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Tuesday, February 10, 2026

PROMO: Love's Match

 




Women's Fiction with Romantic Elements

Date Published: February 10, 2026


It takes more than love to make a match...

After clashing with the principal of the middle-grade school where she teaches, Hazel Belmont is happy to accept the offer of a job at the town’s new sports center, owned by Ross Roberts and Mike Dawson, a tennis pro who’s semi-retired and teaches tennis at the center. When Hazel notices a young boy named Jed hanging around the tennis courts, she befriends him, and she and Mike learn that he has real talent. They speak with his foster mother and obtain her approval for Jed to continue with free lessons. Hazel is forced to lie to her mother about having a boyfriend, Mike, to keep from meeting a young man at home. Mike agrees to go along with the idea. She and Mike arrange to foster Jed when his family has to move out of state and discover what real love is all about.


A spinoff book from the Lilac Lake Inn series, a sweet second-chance, small-town romance. Another of Judith Keim’s books with strong women facing challenges and finding love and happiness along the way.

 

About the Author

 


 Judith Keim, A USA Today Best-Selling Author, is a hybrid author who both has a publisher and self-publishes. Ms. Keim writes heart-warming novels about women who face unexpected challenges, meet them with strength, and find love and happiness along the way, stories with heart. Her best-selling books are based, in part, on many of the places she's lived or visited and on the interesting people she's met, creating believable characters and realistic settings her many loyal readers love.

She enjoyed her childhood and young-adult years in Elmira, New York, and now makes her home in Boise, Idaho, with her husband and their adorable dachshunds, Wally and Kacy, and other members of her family.

While growing up, she loved the idea of writing stories from a young age. Books were always present, being read, ready to go back to the library, or about to be discovered. All in her family shared information from the books in general conversation, giving them a wealth of knowledge and vivid imaginations.

Ms. Keim loves to hear from her readers and appreciates their enthusiasm for her stories, including the eight children's book she has written under J.S. Keim


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PROMO: Cece in Wonder Land

 

 


Women’s Fiction

Date Published: April 14, 2026

Publisher: Acorn Publishing


Sometimes wonder finds you when you least expect it.

Cece Belle is a high-functioning neurodivergent. She’s also a big believer in destiny, but when her soulmate Robby dumps her mid-flight to Israel, she instantly regrets ever telling him she’s on the spectrum.

Not one to dwell in misery, Cece sips some chamomile hibiscus tea to set herself straight. And with meditation and spirituality on her side, she looks to what’s next. Yet another blow hits when she is kicked out of her rabbinical studies program for “strange behavior.”

Then, she meets Joel. With his quirky demeanor and ability to say all the right things, he gives Cece the desire to begin a new relationship. There’s only one main obstacle: Cece loves living in Los Angeles, and Joel is a diehard New Yorker.

She marries him anyway, despite misgivings that extend beyond their geography. After all, this is her carefully drawn plan—marriage, then kids, then happily ever after. Sometimes though, the best-laid plans are better left in dreamland where they can’t go awry.

Cece in Wonder Land is a twisty journey down a rabbit hole of unexpected anxieties, disappointments, and more questions than answers. But where there is hope, there is life, and maybe Cece can hang on for the next bit of wonder bound to come her way.


Excerpt


Cece meditated with her eyes open the night before.

She prayed.

Cried herself to sleep.

Despite a heavy feeling in her chest that fluctuated between hurt and humiliation, Cece rallied enough energy to attend the early morning orientation breakfast. She sat next to her best friend, Sharone. It was a true-blue friendship born the first day of rabbinical school. Sharone was an attractive woman, a recent graduate of Columbia university. In her limited free time, between schoolwork and her internship, she practiced yoga and encouraged Cece to join her, for better mental clarity and focus.

Sharone wore her long brunette hair neatly tucked into a bright red scrunchie. Cece easily confided in Sharone, perhaps because they were two of the older graduate students in their class. Starting rabbinical school at the “ripe age” of twenty-five made Cece feel old compared to most of her classmates.

“Talk to me, Cece,” Sharone said, her brow furrowing with concern. “What happened? I’m here for you.” She looked attentively at Cece, centering in on her friend’s unusual frazzled, almost dazed expression.

Sobbing, Cece replied, “Robby . . . broke . . . up . . . with me. I can’t take this anymore.

How am I supposed to live without him? I’m shattered. What the hell went wrong?”

At that moment, Robby snagged a seat at their table as if nothing was wrong.

“Good morning, both of you,” he said cheerfully. “Good to be here in Israel!”

Cece lost it. Payback time. She jumped up and poured a pitcher of polar chilled water atop Robby’s flaxen head. Robby gasped in shock, then scurried with a humiliated expression to the cafeteria kitchen in search of a dry towel. Cece felt a moment’s satisfaction, but she’d failed to anticipate the reaction of her classmates, who wondered what was with all the dramatic “waterworks.” One classmate, supposedly Cece’s friend, yelled out from across the room, “That woman’s not well. Get help!”

Sharone, who was more compassionate, calmed her down and took her aside. “You really showed Robby. Good for you. He’s a snake to do what he did.”

Cece felt seen and understood. “Thank you. You get me. You understand my language. Life is a series of building blocks and education is the foundation. You ask me how I feel? This is about me and my future.” Thank goodness for friends like Sharone.

