dog following his master’s every move.  Her hand strayed towards the opening between the two sides of her coat, and lingered near the tiny, white streak, which ran up her whole body. His eager, blue eyes seemed transfixed.   He swallowed harshly.  Fiona felt energized.  She spun away from him, plonking herself more in the centre of the path, away from the brambles and branches.  

“Now, as I was saying, Matthew,” said a newly confident Fiona, “are you going to admit you coached him on what to say?”

“And what did he say?” snapped Matthew rather 


“You’re a disgrace to the uniform you wear, Flight Lieutenant!” she spat out triumphantly. “How dare you behave like that to me!  You write me obscene letters, and then think you can treat me like this, you’re-“

“I didn’t write you obscene letters. What are you saying?” He looked genuinely offended.

“But you wrote those letters, didn’t you?” she asked, still gasping for breath, but the fury abating.

The fascination with him was returning.  “I can’t answer.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

He didn’t reply.  He stood there, breathing as

heavily as Fiona, still looking at her with a mix o shock and dewy-eyed amazement.

“You’re just like Freddit, aren’t you?”  She threw out brutally.

“Am I?”

“Yes, you treat women disrespectfully, roughly, you think only your degenerate urges matter and we-“

“Did Freddie really make such outrageous demands on you?” he snapped back, equally vicously.  “Aren’t you exaggerating?”

“And what would you know of such demands unless you were the writer of those letters where we discussed all that?”

He was flummoxed for a moment, and then smiled.  “Who says he didn’t speak about such things to me?  And the others?”

“he spoke to other members of the squadron about our private things?” she asked, her triumphant expression rapidly subsiding into irritation again.

“He could have . . . Anyway, maybe it was your reaction to him, which was wrong.  Maybe it was too harsh.  You and Freddie weren’t suited, of course, but maybe you are too quick to condemn, you are not at your ease in . . .”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” she threw back.  “He was despicable man in such matters!  Unless, of course you’re the sort of man who goes with whores, too…” She stared at him, ding to smack him in the face again, and, irritatingly, dying for that pee.

“Who knows?’ he answered quietly and slowly. “In ten years, if I haven’t met the right woman, or if I get hitched to the wrong woman. . . “ He looked pointedly at her, and her hand rubbing her wrist as if her life depended on it. 

“So, you’re saying I drove him to it?  Is that it?” she countered, out of herself.  “What do you know of such things? You’re barely more than a boy.”  That hurt him.  She saw that.   His body shrank momentarily.  He was humbled.  Hurt.  She instantly regretted saying it, but it was too late.

“I don’t know what I’m saying,” he said, looking tired, his face wan and so sad. “Just that he wasn’t the man for you, and you weren’t the woman for him . . .and then things happen. . .”

She wanted to hit him, and love him, she wanted to smack him, and cradle him in her arms, she wanted to hurt him with words, and she wanted to take back those words straight away.  

“Anyway, it’s not my place, as you said to talk about…”  His voice trailed off, and he turned to look down the pathway making ready to go.

“Please, Matthew!” she called out.  “Tell me the truth!  Tell me what’s going on.  Why did Flight Lieutenant Turnbill –“

“I can’t.  I'm sorry.”

“Did you write those letters?  I know you did.”

“I . . .”

“I know you did.”

He turned away, moving off down the path.  She wanted to stop him leaving, but didn’t know how.  He himself stopped. He spoke without turning around.  “Does that invitation to your birthday party still stand?”  She didn’t answer.  “Does it?”

“I haven’t withdrawn it, have I?”

“So, it still stands?” he said again, like an insistent child.

She hesitated.  

“Does it?”


Then he did turn around, and approached her slowly.  She didn’t know what to expect.  A kiss?  A gentle kiss? A rough kiss? Or something else?  He came up close to her, and despite herself, she flinched.  He came up real close.  

“Fiona, be careful,” he whispered. His gaze was sincere, his tone considerate, but the words seemed menacing.  

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he intoned slowly and deliberately.

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m just telling you, Fiona, to be very, very careful.” Then he left.

Fiona looked down at her hands.  They were shaking uncontrollably. 

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write?  And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? The novel is a WW2 spy thriller/mystery, and so there are fairly standard expectations that come with that genre.  Within certain limitations, I have tried as much as possible to play around with those stereotypes.  The whole story revolves around who is the spy/traitor, and ultimately, is saying that such matters are just a question of perspective.  