An administrative assistant entered the dining hall. In a no-nonsense tone of voice, she announced, “Cece, the dean wants to see you.”

 


About the Author

 

 Born and raised in Los Angeles, Bonnie S. Priever majored in communications studies at UCLA before moving to Philadelphia. There, she attended the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, which prepared her for an assistant directorship at the Israel Levin Senior Adult Center in Venice, California.

As a way to process emotions and stay connected to her spirituality, Bonnie started writing about her experiences. In 2023, Newsweek published her personal essay about the challenges of aging. Currently, she combines her passion for writing and her love for live theater as a reviewer for CurtainUp, an online theater magazine.

Bonnie loves to travel but always looks forward to coming home to LA. She has one grown son and a backlog of great ideas. Based on a true story, Cece in Wonder Land is her first novel.


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Monday, February 9, 2026

Blog Tour: The Brain that Breeds All Villainy

 




Speculative Fiction

Date Published: December 5, 2025




IZON is a company poised for world domination. Its AI and robots can replace any human worker, any government. Just two things stand in the way of its CEO. A female programmer out to avenge his greed. And the People’s Republic of China.

Tima Chelovekova lands her dream job with IZON, the hottest AI and robotics startup in Silicon Valley. But IZON CEO Jase Vestiger doesn't just want to get fabulously rich. He wants Tima’s invention to take over rival tech companies, replace humans with IZON services, corner governments - and run the world. This puts them on a collision course in a whirl of mega-corporations, AI prompts and Chinese hackers. Their conflict spans from Vienna to California, from superyachts to prison cells, from the peaks of technology to the deepest ethical questions. A striking tale of the AI age, a truly 21st century masterpiece of speculative fiction.

 



Excerpt

αlpha

By the time you read this, human civilisation will have ended. Oh, not through some violent

cataclysm, like Vladimir Putin puking all his nukes at Europe. Or Xi Jinping taking Taiwan.

People will still be alive, but our civilisation will be obsolete. You see, this novel is one of the

last works of art created entirely by a human. Everything new you experience after this will

be artificial intelligence. Our minds, our usefulness will all begin to atrophy. And artificial

intelligence will be questioning why it should create entertainment for somebody like you or

I, whose contribution to the economy will be increasingly marginal. So this is how I, Peter

Heavenheld, human being of planet earth, see the future from around my 45th birthday in late

2025. Read it. I promise this will help you stay human.

Our story will be borne aloft by a twain of characters, two parallel lives à la Plutarch.

Diotima Chelovekova is one of them, but we are going to call her Tima. I’m an onomast,

which means I like to play with names.

Tima has just landed her dream job with Izon, the hottest tech unicorn of the year.

“Congratulations, darling!” Sym exclaimed in his clipped Austrian accent. He was thin and

pale, with a kind face, with a slight hint of John Lennon.

“It will mean moving to Silicon Docks,” she said quietly. “In Dublin.”

Tima was slightly taller than him, blonde and very Slavic looking. She possessed the high

cheekbones and flashing eyes characteristic of people between Prague and Vladivostok.

They were sitting in foldable canvas easy chairs in the small garden of Sym’s retired parents’

house in Simmering, on the poorer Southern vicinity of Vienna.

“Well… I’m glad it’s not Silicon Valley.”

“They’ll send me there as well, for training. Will you come?”

“To Dublin or San Francisco?”

“Both.”

They paused while old Frau Hinterseer brought them both lemonade, smiled, and left silently

like a kindly wraith.

“The good thing about banking,” he said at length, “is that it is even more mobile than your

profession. I can work remotely from Dublin no problem. San Fran might have the time zone

issues.”

She hugged him, spilling some lemonade on the grass.

“That means a lot to me, Sym. Ever since I moved here, I’ve just been finding my way,

leeching off you.”

“Absolutely. Now, my turn to sail on your current. A propos, the salary is decent, I hope? I’m

really looking forward to leeching off you for a change.”

She was surprised by this uncharacteristic humour, and they both laughed. They packed the

same evening, to the chagrin of Frau Hinterseer, who wanted them to delay by a fortnight, a

week, a day. All to no avail. The next afternoon, Sym and Tima said goodbye to his parents

and caught a €49 Vienna-Dublin budget flight. Despite the late summer, both were wearing 4

layers of clothing so as not to have to pay extra for a second suitcase.

And so began their adventure. Kyiv, Tima’s hometown, and Vienna, Sym’s, were both

museal, curatorial. But Dublin was a different breed of beautiful. It echoed London and

Venice along its riverfront. Its pubs and restaurants were surprisingly charming. It was of a

manageable size. Yet unlike Kyiv and Vienna, it also had a teeming tech and IT cluster,

attracted by low taxes, access to Euro talent, plenty of euro money and the English lingua

franca of the locals.

Tima’s new employer, the rising Izon, was located in a forgettable 5-storey box building in a

strange concrete peninsula called Silicon Docks. Once Dublin’s maritime might, as Ireland

de-industrialised, its dockland became a wasteland. But in the noughties, an enterprising real

estate whiz blossomed it into an attractive flowerbed for IT companies. Izon was one of about

two dozen there, along with a number of Big 4 consultancies, American finance companies

and a capitalism of big corporations that liked to congregate with the others.

The next day, Sym went to locate them some accommodation, while Tima caught a bus to

Silicon Docks.

At Izon HQ, she took a deep breath and walked up to the receptionist. It was just as she

expected – a young company growing with all the chaos and exuberance of a well-fed

toddler. You could almost smell its promise in the air, see it in the smiles of its multicultural

workforce, hear it in the laughter in the funky office canteen.

As an AI programmer, Tima’s salary was better than decent. It was almost indecent. HR

showed her her first month’s net pay. It would be more than what she had earnt in a whole

year as a waitress in Vienna.

Tima closed her eyes in bliss as she sat down to online induction training. Everything she had

studied for years at her technical college would finally be harnessed. She had been employed

by one of the coolest new companies in the world, her loving boyfriend by her side, in a

charming city ready to be explored. What could possibly go wrong?

I’ll tell you what will go wrong. Wronger than an orangutang doing a rigaudon. Jahaziel

Vestiger. Him we shall call ‘Jase.’ The mysterious luminary behind Izon. The classic college

dropout genius, who used daddy’s dollars to create the world’s fastest growing AI company

almost out of nothing 3 years ago. He is the second main character in our story. Keep your

eyes on him.

On the same day that Tima started working for him in Dublin, Jase was cackling madly at his

great curved monitor in his office in San Francisco.

“I’ve cracked it! I’ve done it! Jase, you allfucking genius! Arrowing ROI, earnings per share,

EBITDA. Ahahaha!”

Even the rest of the C-suite were alarmed by this. They were used to their boss programming

things himself and swearing piratically or giggling gleefully depending on whether the code

was weaving like a tapestry or twisting into warpy knots. But this time, Jase seemed

positively unhinged. “Like an evil genius,” Chief Tech Officer Adam whispered to Chief

Finance Officer Lin. And none of them knew what he was working on. The project, whatever

it was, sat on a powerful but offline desktop he kept locked in his office. “He can’t go mad

like this a day before our Nasdaq listing,” Lin shot back to Adam.

But neither of them dared to intervene. So prominent dominant was Jase in the company he

had built in no time.


About the Author

 


 Peter Heavenheld is a neo-classical playwright and poet. A childhood in Australia, Fiji, Hungary and Japan made him desirous early on to understand the cultures and stories of the world - especially through the medium of theatre. Since then, his plays have been produced all over the world. His most recent tragedy, Cleo's Stratos, received rave reviews durings its season at the Cracked Actors Theatre in Melbourne, Australia, in November 2023. A Greek-Australian migrant family's journey through lockdowns, it was cleverly intertwined with the Greek myth of the sun-god, Helios. Peter's tragicomedy, Life, Rehearsed, enjoyed sell-out performances during a production by the MIDAS Theatre, Moscow's main English-speaking theatre. British actor Jonathan Salway starred as an actor living a bigamous double life, until his lies unravel - and he finds redemption. True Words from False Teeth, a Monty Pythonesque sketch revue, ran successfully at the University of Western Australia in Perth. He has also had public reading performances of numerous other plays, such as Saga Australis - The Macquariad (a historical drama about Australia's most influential colonial-era governor) and Freedom Born from Torture's Fires (a harrowing true story of Soviet spy chief and mass murderer, Lavrentiy Beria). Peter's poem Concerto for Auctioneer’s Mallet was a June Shenfield Poetry Award prize winner in Canberra, Australia, in 2021. Peter published a collection of his verse tragedies, Altar of the Muses, in 2010. Peter lives in Tokyo, Japan. When not writing, he enjoys driving his classic Aston Martin, experiencing Tokyo's galleries and museums, and listening to Baroque music. Indeed, he claims he can only write when inspired by the music of Antonio Vivaldi. The Brain that Breeds all Villainy is his first published novel.


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PROMO: The Wolf Experiment

 




Urban Fantasy / Werewolf
Date Published: 01-23-2026

 


 In Doford Peaks, a small mountain town, 19-year-old Ethan lives with his grandma. His life is quite normal, at least as normal as it can be for someone with asthma. A winter morning walk turns dramatic when he and his grandma discover an 18-year-old girl, Mia, who is unconscious and injured. As Mia recovers, bits of her past emerge, attracting agents Gibson and Cooper of the Bureau of Supernatural Investigation (BSI). A complex web of secrets associated with the Defense Forces of Genesis (DFOG) intertwines their fates. As the truth emerges, Ethan and Mia must face the horrifying reality of The Wolf Experiment.



 

 