You know, one side’s hero is another side’s villain.  In the same way, Fiona, the central character, is also hopefully portrayed in an ambivalent manner.  If anything, I’ve tried to make her a little unlikeable, with a mixture of questionable emotions and motives, and more than a hint of some mental instability, but, at the same time, I myself really like her.  I wanted to show her at times as someone whose facilities were the frailties were the frailties a man would ascribe to a woman (You know, spoilt, selfish, hysterical, etc., and I am writing as a man, of courses), and yet try to write the book form the perspective of the lead character who is a woman.  

I think this fitted in with the spy mystery angle, you know, that she was somebody who was hiding something, that her appearance was deceptive, and so on.  So, in this excerpt, I think I had the first chance to really nail that as an image of Fiona, that readers could see her warts and all.  That was a bit difficult to do.  I had to write the scene as a scene in a spy thriller, and yet also try to sculpt an image of her that was valid (both as a character in such a novel, and a real woman other women – and men- could related to).  I wanted to feel a sympathy for her as a character and a woman, which didn’t depend upon the expected clichés of the genre and of male prejudices about women (which, as a man, I must share). 

Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt?  As I write and correct on the laptop, unfortunately, I don’t have copies of rough/amended drafts.  I did keep correcting/amending this particular section.  As I say, it was an attempt to strike a balance between the genre (with its tension, drama, romance, etc) and creating a character to whom readers would react in a way that didn’t necessarily mirror mine, but led anyway to them forming an opinion about her as a real person, however difficult to do in a thriller/mystery. 

If this novel were made into a film which actors and actresses  would play your characters? I’ll answer this in two ways.  Seeing the novel is set in 1941, if I could choose actors of that period, they would be Joan Fontaine (of Hitchcock’s Suspicion and Rebecca) as Fiona, and Robert Donat (of Hitchcock’s The Thirty-Nine Steps) as Matthew.

Modern-day actors, I would choose Gwyneth Paltrow as Fiona, and Benedict Cumberbatch as Matthew. 

Alan Hardy is United Kingdom-based, an ex-director of an English language school for foreign students.  He is married, with one daughter.  He has now written twelve novels.  Alan is also a poet (Poetry pamphlets:  Wasted Leaves, 1996; I went with Her, 2007).  His hobbies are the theatre, watching television, waling, and lazing around. (Left:  Alan Hardy in August 2020)

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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
The Afrikaner

082 09 29 2019 Lawrence Verigin’s
Seed of Control

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

#084 10 07 2019 Steve McManus’s

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

#086 10 10 2019 Jess Neal Woods’s
Historical Fiction

#087 10 11 2019 Karen Odden’s
Historical Suspense

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

#89 10 17 2019 Sherry Harris’s

#90 10 18 2019 Linda Mooney’s
Science Fiction Apocalyptic/ Post Apocalyptic 

#91 10 19 2019 Jayne Martin’s
Flash Fiction Short Story Collection

#92 10 22 2019 Janice Cole Hopkins’s
Inspirational Romance

#93 10 29 2019 Kristi Petersen Schoonover’s
Short Story Collection

#94 11 01 2019 David Henry Sterry’s
Fiction: Sexual Violence

#95 11 03 2019 Jay Requard’s
Dark Fantasy/Horror

#96 11 04 2019 Caroline Leavitt’s

#97 11 06 2019 Kelsey Clifton’s
Science Fiction

#098 11 13 2019 John F Allen’s
Urban Fantasy Tale
“The God Killers’

#99 11 16 2019 Damian McNicholl’s
Historical Novel
“The Moment of Truth”

#100 11 19 2019 Stacia Levy’s
Mystery/Suspense Novel
“Girl Crush”

#101 11 24 2019 Charlotte Morgan’s
Fiction Novel
“Protecting Elvis”

#102 11 26 2019 T. L. Moore’s
Children’s Christian Fiction
“Ed On My Shoulder:  Maria & The Candy Trail”

#103 11 27 2019 Jeanne McWilliams Blasberg’s
Coming of Age Literary Novel
The Nine

#104 11 29 2019 Charlotte Blackwell’s
Adult Paranormal

#105 12 07 2019 Mike Burrell’s
Satire Novel

#106 12 09 2019 Phil McCarron’s

#107 12 11 2019 Wendy H. Jones’s
Crime Fiction/Police Procedural Novel

#108 12 13 2019 Sandra Arnold’s
Historical Literary Fiction
“The Ash, the Well and the Blue Bell” 

#109 12 16 2019 Amalia Carosella’s
Historical/Contemporary/Duel Timeline/ Women’s