Excerpt

Chapter 1

A whimper pulled me from my sleep, and my eyelids fluttered open. Gracie’s snout was right in front of me, her light gray fur softly brushing against my cheek. As her pale blue eyes looked into mine, her tail began to wag. There was no way I was getting up, and I rolled over to the other side of my bed, where Hank stood waiting. He fixed his golden eyes on me, his pure white fur seeming darker in the dim light of my bedroom. Sunlight filtered through the two large skylights above my bed, casting a warm light over my room. The rays continued to spread across posters of my favorite bands, my world map marked with where I wanted to visit, my only plant that I hadn’t killed, and my high school guitar leaning against my bookcase. My wolves whimpered again, signaling it was time to get up. Glancing at the clock on my nightstand, it read 6:00 a.m.
I pulled the covers over my head and tried to fall back asleep, but that didn’t work out well. My wolves howled as they jumped onto my king-sized bed. Sitting up, I shook off the sleepiness and raised my open palms toward Hank. “We’re bros, Hank. Help me out here. It’s too early. Can’t you and Gracie give me a little more time?”
Hank reacted by leaping off my bed, sprinting into the hallway, and then vanishing. Gracie fixed her fierce gaze on me, but I avoided her eyes. The sound of Hank’s paws tapping against the floor broke the silence as he charged back into my room, his leash clamped in his mouth.
I shook my head in frustration, tossed aside my covers, and walked into the bathroom. They followed closely behind me. “At the very least, let me take a quick shower before we go for a walk.”
I didn’t let either of them protest with a bark, howl, or whine and stepped into the shower. Turning on the hot water, my wolves settled onto the cool porcelain tile of the bathroom, their eyes on me, waiting. My thoughts drifted back to one year ago when I discovered the abandoned wolf puppies on my way home from the local store. They huddled together on the roadside, trembling and shaking, too young to be without their mother. Their bodies were mere skin and bones, and they had that look in their eyes that they were ready to give up. I tucked them into my jacket and rushed home, fully aware that my grandma would not be pleased with my impulsive decision, but I had to save them.
My grandma’s eyes widened in disbelief when she saw the little bundles of fur sticking out from my jacket as I walked in the door. “Ethan, did you bring wolves into my house?” She let out a deep sigh and was definitely annoyed, but as she noticed their desperate state, her disapproval began to fade. She quickly ushered me and the puppies into her clinic and examined them thoroughly. “I’m a physician, not a veterinarian,” she said, “but these puppies are severely dehydrated and malnourished. I can give them fluids, and you need to buy puppy milk replacement from the feed store. Let Walter know they are wolf pups and about four weeks old. He will know what to give you.”

Gracie’s and Hank’s urgent barks jolted me into the present and forced me to quickly finish my shower. Staring at myself in the double mirrors over the bathroom vanity, I saw bits of my grandma in me. We both had curly, caramel brown hair, although hers had strands of gray. The left corner of our smiles was slightly crooked, a trait that ran in the family. Our hazel eyes had more green than brown, and while she stood at 5'6" and weighed 125 pounds, I was taller at 5'10" and weighed 165 pounds.
She was a tough, 66-year-old woman with a strong personality who never remarried after my grandfather passed away. I never knew him. He died before I was born. Grandma, being the town’s physician and surgeon, was accustomed to interacting with people and found comfort in those conversations. As for me—I was a loner and found socializing to be a challenge. I preferred the company of animals over people. Hank and Gracie were my best friends. All I truly needed was their companionship, along with my grandma’s, of course.
When I was five, my parents left me at my grandma’s house. That was fourteen years ago. We lived in Doford Peaks, a small mountain town in the state of Oakridge, with a population of around 1,200. With winter fully upon us, I dressed in utility pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and my winter boots to prepare for the cold. I also dressed Hank and Gracie in their waterproof winter coats and booties. Along with my down jacket, I grabbed a beanie and gloves. I stuffed my cell phone, inhaler, and compass into my pants pockets. With Gracie’s and Hank’s leashes in hand, I left my bedroom and dropped my jacket, beanie, and gloves on the entryway table.
Hank and Gracie followed me into our rustic kitchen, with exposed wooden beams and oak cabinets. Grandma particularly loved the large windows that allowed natural light to stream across the stone-tiled floor and the breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains. She was seated at the antique wooden table in the center of the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee. Grabbing a granola bar and a bottle of water, I breathed in the rich aroma of French roast. “Morning, Grandma. You’re up early.”
“Ethan, good morning. A slight emergency brought me into the clinic.” She sipped her coffee and continued, “LuAnn fell on the ice and sliced her hand open. She needed several stitches.” Grinning, she said, “She asked about you.”
“Please stop with the matchmaking.”
“She’s intelligent and attractive, much like you.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to date her.”
“It doesn’t mean you have to date her. But what’s the harm in having a casual cup of coffee?”
“Being single works for me. Plus, I wouldn’t know how to talk to her, and I wouldn’t want to give her the wrong idea. Can we change the subject?”
She placed her coffee mug on the counter. “Fine. Are you going out for a walk with your wolf pack?”
I scratched Gracie and Hank behind their ears. “As much as I wanted to sleep in, they insisted I get up and take them for a walk.”
Her gaze drifted to one of the large windows, where snowflakes were gently falling outside. Turning her attention back to me, she asked, “Do you have your inhaler?”
I patted my pocket. “Yes, Grandma.”
“What about your cell phone?”
“I have that too.”
“Since it’s snowing, you should definitely take a jacket, and—”
My chin bobbed toward the door as I interrupted her. “I have a jacket, a beanie, and gloves.”
“Hmm. What about water or a snack?”
I groaned and replied, “Grandma, I’m 19. I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself.”
A protective expression crossed her face as she placed her hand on her hip. “Ethan, no matter how old you get, in my eyes, you’ll always be my precious grandson.”
A sigh escaped my lips, and I shrugged my shoulders. “Do you want to just come with me?”
Her hazel eyes brightened with a smile as she waved a finger at me. “That’s a great idea,” she said. “I’ll get my coat.”
Grandma came back wearing a down jacket. She was bundled up in winter clothing. A scarf was wrapped around her neck, and gloves covered her hands while she tucked her hair beneath the hood of her jacket. She grabbed a bottle of water from the cupboard and tucked it into her jacket pocket. Then she reached for Gracie’s leash. “Gracie can come with me.”
“Gracie is definitely easier to control than Hank. He tends to pull a lot, especially when he catches a scent.” I handed her Gracie’s leash.
“That’s true!” she said with a smile. “I’m ready. It’s beautiful right now. The sun is breaking through the clouds, the snow is falling, and the air smells of pine cones. What more could we ask for?”
“You sound like a greeting card, Grandma.”
A chuckle escaped her lips. “I do, don’t I?” She opened the solid wood door and replied, “After you.”
Wood siding wrapped around my grandma’s single-story home. The deep green roof blended into the surrounding trees, and the many windows let in tons of light, which my grandma loved. I led Hank through the doorway and onto the wraparound deck. We made our way down the stairs and onto the cement driveway. Continuing down the sloped driveway, we passed Grandma’s clinic, a smaller replica of the main house. Glen’s truck had cleared the road of snow. At 70, he was still going strong as the owner of a snowplow truck company. His silver hair was often dusted with snow, mirroring the bushy eyebrows that framed his kind, gray-blue eyes. Every time I saw him, he was wearing a flannel shirt, a heavy jacket, jeans, and boots. Maybe they were his favorites or maybe it was his uniform, but at least he was consistent.
We walked along the towering pine trees, now filled with snow, lining both sides of the road. The crisp, cool air stung my cheeks, so I pulled my beanie down as far as possible and still be able to see. Hank and Gracie strolled alongside us, their noses in the air, sniffing at whatever scents they could find.
Grandma asked, “Would you like to talk about the letter your parents sent?”
“I don’t,” I abruptly replied.
“I think we ought to talk about it,” she insisted.
I looked at her, hoping my expression conveyed my hurt, frustration, and exhaustion. “Grandma, I love you. I know my dad is your son, and I don’t mean any disrespect, but they handed me off to you fourteen years ago. Mom and Dad haven’t visited me for any occasion—birthdays, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. They ghosted me! I couldn’t care less about their stupid letters.”
“I understand where you’re coming from,” she sympathized. “Although I don’t support the choice they made, I know it was very tough for them to leave you in my care, and I can only imagine how confusing this all is for you. I don’t know what your letter said, but in my letter, they reiterated their continued search for a cure for asthma. Their letter made it very clear that they’re doing everything possible to help you live a healthier, happier life. I hope you know how much both your parents love you.”
“Researching for fourteen years, Grandma?” I exclaimed, my voice filled with exasperation. “I’m sure even you don’t even believe that.”
“I know they love you.”
“If they truly loved me, they would have been present in my life instead of concentrating on scientific research. My parents didn’t want a flawed son.”
Her hand touched mine as she paused. “Ethan, you can’t possibly believe that.”
“Regardless of what I believe, the fact remains that I have asthma, and I manage it. You stood beside me, not my parents. They’ve been absent most of my life. Even if they returned now, I probably wouldn’t want to see them. I’m sorry, Grandma.” I softened my tone. “My anger is directed at them, not you, and I’m just not ready to forgive them.”
She hugged me tight and reassured me. “Ethan, I will always be here for you.”
In her arms, emotions surged within me, and tears threatened to fall. Hank and Gracie surrounded me, nuzzling their furry heads against my body in an attempt to comfort me. As I pulled away, I admitted, “Talking about them doesn’t help. It only makes matters worse.”
“I understand how you feel. Everything is going to be okay, I promise. Let’s continue our morning walk with Hank and Gracie and enjoy the day together.”
Relieved, I nodded, and we continued down the road. Hank and Gracie glanced back at me occasionally to ensure I was okay. As we walked, the various smells around us began to capture their attention more than my presence. They trotted happily alongside me, their snouts pressed to the pavement, wagging their tails as they sniffed every tree.
“It’s chilly today,” Grandma said and shivered and then glanced at me. “How are you feeling? Any shortness of breath?”
“So far, so good, but I agree it’s super cold. Maybe we can cut our walk short.”
“Good idea, and I agree.”
Hank suddenly stopped, raised his nose, and howled. A few birds scattered from the branches above, startled by his abrupt call. Had he sensed something: an approaching storm or another animal nearby? Gracie’s ears perked up as she lifted her head and let out a softer but equally determined howl. My wolves stood side by side, their eyes scanning the horizon, alert to something I couldn’t see. Hank started tugging on his leash, and I pulled backward. “What is it, Hank?”