#110 12 19 2019 Laura Bickle’s
Weird Western/Contemporary Fantasy

#111 12 27 2019 Brian Pinkerton’s
Science Fiction Thriller

#112  12 28 2019 Sandra de Helen’s
Lesbian Thriller

#113 12 29 2019 Jo Wilde’s
Vampire Thriller

#114 12 30 2019 Sam Richard’s
Short Story Collection of Weird and Transgressive
“To Wallow In Ash and Sorrows”

#115 12 31 2019 Duncan B Barlow’s
Literary Fiction Novel

#116 01 02 2020 Allison Landa’s
Young Adult Novel

#117 01 03 2020 Pablo Medina’s
Literary Satire Novel

#118 01 06 2020 William Trent Pancoast’s
Historical/Literary Novel

#119 01 07 2020 Jane Bernstein’s
Contemporary Novel
“The Face Tells the Secret”

#120 01 09 2020 Terry Kroenung’s
Young Adult, Historical and Fantasy
“Brimstone And Lily”

#121 01 12 2020 Melissa Yi’s
Fiction Thriller

#122 01 15 2020 Marcie R. Rendon’s
Crime Thriller

#123 01 16 2020 Tori Eldridge’s
Multi Genre Novel

#124 01 17 2020 Kristen Joy Wilks’s
Christian Romantic Comedy

#125 01 20 2020 Susan C. Shea’s
Cozy Mystery

#126  01 22 2020 Phong Nguyen’s
Improvisational Fiction

#127 01 23 2020 Kate Thornton’s
Mystery Short Story In Its Entirety
“Ai Witness”

#128 01 24 2020 Phil McCarron’s
Semi Fictional Essays
“The Great Facepalm: The Farce of 21st Century

#129  01 27 2020 Kenneth Weene’s
Historicized Literary Fiction
“Red And White”

#130 01 28 2020 Graham Storrs’s
Science Fiction Thriller

#131 02 08 2020 Angela Slatter’s
Short Story “Terrible As An Army With Banners”

#132 02 11 2020 Joan Joachim’s
Just One Kiss

#133 02 16 2020 Kelsey Clifton’s
Science Fiction

#134 02 17 2020 Soraya M Lane’s
Women Historical Fiction

#135 03 07 2020
Linked Fiction
BLEACHERS Fifty-Four Linked Fictions
By Joseph Mills

#136 03 15 2020
Science Fiction Romance
By Marie Lavender

#137 03 17 2020
Crime Fiction
12 Bullets
by O’Neil De Noux

#138 03 18 2020
Flash Fiction Piece
by Kelle Grace Gaddis

#139 03 20 2020
By Jamie Sheffield

#140 03 21 2020
Character Driven Novel
By Jamie Lisa Forbes

#141 03 23 2020 
Literary Murder Mystery
By Russell Rowland

#142 04 01 2020 
By Kim Cormack

#143 04 02 2020 
Western Noir Short Story
“Night Rounds”
by James Reasoner

#144 04 03 2020 
Southern Fiction
By Claire Fullerton

#145 04 04 2020
Mainstream novel with elements of crime, mystery, and magic
by Karen Hugg 

#146 04 07 2020 
Historical Fiction
by Sophie Perinot

#147 04 08 2020
Dark Urban Fantasy with elements of Paranormal Romance
by Stephanie Reisner aka AUDREY BRICE

#148 04 13 2020
Mystery With A Fantasy Twist
By Shoshana Edwards

#149 04 14 2020
Historical Fiction
by Sharon Glogal Friedman 

#150 04 19 2020
Vampire Horror Novelette 
Blood Thrasher:  The Devil’s in the Metal
by Adam Messer

#151 04 25 2020
Historical Fiction
Charis in the World of Wonders
by Marly Youmans

#152 04 29 2020
Historical Fiction
The Master of Verona
by David Blixt

#153 04 30 2020
General Fiction (Family)
Bread Bags & Bullies:  Surviving the 80s
by Steven Manchester 

#154 05 01 2020
Into The Ashes
by Lee Murray

#155 05 06 2020
Coming of Age/Crime Novel
All Things Left In The Wild
by James Wade

#156 05 10 2020
Paranormal Mystery
Southern Bound
by Stuart Jaffe

#157 05 13 2020
Mystery/Crime Novel
By Mark Slade

#158 05 15 2020 
Horror/Crime Novel
Hotel Nowhere
By David E Adkins

#159 05 16 2020
Satire/Crime Novel
by Clint Margrave

#160 05 19 2020
Southern Gothic Fiction
by Emily Carpenter

#161 05 21 2020
Women’s Domestic Life Fiction
by Alena Dillon

#162 05 26 2020
by Drew Fortune and Spain Willingham

#163 05 31 2020
Coming of Age/ Psychological Thriller
by Ruth Dugdall

#164 06 01 2020 
Psychological Thriller
by Owen Mullen

#165 06 02 2020 
Small Town Short Story Collection
by Eliot Parker

#166 06 04 2020
Noir Crime Novel
by Christina Hoag

#167 06 06 2020
Coming of Age/Historical
by Ellen Marie Wiseman

#168 06 08 2020
World War Two Historical Fiction
by Maggie Brookes

#169 06 09 2020
(about the 1960s, 
Rolling Stones in their exile,
genocide, it’s survivors, and
people from places that no longer exist.)
by Nick Sweeney