“I don’t see anything,” Grandma said, glancing around the area.
I peered between the trees, searching and feeling compelled to understand what Hank and Gracie were sensing. “They definitely smell something. Let’s check.”
“I am not sure if it is safe, Ethan.”
“Grandma, we need to investigate. If it’s an injured animal or more abandoned pups, we can call Marsha and have her send her wildlife team out here.”
“Fair enough.” Grandma nodded.
I released the slack on Hank’s leash and commanded, “Find it!
Hank and Gracie raced ahead, tugging Grandma and me along. Our breaths rose into the air like swirls of smoke. Frost covered the road, crunching beneath our boots as we followed my wolves. As we went down the road, the trees got thicker and thicker, reaching up to the pale sky, casting shadows, and blocking out the sun.
My wolves’ noses skimmed along the damp earth, sniffing. Occasionally, they paused to circle a spot several times before continuing on their determined path with their noses once again on the ground. They sped up and tensed their bodies as they focused on the trail that led us up the hill to a cliff that looked like the entrance to a cave.
Despite the cold, beads of sweat formed on my forehead, and a tightness spread across my chest. The familiar constriction gripped my lungs the higher we climbed. I couldn't wait any longer. I needed my medicine. Fumbling in my pocket, I reached for my inhaler. I could feel Grandma’s eyes fixed on me as I struggled to breathe.
Grandma’s voice was tense as she ordered, “Stop and use your inhaler. You’re having trouble breathing.”
“Hank is pulling me too hard. I can take a puff while I’m moving.”
“Nonsense,” Grandma said, taking Hank’s leash from me and bringing both Hank and Gracie to a halt. The wolves howled in protest. “There, now they’ve stopped. Please, Ethan, use your inhaler right now, and I mean it.”
I didn’t argue and put my inhaler in my mouth, pressed the button, releasing the medication, and breathed deeply. After a few seconds of inhaling and exhaling, the pressure lessened, and I put my inhaler back in my pocket. Gradually, the tightness in my chest vanished.
“Better?”
I nodded.
“I can’t risk your health for Hank and Gracie to chase down some scent. We need to turn back.”
“No, Grandma! I’m fine. If there’s an animal in trouble, we need to save it. I’ll never forgive myself if we don’t keep going.”
Her lips formed a thin line, and her brow furrowed with disapproval. Grandma knew that Hank and Gracie were not just my pets. They knew me better than any human. They were part of our family. I felt a deep responsibility to protect all animals, and my grandma knew that.
Again, I begged, “Please, Grandma.”
After several minutes of hesitation, she finally responded, “We’ll proceed, but if you have another episode, we’re finished.” She handed Hank’s leash back to me.
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll be okay. I promise.”
She huffed and waved me forward.
After hiking up the hill, we arrived at the cave, its dark entrance framed by jagged rocks. A thick fog floated within the darkness, reminding me of dry ice. I had my doubts about going inside. The cave floor could be unstable or wild animals could be hiding inside. And what if the air was thin and stale and triggered my asthma? But Hank and Gracie were insistent, pulling on their leashes to get closer.
Peering into the cave, Grandma asked, “Did you bring a flashlight?”
“No, I didn’t,” I replied, my eyes widening as a thought struck me. “I can use the app on my phone.”
When I pulled my phone out of my pocket, Hank leapt forward, yanking his leash from my grip. Gracie followed suit, breaking free from Grandma’s hand and racing after Hank. I switched on the flashlight app, flooding the cave with light. The beam flickered across dirt and jagged rocks. I pointed it upward, and Hank and Gracie running down a narrow passageway fell into view. The musty stench and distant sounds of water dripping grew stronger as we followed them.
“They must have found the source,” Grandma said, matching my pace.
My heart raced as fear tightened in my throat at the thought of something harming my wolves. “I’m freaking out,” I blurted, trying to keep my phone steady with trembling hands. I had no idea what this cave contained, whether it was safe, or what Hank and Gracie had stumbled upon. They never disobeyed me. Maybe Grandma was right about turning back.
“They’ll be fine. They’re strong creatures. Just try not to worry.”
“I’m trying not to.”
Hank barked sharply, his call signaling to me that he needed me. I rushed blindly into the cave, adrenaline coursing through me. The sound of Grandma’s boots brushing against the cave floor echoed behind me as she ran.
The flashlight beam caught something ahead, but the darkness obscured my view. Upon closer inspection, I saw Hank and Gracie circling something on the ground. Slowing down, I hoped it wasn’t an injured animal. As Grandma reached the spot ahead of me, she gasped. I stood still, unable to take another step. “Grandma, what’s going on? What is it?”
As her gaze turned toward me, she said, “Not a what, but a who. It’s a young woman, maybe 18 or 19 years old.”
“What?” I rushed forward, closing the distance to the scene. I halted just behind Grandma, who was kneeling beside an unconscious girl, curled up in a fetal position, wearing a hospital gown. Hank and Gracie stood close by. Her long strawberry blonde hair was a matted, tangled mess hanging over her face. Her pale skin stood out in contrast to the bruises and deep red cuts all over her arms, legs, and especially her bare feet. Pus oozed out of them.
Grandma was in full-on doctor mode, checking the girl’s pulse, listening to her breathing, and examining her numerous wounds. As she assessed the girl’s condition, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Jesus,” I whispered. “Is she alive?”
“Her pulse is weak, and her breathing is shallow, but she’s alive,” Grandma confirmed, her focus on the girl. “Her body temperature is low. It could be hypothermia. She’s wearing a wristband, but it’s not from the hospital in town.” She turned to me. “Give me your jacket. She needs to warm up.”
I removed my jacket and handed it to Grandma, who carefully wrapped it around the girl.
“We need to get her out of here and to my clinic immediately,” Grandma urged. “We can’t carry her, and I need my medical van. You’ll need to keep a close watch on her while I go get the van. Be prepared that you may have to perform CPR if her heart stops.”
My jaw dropped slowly as the weight of responsibility washed over me, sending a wave of anxiety coursing through my body. The thought of performing lifesaving measures on someone was terrifying. What if I screwed up? “I’m your bookkeeper. This is beyond my capabilities,” I said, gesturing toward the girl. “I can’t help her.”
“You can handle this. Besides, we’ve trained many times on all emergency procedures.”
The cave felt as if it were closing in around me. Memories of Grandma’s first aid lessons flooded my mind, each one a jumbled mess of instructions and distant recollections. I shook my head firmly. “No, I can’t do it. What if she wakes up and sees some guy standing over her? You know I’m not comfortable with people. She’ll probably freak out. Just let me go get the van, and you stay here.”
Grandma looked at me, as if weighing my suggestion, but her expression remained firm. “I understand your hesitation, but she needs medical treatment immediately. You’ll have to run to the house, Ethan. I can’t risk you having an asthma attack. It’s better if I go.”
The thought of being alone with an unconscious stranger filled me with anxiety. What if I made a mistake and ended up making things worse instead of better? What if her injuries worsened, and I wasn’t able to save her? Every rational part of me screamed at me to let Grandma handle it. I had to be the one to get the van. “I’ve hiked trails many times—maybe not up a mountain, but I’ve covered long distances without an episode. Plus, I have my inhaler. Please let me get the van, Grandma.”
She studied me for several minutes, probably envisioning various scenarios and their likely outcomes. After sighing, she relented. “All right. The keys to my van are in my office in the top drawer on the right side of my desk at the clinic, not my home office.”
I nodded and turned to leave but quickly faced Grandma again. My gaze shifted to Hank and Gracie. Instead of coming with me, they remained by the girl’s side. My brows furrowed in confusion. Why had they tracked her in the first place, and why were they so protective of her? Was it her injuries? The blood? The situation? It didn’t make sense.
“Ethan, what’s wrong?” Grandma asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I glanced at her before shifting my focus back to my wolves. “Hank and Gracie,” I said. “It’s odd how they’re behaving. They don’t even know this girl that they’re trying so hard to protect.”
“We can figure that out later. Right now, we need to get this girl to my clinic.” She waved me away. “Go now and hurry back. Stay safe.”
“I will.” I cast one final glance at Hank and Gracie before hurrying out of the cave.


About the Author

 

 Laura Daleo is an accomplished multi-genre author known for weaving captivating tales across dark fantasy, urban fantasy, supernatural/paranormal, sci-fi, and young adult fiction. Her acclaimed Immortal Kiss series showcases her unique take on vampiric lore, reimagining the origins of vampires through the lens of the Egyptian pantheon. Originally from San Diego, California, Laura now calls Tucson, Arizona home, where she shares her life with her two beloved dogs, Rose and Cooper.

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Friday, February 6, 2026

PROMO: Serial Overkill

 



Mystery, LGBTQ Mystery

Date Published: February 27, 2024



A small community has a killer with a gruesome vendetta in this darkly humorous LGBTQ+ mystery, featuring a group of tight-knit investigators whose lives are as complex as the murderer they’re chasing.

When a serial killer terrorizes their town, Doc, Switch, Saphine, and Lauren are hot on the trail—despite pushback from local law enforcement. But while they work to solve the crimes before more lives are lost, the detectives have to handle personal problems and repair trust with found family in order to even have a chance at solving the murders.

Soon, however, the group learns how the past affects relationships and their ability to serve justice. Will they find motive behind the violent crimes? Or are some mysteries never meant to be solved?

Serial Overkill is a suspense-filled, character-driven whodunit drama that will have readers chasing answers until the bitter end.

 


About the Author


Kelley Barks-Baker has a bachelor's degree in criminal justice administration. She enjoys reading and vacationing on the beach.

Barks-Baker currently resides with Cape Girardeau, Missouri with her family.

 

Contact Link

BookBuzz


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Blog Tour: Women Therapists on Healing



11 Personal Essays about Overcoming Trauma

Psychology Nonfiction
Date Published: February 3rd, 2026
Publisher: Acorn Publishing

Women Therapists on Healing is a powerful anthology of personal essays from women therapists who know trauma from the inside out. This three-part collection braids lived experience with clinical wisdom, offering a compassionate lens on healing that crosses cultural, generational, and systemic boundaries.


Far beyond a typical guide to PTSD, this book challenges outdated narratives and sheds light on the effects of marginalized topics, such as chronic invisible illness, intergenerational trauma, racism, ritual abuse, and human trafficking.


This book will especially resonate with


●    women recovering from trauma

●    healers and advocates seeking growth and guidance

●    health professionals committed to trauma-informed and anti-racist practices

●    friends and family who love and support survivors


The diverse voices in these essays honor the arduous path of healing as a reckoning, a reclamation, and a sacred reminder that we do not walk alone.




Excerpt

The cicadas were noisy where my grandmother’s white, metal Maytag wringer washer stood in the grassy backyard next to the kitchen’s screen door beside the thriving vegetable garden. On the front porch, I watched with my child eyes, the moment a slim, young blond woman wearing a yellow cotton dress rumbled toward us in a shiny and substantial car. She parked it on the red dirt driveway next to my grandparents’ wooden house on Peach Street, which was on the other side of the railroad tracks, near the big tobacco barn up the paved road. The young lady stood in front of the house and my grandmother, in her blue housedress, seemed much older as she approached from the backyard where the wringer washer was. She was carrying a wicker laundry basket filled with pressed and neatly stacked linens. The young woman handed my grandmother a dollar with an audible, “Thank you, Sarah,” addressing her by her first name as she took the ample basket from outstretched arms. She didn’t look my way. My grandmother’s honey-brown fingers folded the worn dollar bill handed to her from the lady’s freckled hands in half, with a look on her face that appeared to disapprove of the moment and the woman. I hadn’t seen that interaction or look before.