#170 06 11 2020
Family Life/Coming of Age Novel
by Robert Dugoni

#171 06 26 2020
Women’s Divorce Fiction
by Barbara Linn Probst

#172 07 01 2020
Short Story “The Belindas” from the Short Story Collection LOVE WAR STORIES 
By Ivelisse Rodriguez

#173 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
07 04 2020
Organized Crime Thriller
by Raymond Benson

#174 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
07 08 2020
Contemporary Literature & Fiction
by Allison Burnett

#175 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
07 09 2020
Horror Novella
by Jeff Lyons

#176 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
07 12 2020
20th Century Historical Romance
“The Bootlegger’s Wife”
by Denise Devine

#177 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
07 24 2020
Literary Fiction Novel
“What Drives Men”
by Susan Tepper 

#178 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
07 27 2020
Short story
“Tidings of Comfort and Joyce”
by Kimberly Kurth Gray
#179 Inside the Emotion of Fiction 
07 28 2020
Historical Fiction
“Cher Ami and Major Whittlesey”
by Kathleen Rooney

#180 Inside the Emotion of Fiction 
08 04 2020
by Shaun Hughes 

#181 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
08 09 2020
Short Story 
“Wrong Road” from the Short Story Collection George’s Mother and Other Weird Stories
by Susan Berliner 

#182 Inside the Emotion of Fiction 
08 11 2020
Thriller Mystery
“Death in the Time of Ice”
by Kaye George

#183 Inside the Emotion of Fiction 
08 13 2020
“Igor and Frankie”
by Jim Picariello

#184 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
08 14 2020
Short Story 
Short Story “Breaking on the Wheel” from the Short Story Collection No Call Too Small. 
by Oscar Martens

#185 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
08 20 2020
A Secret, a Safari, a Second Chance
by Liz Fielding

#186 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
08 26 2020
Mystery and Psychological Fiction 
Falling Woman
by Richard Farrell

#187 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 03 2020
Children’s Picture Book
By Jolene Gutierrez

#188 Inside the Emotion of Fiction 
09 07 2020
By Janelle Marie Evans

#189 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 09 2020
Historical Christian Romance
by Barbara M Britton

#190 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 10 2020
by Elaine Roberts-Kercheff

#191 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 16 2020
1960s Historical Fiction
California Dreamin’ Teens Interrupted 2
by KC Sprayberry 

#192 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 17 2020
by April Snachez 

#193 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 18 2020
Contemporary Literature and Fiction
by Clifford Garstang

#194 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 19 2020
Crime Fiction
by ES Gibson

#195 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 20 2020
Historical Fiction
Katherine-Tudor Duchess
by Tony Riches

#196 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 21 2020
Short Fiction
“Dinner Prep”
by Thaddeus Rutkowski 

#197 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 22 2020
by Ben Johnson

#198 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 26 2020
Crime Thriller
Dirty Deeds
by Armand Rosamilia 

#199 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
09 29 2020
Crime Thriller
Hunting Mariah 
by Janice Spina 

#200 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
10   2020
Crime Novel
Indelible:  A Sean McPhereson Novel, Book One
by Laurie Buchanan

#201 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
10 04 2020  
Cross-genre novel
January River
by Bernard Jan

#202 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
10 10 2020
Historical Novel
Robin Hood’s Dawn: The Earl of Huntingdon”
by Olivia Longueville

#203  Inside the Emotion
10 14 2020
Historical Novel
The Alexanders Volume 1 1911-1920
by Allan Hudson
#204 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
10 15 2020
Short story
Forget Me Not
by Angele Ellis

#205 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
10 16 2020
Coming of Age Fiction
My Gypsy War Diary
by Shawn Brink

#206 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
10 19 2020
Western Screenplay 
The Search for Sundown, Texas
by Patrick Emralino

#207 Inside the Emotion of Fiction 
10 20 2020
A Promise for Faith-Briar Creek Love Book 1
by Stacy K Simmons

#208 Inside the Emotion of Fiction
10 22 2020
Terrorism Thriller
Death In The Cloud
by E.J. Simon