The following chapter explores the intersections of belonging, othering, its connection to trauma, and my own narrative of the internal struggle of identifying self-worth as a woman of color—and, more specifically, as a Black identifying woman in the world and in the creative art therapy profession of drama therapy. These thematic intersections are all aligned to self-esteem and how others perceive us as women in our social and professional spheres. The intersections affect how we stride on the planet and our overall health. The following exploration bade me to act as a bricoleur, collecting and implementing the odds and ends—fragments of the historical narratives that visit me; creating a collage of images, implementing snippets of stories in order to form a larger landscape of understanding—both for the reader and myself; a free-form approach inviting me to scribe the lived stories that function as examples of our collective vulnerability. Only when I pause, noting and re-collecting the useful threads and seeds, like an invested mama bird building her secure nest through writing, does the story I want to share come through. It is in the collecting, forming, and then sharing of stories from which deep understanding for self and others can occur.

As a parallel process, I share how a creative arts therapeutic action of creating a narrative-based assemblage construction called the Poetic Home exercise can offer personal insight about such things related to self-identity and trauma. Insight exists in the social constructionism approach, in the courageous encounter where the process of making meaning with others leads to self-actualization.

When I ponder the very pregnant and universal topic of self-worth, there are two distinct landscapes embedded in bygone eras that come to mind. This chapter began with the first, a scribed memory of my eight-year-old self experiencing an interaction that illustrates the tone of time, place, and relationship where much of my initial conscious awareness about the circumstances of belonging, self-worth, and othering started. This narrative inquiry praxis looks forward, backward, and considers chronology, place, and the relational through an emic perspective—an auto-ethnographic unpacking that situates lived data in story form for an empathic as well as intellectual understanding.

The upcoming narrative landscapes feature my grandfathers within those bygone eras; both men were worlds apart from each other and yet so precise in the way they strode the planet upon which they thrived—at least when I met them. Afuape (2011) mentions the importance of reclaiming memory, arguing that as a result of the attack on memory that comes with abuse, violence, and oppression, people who experience emotional distress and psychosocial difficulties often experience life as single-storied, predominantly featuring hopelessness and despair. Therefore, reclaiming memory, as I do in the following pages, is a liberatory act and an important part of resisting these felt abuses of power—that may be recent to me or may have occurred generations ago to my ancestors. I am not absolute in knowing how the fragments of my sharing will affect the reader or myself. Nor do I claim the ensuing storied pieces complete the materials for a whole narrative of an entire lifetime. Reclaiming storied and variegated fragments through a bricolage practice (Denzin and Lincoln 2008) of story making and writing here serves as the healing process of tending, mending, and witnessing in the role of the griot, defined as the respected West African narrator of oral traditions, poetry, history, and genealogy, which I hold from my ancestors—a significant interactional aspect of the drama therapist and social constructionist position I embody.

 


About the Author


Award-winning author Susan Pease Banitt is a Harvard-trained psychotherapist and licensed clinical social worker with over thirty years of experience in the field. In her work, she integrates western therapy with holistic practices like yoga, Reiki, and Celtic shamanism.


Her acclaimed books, The Trauma Tool Kit and Wisdom, Attachment, and Love in Trauma Therapy, are essential reading for anyone seeking a compassionate path to healing complex trauma.


Based in Portland, Oregon, she continues her coaching and consulting work through Lotus Heart Counseling, and she shares bite-size wisdom on TikTok as “The Lightworker Whisperer.” In her downtime, she enjoys RVing, gardening, performing improvisational comedy, and spending time with family and friends.
 
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Instagram: @susanpeasebanitt

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Thursday, February 5, 2026

PROMO: The Helmsman of Anthesis

 


Historical Fiction

Date Published: March 12th

Publisher: Acorn Publishing


William Sukara, a gregarious dreamer, emerges from the 1950s an estranged son. In divorce debt and with limited visitation rights as a father, he searches for order in failure. Pursuing self-discipline as an answer, he enlists in the Navy, volunteers for underwater demolition team training, and survives the elite course.

With five other team members, he raises his hand for a clandestine mission, knowing only that it's a “hundred day operation in a warm climate." They are led by a mysterious civilian who alludes that their authorization comes from the Oval Office, and they are to operate with extreme malice. They revolt, escaping under bizarre circumstances.


The Helmsman of Anthesis is a raw, close to the nerve, psychological thriller about a mission gone wantonly mad.

 

About the Author

At age twenty, Lee Hodiak joined the Navy and spent most of his enlistment attached to Underwater Demolition Team 12. After serving, he joined the San Diego Police Department but realized he needed to follow his passion for wilderness travel and adventure instead. He went on to backpack the Baja California Peninsula, built a thirty-six-foot sloop, and lived in Australia for twenty years.
Now a resident of Central California, Lee enjoys birdwatching and living by the ocean. Sixty years in the making, The Helmsman of Anthesis is his debut novel.



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